SNATCHED (A Sports Romance)

by Harper James

  I open my front door and gesture for Addison to come inside.

  ADDISON

  My heart catches when he opens the door.

  Despite everything that’s happened, he still looks sexy as hell.

  His hair is slightly disheveled, and the stubble peppering his strong jaw casts darkness over his face. He's holding an armful of clothes. "Hey."

  "Hey," I say. It comes out as a squeak.

  Chase leads me away from the door. "I don't know if anyone's keeping an eye on this place," he says. "But I'm done taking chances."

  I was a chance he took.

  "Doing laundry?" I ask as he pads toward the laundry room with his clothes.

  "Yeah."

  This conversation is painful. I hope he comes over to hug me when his arms are free, but after he dumps the clothes into the washer and turns it on, he just turns around and walks past me, to the stairs. Not knowing what else to do, I follow him.

  "I did it," I inform him as we ascend the stairs.

  "Did what?"

  "Stood up to my parents."

  "How?" Chase doesn't turn around when he reaches the second floor, so I'm forced to keep following him down the hall.

  "They came to my dorm. And I told them. I said I'm done with business school. And now we can do it. They weren't happy, but now we can really do it."

  "Do what?"

  "Be together." I can't stand talking to his back. "Chase, look at me."

  He glances at me, then enters his bedroom with me at his heels.

  I freeze in the doorway. There are suitcases on his bed. "You're packing?"

  "Yeah," he says. "I guess I am."

  I watch open-mouthed as he calmly marches from his dresser to the suitcases and back again. "Why?"

  "Addison." Chase's voice is sad, beaten. It reminds me of how my dad sounded when he realized I was done with business school. "Don't, okay? Just don't."

  "Don't what?" My throat catches. "I'm not doing anything."

  "Yes, you are. And it's not going to work. I think we both know what has to happen."

  "No," I say. "This is rash. You're just panicking a little, is all."

  "I'm not panicking, believe me. I might have done that at first, but what happened, happened. I have to go."

  "But... your book."

  “It’s finished." Chase closes one suitcase and zips it. "Bryce Bowker is done, and my time here is done."

  I perch on the edge of the bed, the panic rising in my throat. "Chase, can we talk about this?"

  "Isn't that what we're doing?"

  "I mean really talk."

  "Addison, no." He runs a hand through his hair, making it stand up even more. "It's over."

  "What's over?" I ask, fighting to stay calm. He isn't. He won't.

  "This." He points at his chest, then at me. "This... thing. Whatever you call what we did."

  "This whatever thing," I repeat. "Is that what we are? Some whatever?"

  "You know what I mean."

  "No, I don't." Damnit, I cannot cry again. "Chase, please, just sit down and talk to me."

  "I think the time for that has passed, don't you?"

  "When were we supposed to, then?"

  "Anytime prior to this shitshow. We could have ended it and avoided this. Could have. But didn't."

  "So you'd have been fine with ending it?" I can't wrap my head around this. "You would've been okay with... breaking this off, and still seeing me in class?"

  "I would have dealt with it." His tone is dismissive, like I was nothing more to him than a distraction, like he’s talking about losing a favorite shirt or a twenty-dollar bill.

  I stare at him, remembering the things we’d done, the way he talked to me, the conversations we’d had, the dirty things I let him do to me.

  My hands clench into fists by my side. “When did you turn into such a dick?"

  Chase flinches, and for a moment, I think he’s going to take it back, everything he just said, that he’s going to wrap me in his arms and tell me we can be together, that he loves me like I love him. But then his eyes harden. "I guess Bryce rubbed off on me. Or maybe I had it in me all along, in order to write him in the first place. I don't know."

  IIf I felt my insides were being torn up when I talked to my parents, now I feel like a small bomb has gone off in my stomach. I grip the footboard because I feel sick. "So this is it? We're over? Just like that?"

  "It wasn't just like that. This can't work, Addison. It just can't."

  "Why not?"

  "You can't honestly be asking that question."

  "What would you know about honestly anything, Chase?"

