Alpha Foxtrot_Offensive Line

by Tracey Ward

  I didn’t realize until now how much I want her to like the stadium. I’m anxious about how she’ll react to being on the field.

  “Locker rooms,” I tell her as we pass them. “Utility room. Storage. Clinic. Saunas.”

  “Is this how you come out to the field?” she asks curiously.

  “This is the tunnel. On the other side are the locker rooms for visiting teams. They come out that tunnel. The shitty one.”

  “What makes it shitty?”

  “It’s for teams other than ours.”

  She snickers, the soft sound echoing off the walls around us, mingling with our footsteps. Hers are faster than mine. Even though I’m trying to keep a slow pace for her, the difference in the length of our legs forces her to work harder to keep up with me. She doesn’t complain, though. That’s something I’ve noticed about Sutton. Despite her anger and irritation, it’s rare that she actually complains about anything. Scolds, yes. But she doesn’t complain.

  The field is dark when we get outside. It’s underwhelming. There’s a lot more impact when you come out with all of the lights blazing and fans in every corner screaming your name. Calling for blood. Tonight it’s silent and still. It’s just a field surrounded by cement, and I nearly apologize for bringing her out here.

  “How many people can fit in here?” she asks curiously, her voice quiet. Almost hushed.

  “Over ninety-thousand.”

  “Wow,” she whispers. “That is… wow.”

  “It’s the largest football stadium in the world.”

  She smiles sideways at me. “Do you know what the largest theater on Broadway is?”

  “No clue.”

  “Gershwin. It has one thousand nine hundred and thirty-three seats.”

  “Broadway needs to up its game.”

  She chuckles quietly, her eyes still scanning the stands.

  “Have you performed there?” I ask seriously.

  “Yes. We sold it out with Peter Pan. I thought I was pulling in a big crowd, but this…” Sutton laughs in amazement. “Your audience is nearly fifty-times that size.”

  “It’s not my audience,” I remind her.

  “You know what I mean.”

  “I do, but it’s different. If you were in a production of Cats that was going head to head with a production of Rent, you’d pull in more than two thousand people.”

  “Going head to head doing what?”

  “I don’t know. Mud wrestling?”

  She frowns. “What?”

  “Whatever,” I laugh. “The point is, ninety thousand people don’t come here just to watch the Kodiaks. It’s two different fan bases. There’s nothing to compare here.”

  She shakes her head, looking around at the stands again. “I don’t know. I think you won this one. Hands down.”

  “Maybe, but I’d buy every seat in the Gershwin to see you perform.”

  “Tough luck. I don’t do that anymore.”

  “You could.”

  “No,” she laughs dismissively. “I really can’t.”

  “Could you try? Right now? For me?”

  She looks at me in surprise. “What are you asking me to do? Dance for you?”

  I shake my head, backing away toward the stands. “Nope. I’ve seen you dance. You’re decent.”

  “Gee, thanks,” she replies dryly.

  “I want a show I’ve never seen before.” I can’t get up into the stands. The gates leading to them are locked and I’m not about to climb the wall in my suit. But I’m able to take a seat on a bench on the Kodiak’s sideline. “I want to hear you sing,” I call to her.

  Sutton laughs. Her voice echoes over the field, bouncing off the cement surrounding us. “You do, do you?”

  “Stalling!”

  She scowls at me viciously. “Don’t be an idiot. Come back over here.”

  “Not until you sing for me.”

  “I don’t sing for free.”

  “I’ll give you all the money in my wallet.”

  “How much is that?”

  “I don’t know. Four hundred, I think.”

  She gapes at me. “You’re running around with four hundred dollars in your wallet?”

  “Stalling!” I laugh.

  “Ugh,” she groans miserably. She’s legit torn. Part of her wants to do it, maybe just to see how it would feel to perform on the largest stage she’s ever seen. But another part of her doesn’t want to dredge up her past. I wonder if it’s wrong of me to push her. Am I treating her like her mom did? Am I forcing her to do things she genuinely does not want to do? Or am I helping her reclaim that part of her that was stripped away too soon?

