Alpha Foxtrot_Offensive Line

by Tracey Ward

  I take two steps closer to him until we’re nearly nose to nose. I look up at him with hate in my eyes and venom in my veins as I whisper, “You are a sad, pathetic man, do you realize that?”

  He smirks at me. “I’m pretty happy at the moment, actually.”

  “What is your end game? You want me off the show? Fine. I’ll quit after this season. But don’t do this to us now. Not after we’ve come so far.”

  “No, Sutton, I don’t want you off the show.” He nods over my shoulder to Shane. “I want him gone.”

  “It won’t change anything between us.”

  “Don’t kid yourself,” he says severely. “He changed everything between us.”

  “I’m not worth it.”

  “No, you’re right, you’re not. And I don’t want your worn out ass anyway. But he threatened me. And I don’t like being threatened.”

  “So this is a pissing contest?”

  He shrugs, taking a step back. “Call it what you want, but I wouldn’t waste any more time talking. I’d get to work looking for a new song because the one you had is gone. You’re starting from scratch, guys. Good luck.”

  It looks like Eric is leaving, but he stops suddenly, snapping his fingers together with a smug smile.

  “Oh, and Shane,” he says quietly, his words just for us. “Enjoy my salty leavings, man. She’s busted in the head but she’s one hell of a ride, am I right?”

  Shane shoves me gently out of the way, but when he gets to Eric, all tenderness is lost from him. I see it in Eric’s face when he realizes he fucked up. He thought Shane wouldn’t do shit in front of an audience, but it’s a bad assumption. Shane knocked another player out in the Super Bowl in front of the entire world. The man doesn’t give a shit.

  He punches Eric in the face. Hard. It’s just once, but it’s enough. It lays Eric out on his back on the floor. His head rolls to the side. His eyes are glazed, but open and blinking. He’s still conscious. His face is turning red around his left eye and I have no doubt it’ll be purple within an hour.

  Security is everywhere in this building. All it takes is one shout from the crew by the coffin room, and two guards come running through the door. It’s easy to see what happened. Eric is flat on the ground and Shane is standing over him with his fist balled tightly at his side, his chest heaving angrily. I’ve never seen the look that Shane is wearing before. It’s the animal inside him. The one that plays at hitting men on the field and makes mountains of cash by being the biggest, strongest, angriest son of a bitch in the room. That’s who he is right now. That’s who I’m seeing. A month ago, it would have sent me running. I would have turned my head in disgust at the violence I’ve seen because it’s an intimidating, terrifying sight.

  But I don’t run because I’m not afraid of him.

  Right now, more than anything, I’m afraid for him.

  “Back up!” a guard barks at him, his hand on the Taser at his side. “Back off! Now!”

  Shane puts his hands up, taking a slow step backward. His face is resigned. He knows what he did and he knows the drill that comes after. He doesn’t fight it so I don’t either. I move to step in close to him, but he shakes his head at me sternly. His eyes dart from me to the Taser on the guard’s belt, then back again.

  I hold my ground, holding my heart in my throat as the guards work together to get Shane on his knees. He goes willingly. He listens when they tell him to put his hands behind his back.

  “Someone call the cops!” a woman shouts from the wings.

  “Get the doctor for Eric!”

  “We need to call his wife!”

  “Where’s Taj? Find Taj and tell him what’s happened!”

  The studio leaps into action around me, but I stay separated from all of it. I keep my eyes on Shane where he kneels between the security officers with his head down, his shoulders set stubbornly.

  “Where will they take him?” I ask numbly. “How can I follow him?”

  One of the guards looks Eric over before answering me. “I don’t think he needs to go to the hospital, but if he does, Valley Pres in Van Nuys is the closest.”

  “No. Not Eric. Shane. Where will the police take Shane? Is he going to be arrested?”

  “I don’t know, ma’am. That’s for the police to decide.”