  He winces. "I made a mistake getting into a secret... thing with a student. I have to own that. But I also have to wake up and realize that it won't work. We won't work, Addison."

  "You don't know that," I sniffle.

  "I do. Even if we weren't surrounded by whatever scandal this is going to cause. Your life is here, and mine is in L.A. and New York."

  "If you can flit between those two places, why can't you just add one more? And if I want to do a different degree, it doesn't have to be at Noland. I could apply to NYU, or UCLA, and--"

  "No. Addison, no." His voice is firm, but there's a note of kindness in it, which makes it worse. Why bother being nice when he's breaking my heart? "I think we both know it, deep down. My career is now in jeopardy, or will be as soon as this gets out, which will be soon. My book is off to my agent. Because of my... indiscretions, it's better this way. It's better for you. Better that I'm out of your life."

  "You can't possibly mean that."

  "I'm no good for you, okay? You're going to have to just accept that."

  "Well, I don't."

  "You'll have to. You need to just move on."

  I didn't think I could hear anything worse than what I've already heard these past few hours. But Chase telling me to move on? It clocks me right in the chest. I actually put my hand over my heart, like that will fucking help anything.

  "You're a coward," I say. He says nothing, just keeps folding clothes and putting them into the suitcase. "I know you love me. I know it. And you're just being a giant fucking coward."

  Chase sighs. "A coward?"

  "Would you rather me call you a pussy? Because you're being that, too."

  "I didn't want to say this," Chase says. "Because I thought we both knew it. But this was never a real relationship."

  My entire body hurts.

  "It was a fling." Chase finally stops packing and looks at me. "Just a fling, for both of us."

  I catch a glimpse of yellow in the open suitcase. He's packed the scarf, the one he used to tie me to the headboard.

  I turn around and run down the hallway, down the stairs, and out his front door.

  CHASE

  Every part of me is screaming to go after her. That look on her face, when I told her it was just a fling. Jesus, that look. This was never just a fling, not from the first time we were together. She was always more.

  Every part of me wants to follow her, to tell her she’s right, that I am a coward, that I’m in love with her, so deeply in love with her that I’m scared out of my mind.

  But it’s better this way.

  I’m not good for her.

  It would never work.

  I could only cause her destruction and heartache.

  I already have.

  So even though I feel like I want to puke, I finish my laundry.

  I finish packing.

  And then I climb into the car and pull out of the driveway, leaving Noland and Addison Simmons in the rearview mirror.

  ADDISON

  Two days.

  I sleep for almost two days.

  I don’t go to the dining hall.

  I don’t shower.

  I don’t go to class.

  I sleep and lay in bed, watching reruns of the Real World and subsisting on tacos that Kensie procures for me from Green Tavern.

  “Addison.”

  O
n the morning of the third day, I open my eyes to see Kensie standing over me, holding some paper.

  I sit up, rubbing my eyes. What time is it? The clock says ten in the morning. I instinctively panic that I've already missed my first class today. Then I remember I’m not going to class anymore, ahahahahaha.

  "Add, you need to see this." Kensie hands me the paper she's holding. Now that my eyes are clear, I see it's a copy of our college newspaper, the Nighthawk News.

  "What is it?" I ask, a lump forming in my throat. I take the paper from Kensie and there it is, right there on the front page.

  CHASE BROOKS FIRED

  Renowned Author, Visiting Instructor Busted for Relationship with Student

  "Oh, no." I guess I knew the shit would hit the fan, but seeing it in print just drives the stake in further. "No, no, no."

  "I'm sorry," Kensie says. She sits down next to me and pats my back. When I got back the other day, I broke down into a crying mess and told Kensie what happened – all of it. She was super nice about the whole thing. She could have been upset with me for not telling her, but she never made me feel bad. I think she knew there was nothing she could say that would make me feel worse than I already did.

  The article includes the shot of Chase and me hugging in his driveway. Maybe it's not that bad. It's not that clear of a photo. And I'll be leaving Noland anyway, probably.