  I honestly don’t know and I’m about to stand up and tell her to forget I said anything when suddenly she lifts her head. She points her face to the stands behind me. She inhales deeply and she starts to sing.

  I’ve never heard the song before but I don’t go to the theater. Ever. It’s probably famous as hell. It’s probably been sung by a thousand actors and actresses before her, earning awards for some. Standing ovations for others. More than likely, it’s been done to death, but for me it’s brand new. It’s fresh as the night air it dances along, her perfectly pure voice rising and falling on the waves of the wind. It’s a beautiful sound. Better than this stadium deserves. Bigger than Broadway could contain. It’s a shining silver piece of her that’s been kept locked in for years, sheltered from the world and the tarnish it brings.

  It’s the achingly beautiful sound of Sutton finally freed.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  SUTTON

  June 10th

  KBC Studios

  Los Angeles, CA

  “It’s an eight count, Ginger! Not a four! Back to the start, everyone!”

  I hear groans all around me, but I don’t join in. I spring into action to move to the back of the stage where the group number starts. Clara is at the bottom, watching from the floor like a hawk stalking its prey. She’s picking us apart today. We’re four days from the next show and she’s not letting us get away with anything. Shane got yelled at just ten minutes ago for ‘making a stupid face’. It sounded harsh but it may have been true. Sometimes when he’s concentrating really hard, he runs his tongue along the front of his teeth, bulging his upper lip out. I wouldn’t say he looks stupid, I’d still hit that any day of the week, but he doesn’t look show ready. That’s what Clara is looking for at this stage – perfection. And we’re a far cry from it.

  I’m doing better about giving Shane breaks from rehearsals when he absolutely needs them, but with his practices for the Kodiaks ratcheting up, he’s getting exhausted faster. I’ve cut our rehearsal time down from six hours a day to four to try and ease his load, but not all of the dancers are doing the same. I heard Melisandre kept Aaron Fitzpatrick here until midnight before he had to fly out to attend his own practice with the Broncos the next morning. These guys are racking up a lot of frequent flyer miles making the trip out here to film these episodes, and the wear is starting to show. I’m the lucky one with a local athlete. I guess I should be thanking Eric for pushing for that, but we haven’t spoken in almost two weeks. Not since he showed up at my door and Shane sent his ass packing.

  His absence has been bliss. I feel lighter than I have in a year. I’m having more fun. I’m enjoying my job in a way I never thought a person should. And even though I know a lot of it is being free from Eric, some serious credit has to go to Shane. He has me laughing more than I have before. He has me smiling more than I have a right to be. And he doesn’t want anything in return. Just my joy, something he inspires in me with every word he speaks.

  “Pee break!” he shouts to Clara. His hand is raised in the air like a kid in school.

  Clara shakes her head stubbornly. “You can pee when you can get your timing right, Lowry!”

  “On the stage? Because that’s where it’s going to happen. Soon.”

  “Oh my Christ,” Clara mutters.

  Shane’s hand wavers in the air. “Is tha
t a yes or…”

  “Go!”

  “Me too?” Aaron asks.

  “Yes! All of you! Please, children, use the restroom! Then get your asses back here for the rest of the number!”

  Melisandre, Ana, and Derrick disappear as well. Everyone else mills around patiently waiting for the rehearsal to kick off again.

  I sit at the end of the stage with Clara, out of earshot from the others.

  “What’s up with you today?” I ask quietly.

  She casts me an irritated stare. “Everything. I never want to do another one of these athletes-only productions again.”

  “It’s tough with them leaving all the time.”

  “Thank God you have Shane. At least he’s local.”

  “Didn’t they have more free time earlier in the year? Why didn’t we do it then?”

  “Because our producers are short-sighted asshats.”

  I smile fondly. “That’s true.”