  I nod in understanding but I don’t say another word. I sit down on the floor right where I’m at, as close to Shane as he feels safe letting me get, and I wait.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper to Shane. I can’t look at him, but I can apologize. It’s the least that he deserves but it’s all I can manage.

  I hear him sigh. I see his hands shift behind his back, testing the strength of the cuffs they’ve put on him. “It’s not your fault,” he answers roughly through a tangle of emotions.

  “Don’t lie to me.”

  “I’m not lying.”

  “You never would have hit him if it weren’t for me.”

  “Like hell I wouldn’t,” he laughs darkly. I can feel him look at me, but I can’t meet his eyes. “If I heard him say that shit about any woman, even one I didn’t know, I’d have done the same thing. I don’t regret it.”

  “Not yet.”

  “Sutton, stop. You—”

  “Quiet,” a guard barks at us. He shifts on his feet, his black boots squeaking sharply on the floor. “Keep quiet until the authorities get here.”

  I can feel the annoyance rolling off Shane in hot waves. They hit me like fire, burning my flesh until I feel like I’ll scream from the pain. I know it’s not directed at me, but I absorb it silently like a punishment that I wholeheartedly believe I deserve. It doesn’t matter if he agrees. He’s too good to agree, and that only makes it worse.

  The police show up within six minutes. It’s an impressive time considering they had to come through the security gates. Then again, the studio guards were probably waiting for them. The entire lot is probably buzzing with what’s going down at the DNA building. During those six minutes, Eric is taken away to his office. He needs help getting up. His head wobbles on his shoulders like a doll without enough stuffing. Brett puts his arm under Eric’s and shuffles him away from Shane, followed closely by Taj and the show’s doctor. I don’t know if he’s going to the hospital or not. The only reason I care is because it matters to Shane.

  The cops come in asking a lot of questions that only me and Shane have the answers to. I tell the basics of what happened without the details of my relationship with Eric. When they start to dig too close to that truth, Shane asks them if we can finish this at the station, away from the crowd that’s listening so closely. He’s not being arrested, the cuffs are taken off of him, but he goes willingly with the officers into the back of a police car. They ask me to come down to the station too to finish giving my statement.

  I’m gutted as I watch the car pull away with Shane wedged in the back.

  This is my fault. This is all because of me.

  This is the ugly that is knowing me.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  SHANE

  June 14th

  Eucalyptus

  Los Angeles, CA

  Eric decided to press charges because he’s a cunt. I won’t apologize. He earned the hit he got, and if he had any honor, he’d take it like a man. But, no, he’s being an asshole about it. He went to the hospital even though the DNA doctor said there was no reason to. He didn’t have a concussion. Just a hell of a black eye and some wounded pride. I didn’t hit him nearly as hard as I hit the Pat’s player. He couldn’t have handled how hard I hit that guy. In the end, the hospital agreed with the DNA medic. I heard they prescribed him a Tylenol 3 and sent him home to ice his face.

  Three hours after I hit him, I was told he was pressing charges. I was already at the police station giving my statement, so it was easy for them to book me. Sutton was there too. I didn’t see her but they told me she stayed even after they were done hearing what she had to say. They couldn’t get her to leave. She insisted she was staying until sh
e knew what was going to happen to me. Two hours later when my lawyer came down to pay my bail, she was still there. Her eyes were tired but they were dry. She was quiet but stoic as she drove me to my car in her tiny little Fiat. I still don’t know how I origamied myself into that thing but my neck was jacked for two days afterward.

  It's been four days but Sutton has been with me every single one of them. She’s basically living at my place with me like she’s afraid to leave my side. The fact that I’m being charged with Assault has her more stressed than it should. She doesn’t listen when I tell her that we’ll probably settle out of court, just like last time. Or when I explain that I was charged with Assault as a misdemeanor, not a felony. I could see a max of six months in jail or be made to pay a thousand dollar fine.