  Then I see the excerpt of very familiar text.

  "Tell me you like it..."

  "Call me Sir..."

  Oh my God. It’s my book. The one I was working on for class.

  Someone leaked it to the paper.

  "Who did this?" I cry. "Who put this in here?" What am I, nuts? Do I really not know the answer to that? Luna. "Fuck her."

  "In the ass," Kensie says, her eyes blazing. "If I see her, I'm going to break her nose."

  "What am I going to do?" I wail.

  "Hide." Kensie's tone is serious. " Are your parents still in town?"

  "Yes," I mumble into my pillow, which I'm using to literally shield my face. "They're at the Promenade."

  Saying that hurts. I wonder if they're in the same suite Chase booked for us.

  "Do you want to call them?”

  I shake my head into the pillow. No. No way. The only thing worse than facing people at school is facing my parents.

  “Okay.” Kensie hesitates. "So it's true? That... story, the one they printed?"

  "Pretty much." I extract my face from the pillow. "I mean, I changed our names, obviously. But that didn't end up mattering."

  "He said those things to you during sex?"

  "Yeah," I say, feeling numb. How much more embarrassment can possibly be heaped onto me?

  "And you... you were okay with it? That part isn't made up?"

  "Yes. He was.. the article makes it seem like it was something seedy, but it wasn’t, Kens. It was sexual, yes, but there was nothing gross about it. It was erotic and amazing, and I fell in love with him.”

  "Whoa," Kensie breathes. "I... wow. I never would have guessed."

  Who would?

  I’m waking up now, and I reach for my tablet. I know I should stay off the internet, but I can’t help it.

  I type Chase’s name into Google.

  CHASE BROOKS: REAL-LIFE CHRISTIAN GREY?

  I blink once, twice.

  "This is not happening," I whisper.

  The article shows a complete reprint of the college newspaper's, and even includes the excerpt. What news website is this? Plum News. Okay. They're not that big. They're not liked by that many people. Most people just scroll right past anything from Plum News.

  Except that fifteen minutes later, my phone trills, and it's a message from one of my friends from high school, this girl from Lucy that I barely ever talk to.

  Just saw it on E! News. Stay strong.

  E! News??!

  When Kensie’s phones chirp a few minutes later, I clamp my eyes shut. I know what the messages are.

  "Addison,” Kensie says. “Maybe don't go online for a little while, okay?"

  Too late.

  My phone buzzes, and I see that I'm now getting friend requests from complete strangers.

  I've also got a PM from some dude named Wyatt. "Hey, r u the Addison from the news?"

  Block.

  Within minutes, another message appears, this time from some girl named Reese. "Who do you think you are? Chase Brooks is a god!! Stay away from him!! WHORE!!!"

  "But you don't think Chase is a whore?" I mutter. I alter my privacy settings so that nobody can see me except for friends. Which doesn't help much, because people on my lists, on all of my accounts, are now trying to talk to me.

  "Addison!! OMG!! WTF??"

  "Addison, did this really happen??"

  "Hey Addison! Heard you fucked some shit up!"

  "Addison, someone said you were eloping with Chase Brooks!!"

  I shut my phone off, crawl into bed, lie there for hours, and think of Chase. I wonder where he is. I wonder if he's okay. More tears come, and more on top of that.

  ***

  Two days later, I venture out of my room for the first time and head to the dining hall, making sure to go at that odd hour between lunch and breakfast when I know it won’t be that busy. I keep my head down, ignoring the stares thrown my way.

  I grab a sandwich and a bag of chips, and scurry out, deciding to eat it in my room. Good job, I tell myself. Good job, you made it out.

  But when I spy the latest issue of Us Weekly in the dorm lobby trash, I feel my insides seize up. Right there on the cover is a shot of Chase, getting out of a cab. So he's back in New York?

  And on the same cover, in a smaller photo, is me. It’s some old high school photo and I look ridiculous.

  Glancing around to make sure no one can see me, and feeling like a complete sadist, I fish the magazine out of the trash.