  She glances over my shoulder to check that we’re alone. When she’s satisfied, she hops up on the stage next to me. “I shouldn’t complain about them.”

  “They shouldn’t give us impossible tasks.”

  “No shit.” Clara sighs, settling in. Settling down. “It’s been a long six weeks.”

  “And there are still four more to go,” I remind her brightly.

  “What an awful thing to say to me.”

  I smile apologetically. “Sorry.”

  “You should be. You’re half my problem.”

  “How am I a problem? I’m the best dancer you’ve got.”

  “Come on now. You’re not the only award winner here.”

  “Are any of their awards Tonys?”

  “Nope.”

  “Then they don’t count.”

  Clara laughs, shaking her head. “You’re such a snob.”

  “So are you. It’s why we’re friends.”

  She looks over her shoulder, scanning the stage.

  I frown at her. “Who are you looking for?”

  Her face snaps around to mine. “What? I’m not.”

  “And now you’re lying. Seriously, what’s up with you today? How am I half your problem?”

  “It’s Eric,” she whispers, giving me a jolt.

  His name is the last thing I expected her to say.

  “What’s he done?” I ask cautiously.

  “Nothing that I know of. Not yet. But he’s on the warpath lately.” She looks at me curiously. “You haven’t noticed?”

  I shrug. “I haven’t seen him.”

  “You’re lucky.”

  “How is it my fault?” I demand.

  Clara looks at me long and hard. She doesn’t say anything but her silence speaks volumes. Inside it, she tells me she knows everything. Maybe first hand from him or by deducing it from our actions, I don’t know. Maybe she saw us one of the times we had sex here in the studio. It was always late and we thought we were alone, but this is a busy space. Anyone could have walked in at any time.

  It’s only now that I’m outside the situation that I see how truly careless we were. There wasn’t always a condom. There definitely wasn’t assured privacy. Even the way we treated each other after-the-fact was not discreet. It’s as though we wanted to get caught. Or, at the very least, like neither of us cared if we did.

  I look away from Clara, feeling too ashamed to hold her eyes. “It was stupid,” I mumble. “It never should have happened. I wish to God it hadn’t.”

  “But it’s over now?”

  “So over. Dead and buried over.”

  “He’s not taking it well.”

  I laugh without meaning to. “Tough shit for him.”

  “And the rest of us. He’s making us suffer for it.”

  “What do you want me to do?” I ask sharply. “Sleep with him again?”

  Clara’s eyes dart behind us before landing on mine again. “Keep your voice down. And, no, that’s not what I want. I wish you’d never done it. It was never going to end well.”

  “I knew that before it even started.”

  “Were you hoping he’d leave his wife for you?”

  “I was hoping he’d leave me alone. I didn’t want to…” I catch myself and my breath, holding it all tight inside me. It gives me that familiar feeling like I’m drinking poison again. I can taste it on my tongue; bitter like lemons. “I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t plan it and I didn’t think it’d go on for as long as it did, but it’s over now and I never want it to happen again.”

  “Because you’re in love with Shane?”

  Her words should be a shocking revelation to me. I should be stunned or offended or wild with fear, but I’m not. Instead, I’m nodding. I’m sniffing softly as warm tears fill my eyes.

  “It’s turning me into a basket case. Why am I crying?!” I whisper fiercely.

  “Have you told him?”

  I laugh shakily. “God no. I can’t even tell you that I love you. How am I supposed to tell him?”

  She takes my hand, warming it between hers in that motherly way that she does. “The same way you just told me. You say the words, however you need to.”

  “I’m back!” Shane shouts triumphantly behind us. “And my bladder is empty.”

  “Good job, Lowry,” Clara calls to him without turning. She leans in closer to me, whispering, “Are you going to be okay?”

  I sniff sharply, nodding my head. Willing my eyes to dry. I give her a winning smile that I almost feel. “I’m great.”

  Clara squeezes my hand before letting it go. She leaps down off the stage to do a headcount on her performers. The fact that she comes up three short sends her into a rage-fueled hunt backstage to find them.