  What I don’t tell her is what my lawyer told me – it’s my second offense and I’m a wealthy athlete in a sport that encourages violence. Those two things combined could make a judge very unsympathetic. He might be inclined to give me the maximum penalty, and, given my wealth, send me to jail for the full six months. No fine. Just time. Assuming I went in sometime in the next month, I’d be gone until January. I’d miss this entire coming season. I could lose my slot for next year and the year after that. I could become useless to the Kodiaks, meaning they could back out of my contract.

  There’s a lot at stake for me right now, but I don’t tell Sutton any of that. It’ll just worry her and she already feels guilty enough for what went down.

  “There it is,” she mutters softly. “It’s starting.”

  On the TV across the bar from our table, Dance the Night Away is starting to air. Right on time. On the KBC lot just a mile and half away from here, the show goes on without us. I wonder what they’ll say about why we’re missing. I don’t really care. It’ll be a lie and people will know it’s a lie. The day after the fight at the studio, newspapers published pictures of me in the police car being driven off the lot. They know I was booked for Assault, but not against who. So far, KBC has no comment. Neither do me or Sutton. People are speculating but no one’s gotten it right yet.

  “It’s official then, isn’t it?” I ask Sutton grudgingly. “We’re really off the show. We lost.”

  Sutton nods slowly, her eyes distant. “We lost. Yep.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  She looks at me with sad, swimming eyes. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I’m the one who should be sorry, and I am.” She bites her lip to stop it from trembling. “You have no idea how sorry I am.”

  “Don’t cry, babe. Please? I can’t stand to see you cry.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.”

  “We have to stop saying ‘sorry’.”

  “I can’t,” she whimpers. “I can’t get over it. It’s all my fault.”

  “Hey,” I put my hand over hers to slow her down. “It’s not your fault. I hit him.”

  “You hit him because of me.”

  “He’s the asshole here. Neither of us should feel sorry for anything.”

  “Well, I can’t turn it off so how about we feel sorry together.”

  I smile at her warmly. “Yeah, I could do that.”

  Her face crumbles. Tears well in her eyes, threatening to spill.

  “Sutton,” I plead, shaking her hand gently. “Don’t. It’s okay.”

  “It’s not okay. I… I…”

  “Take a breath, babe.”

  “I miss the show,” she squeaks out. “I know you have such bigger things to worry about and I feel like a total bitch for thinking about myself, but I can’t help it. I’m so damn sad I’m off the show. I loved the show.”

  “I know you did. And you have every right to be sad. And, hey, who knows? Maybe what McKay wants to show us can help.”

  Sutton laughs shakily. She pulls her hand free from mine to wipe her face with a napkin. “Whatever it is, it can’t get us back on the show. That’s over.”

  “It could get you back next year. We can hope for that.”

  “I wouldn’t. He was really vague when he said he wanted to meet up with us tonight.”

  “What’d he say exactly?”

  “That he had a video we had to see. Knowing him, it’s probably an autotuned video of you punching Eric in the face. As much as I’d love to relive that moment, I don’t think I can stomach it knowing what it’s costing us now.”

  “We’ll have to wait and see,” I tell her, but I don’t have much more hope than she does.

  McKay is an odd dude. He’s a great director but he’s a little out there. He has a hard time connecting to people directly. He likes them better when he sees them through a camera lens. But what I’ve heard from everyone on the show is that he’s got a sweet spot for Sutton. She says she can’t understand why. The only nice thing she’s done for him as far as she knows was tell a contestant on the show to go fuck himself when they called McKay retarded a year ago. She said it was nothing, but I don’t know. To a guy who struggles with people like McKay does, a moment like that might feel like a lot more than nothing.

  “She’s rushing it,” Sutton comments dryly, staring at the TV. “Did you see that? Her steps are too quick. She’s off.”

  “Yeah, I see it.”

  “What a mess.”

  “Brett’s doing alright.”