  The article is even worse. Chase is "a brilliant writer and an equally brilliant sadist," according to Us Weekly. And me? "Business major Simmons only transferred to Noland this fall, and in the short weeks she's been there, she's seduced a bestselling author, her instructor, and exposed his dark side to the entire world."

  When I get back to my room, Kensie is at class.

  I plug in my headphones, and start to write, working on my book. It’s something I’ve been doing these past few days, when things get too much. It’s almost cathartic. I don’t feel guilty for spending time writing when I probably should be studying. Or at least, you know, going to class, hahahaha. At this point, I’m lucky I’m even getting out of bed – going to the dining hall felt like a huge victory.

  I’m deep into one of the final scenes in my book when Kensie comes bursting into the room, eyes wide, her cheeks red from the chilly day.

  "Did you know Chase's new book leaked?" she asks, dumping her books on her desk.

  I turn from my computer. "What? What do you mean?"

  "His book. It somehow ended up online." She bites her lip, her eyes scanning down the story she’s reading on her phone.

  "Which part of his book?"

  "All of it."

  My heart hurts, despite myself. Chase is going to be devastated. "When?"

  "Just today." She taps around on her cell. "It’s on TMZ.”

  "They're usually right," I say. "Unfortunately."

  "And... here's something on the Huffington Post." Kensie is quiet for a minute, reading, while I watch her, too dumbstruck to move. Suddenly she lets out a tiny gasp. "Bryce Bowker dies?"

  I gulp.

  This absolutely cannot get any worse. It just can't.

  CHASE

  "Dude." Rex's voice brings me out of my dream and into my gray Tribeca bedroom. "You might want to look outside."

  Rex has been staying with me for a couple of days while his apartment gets new flooring, and I have to say, I've been grateful. As soon as I got back New York, it was back to flashes going off in my face, and the questions hurled at me have gone from "When's your next book comin
g out?" to "What made you get involved with Addison? Did she throw herself at you?"

  But Rex's voice sounds a little concerned. Hoisting myself out of bed, I pad to the window and crack open the wooden blinds.

  There's a crowd gathered on the sidewalk outside my building. Some people are holding signs-- I squint, my eyes still hazy and unfocused.

  BRING BRYCE BACK, one says.

  BRYCE IS THE REAL HERO, says another.

  BACK FROM THE DEAD OR BUST, says another.

  Uh oh.

  Some lanky guy with a megaphone is pumping his fist and looks like he's getting a chant going.

  "It was 'Bring Bryce back,'" Rex supplies for me before I ask. "But a few minutes ago they did 'Chase Brooks sucks,' so maybe that's the one they're going for now."

  "Jesus," I mutter.

  "It's getting real." Rex stretches and gives me a sympathetic eyebrow-raising. "You going to be able to handle it?"

  "I'm fine." I snap the blinds shut and walk away from the window towards my bathroom.

  "That Addison chick showed up in the Times again this morning,” Rex reports.

  I turn on the shower and don't answer. That Addison chick. I love Rex like a brother, and I'm glad he's here for me during this farce. But sometimes I wish he'd just be silently supportive. But as he said, when I check out the New York Times after my shower, I see another picture of her.

  They were running her high school yearbook photo, but now they’ve somehow gotten a pic of her from facebook. It’s the one of her I saw that very first day, the one of her on the ski trip, although her dad has been cut out of it.

  She looks so beautiful that my heart catches. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her, about what she’s doing, how she is.

  I know I should call her.

  But I’m afraid she won’t talk to me, and that stops me.

  I start my usual morning work routine, logging into my author website and official social media pages. I'm still not sure how to address the leaked book, or if I should at all. But that thought flies right out of my head when I see the newest posts on my author pages.

  "FUCK YOU, Chase Brooks!"

  "I WILL FUCKING COME TO YOUR HOUSE AND KILL YOU"

  "I WILL SHOOT YOU IN THE HEAD IF I EVER SEE YOU"

  "Chase better pray I never run into him or he will learn how Bryce Bowker felt"