  “Everything okay?” Shane asks gently.

  I look up to find him standing over me. He looks a hundred feet tall from here. I feel deliciously small at his feet with his body wide as the sky above me. Nothing bad could ever touch me with him around. And the good I have in my heart has yet to run out. In fact, I think he refills it every time he smiles. He sustains me with his beauty and brilliance, and I wish I could bottle the way he looks at me so I could keep it with me always because I’m better when I’m with him.

  “Sutton?” he asks again.

  “I love you,” I whisper breathlessly.

  If he has a reaction to my confession, it’s lost in the sea of tears swelling from my eyes. The world is underwater. The lights behind his head blur and distort his face until I can’t see him anymore.

  I feel a little lost all of a sudden. I feel like I let some part of me go with those three words and I’ve no idea where it’s gone. I don’t know if I’ll ever get it back. That’s the scariest part about loving someone. At the start, you can never be a hundred percent sure that they love you too. Not until they tell you, putting you out of your misery. One way or the other.

  “Sutton, I—”

  “Sutton!” Eric shouts.

  I close my eyes. Tears pour down my cheeks from my eyelashes. I brush them away as quickly as I can so I can stand and face what’s coming. Whatever it is, it can’t be good. It’s nothing I want to deal with right now with my heart on a platter at Shane’s feet and no answer yet as to whether he wants the damned thing.

  This is the exactly wrong time for Eric to be messing with me.

  “What?” I ask roughly.

  I open my eyes when I hear him treading heavily toward me. I stare straight ahead as I wait, but I can feel Shane take a step closer to me.

  When Eric stops just a few feet away, he glances up at Shane over my shoulder.

  “Oh good,” he says evenly. “You’re here. Perfect. I need to talk to both of you about your number this week.”

  “What about it?” I demand.

  “It’s not going to work.”

  “What part?”

  “The music. We can’t get the rights for your song.”

  I frown. “What are you talking about? It was on the list of licensed music we were given at the start of the season.”


  “Legal made a mistake. It wasn’t supposed to be on there. We wanted it but we never secured the rights to it. We can’t air it. You can’t dance to it.”

  “I’ve already choreographed it,” I snarl. “We’ve been practicing it all week.”

  He opens his hands to show he’s defenseless. “I can’t change the law, Sutton.”

  “Then get me the song, Eric.”

  “Not gonna happen. You need to do something else.”

  I leap off the stage to stand in front of him.

  Shane jumps down with me, keeping close to my back. He’s letting me run the show but he’s making sure I know he’s there. That he has my back.

  “This is bullshit!” I cry.

  We’re being watched. Over Eric’s shoulder, I see members of the crew stop to check what’s going on. It doesn’t encourage me to lower my voice. If anything, I want to shout at Eric louder to let everyone know what a son of a bitch he is, because make no mistake, this is a lie. We have the rights to that song. Bill/Bob doesn’t make mistakes.

  “I know you’re disappointed—” he begins coldly.

  “I want to talk to Taj about it. Where’s Taj? Where’s Clara?”

  “You’re talking to me about it. I’m the producer and—”

  “Clara!”

  Eric scowls. “You’re making a scene.”

  “No. You’re making a scene. You did this, you unbelievable asshole. You’re trying to tank us. There’s no way in hell we can choreograph, rehearse, and perfect a new number in four days.”

  “Last week you retook the number one slot on the board. The fans adore you. Why would I want to tank you?”

  I bite my tongue even though I’m dying to say it. I’m dying to tell the room the truth, but I know better. I know how this business works. He’s being completely calm and rational while I’m shouting my head off. I’m emotional. If I go shouting to the rooftops that Eric is trying to sabotage me because I refuse to keep sleeping with him, they’ll all think I’m saying it out of spite. I’ll sound crazy and he’ll have won. He’ll get away with it. I cannot let that happen. No matter how much I want to rip his face off and burn it in the parking lot.