  “Better than Ana. She’s probably drunk.”

  “That’s harsh.”

  “I know,” she replies unapologetically.

  Sutton is grumpy. She’s bummed she’s off the show. She’s pissed that her life got me into a scrap with Eric. She’s annoyed that I hit him and screwed up my own future, but she’s also annoyed with herself for wanting me to hit him even though it screwed up my future, so she’s just generally kind of pissed at everything. She feels a lot like the girl I first met two months ago; bitter and so damn angry you can practically see it burning under her skin. But as angry as she is, I know she’s still the girl that laid in bed with me for hours talking about everything she loves. Things like New York and a good latte in the morning just as the sun starts to rise. She loves Chinese food even though she rarely lets herself have it. She loves cats even though she’s allergic. She loves the color red and the number eight and the sound babies make when they’re surprised by something. For an angry woman, she loves a lot of things.

  Including me.

  I haven’t forgotten what she said to me in the studio just before the shit hit the fan. I don’t want to forget it. It was one of the best moments of my life. One I haven’t addressed with her since it happened because everything we’ve been dealing with since then has been ugly, and I didn’t want her to hear me say those words to her in the middle of a clusterfuck. I want to say it to her when she can enjoy it and be happy about it.

  But life is never seamless. There’s no perfect time to say or do anything. Sometimes you have to feel what you feel and say it out loud or you could miss your chance. And I don’t want to miss anything with Sutton.

  “Sutton,” I say quietly.

  She looks over at me with a scowl on her face. She’s been frowning at the show but when she sees the look in my eyes, her face lightens. It’s like she knows what I’m going to say. When I see her lip turn up at the corner in a sort of smile, I know she’s as ready to hear it as I am to say it.

  “Sutton, I—”

  “I have what you need.” McKay drops a big, black canvass backpack into the center of our table, jostling our drinks. Ruining the moment.

  “Dammnit,” I grumble.

  McKay frowns down at me. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing, man. Have a seat. How are you doing?” I ask, uninterested.

  He sits obediently. “I’m good. How are you?”

  “I’m great.”

  “We’re good, McKay,” Sutton smiles. “I’m glad to see you.”

  “Wait a minute.” I point at the TV airing the show. The live show. “If you’re here, who’s directing this episode?”

  “My assistant director,” he replies as though it’s obv
ious. And I guess it should be.

  “Why aren’t you there?”

  “Because I wanted to be here. He could use the practice anyway. He’s terrible.”

  “And you let him have the reins this deep into the season?” Sutton asks incredulously.

  “Not on the show anymore,” I remind her. “Doesn’t matter.”

  She looks at me indignantly for a second before deflating. “It doesn’t mean I don’t care about the integrity of the show.”

  “That show has no integrity,” McKay promises her. “That’s why I wanted to talk to you. I have what you need.”

  “What we need for what?”

  “To get Shane off.”

  McKay digs into his bag as I cast Sutton a look. “We’re just going to let that slide right through?”

  “Shush,” she hisses at me. “He doesn’t mean it like that and you know it.”

  “Still funny.”

  “Because it sounds like I’m saying I know how to make you orgasm?” McKay asks briskly. He smirks. “I guess it is funny. You’re right, Shane.”

  “Thanks, McKay.”

  “But, no, that’s not what I mean. I mean this.” He pulls a small laptop out of his bag. It’s covered in stickers for companies I don’t recognize – probably all of them audio/video shit or computer brands – and spins it around to face us. Before opening it, he pauses to wait for our attention. “This isn’t a video of you hitting Eric, Shane. I don’t have footage of that.”

  “That’s okay.”

  “I did, but I destroyed it.”

  “Why?” Sutton asks.

  “So it couldn’t be used in court against him,” he says matter-of-fact. “But what I do have could help you out with Eric. I hope it can. I don’t know for sure. That’s why I wanted to show it to you so you could decide what to do with it.”