by Love,Amy
The headlines had been out of control. The guy who Dante had actually gone after had never been named, and he had never pressed charges against him or the team, but that didn’t matter. It didn’t matter that Dante or the Yellow Jackets never had to pay this guy off because he had still lost his cool and attacked a fan.
Some people were on Dante’s side, saying he had reacted reasonably because the fan had thrown something at him first. It was so stupid to think about, but the guy, some dude who was upset that the Yellow Jackets were doing well that game, or who just wanted to see if he could hit a moving target, had thrown a bottle at Dante.
It had been a glass bottle according to reports so that was a shitty thing to do right there. Someone could have been hurt. Dante wasn’t hurt. It hit him, and it fell onto the ground, smashing. That was the point at which the guy should have ducked or just shut the fuck up, but he didn’t. He jeered and booed in Dante’s direction, and just like that, he was racing through the stands to get him.
It was like those riots that people have out in the streets when their favorite team didn’t win, but this time, it was in a basketball arena. There was no report on the property damages if any, but the guy who had thrown the bottle, luckily for Dante, he didn’t get hurt. They were kept separate for long enough before the security could break up the fight.
From that not so little altercation, Dante had been suspended for eighteen months and made to pay a three-million-dollar fine. There were a lot of people who thought it was way too steep of a price to pay for what he did, and I was one of them.
What he had done was inexcusable. You couldn’t do that to another person. He had been wild but three million? Eighteen months?
It must have been the outside pressure that made the Charlotte Yellow Jackets’ management decide on that figure and that amount of time. Maybe there was also some behind the scenes stuff that he was being punished for and we just didn’t know about it. I had just started at my outlet at the time and was still an intern so I wasn’t able to report on the story or even copyedit the articles. I just had to hear about it like everyone else.
There were tons of ways in which it could have gone even worse for everyone involved, but the fan whose action had in a way started the whole thing… if the guy had pressed charges, he would have had a huge payout to look forward to from Dante, the team, or both. The team could have continued as if nothing had happened and just made excuses for him, but that would have been disastrous. Pressure from the public, not to mention sponsors, would have forced them to do something about it. Dante could have gotten much worse than what he had, no matter how harsh I—or anyone else—thought the punishment he did get was.
The Yellow Jackets were losing their MVP for eighteen months. That was a long time. Though it had been unlikely, the team could have elected never to reinstate him. They had in the end though. For the league, there were apparently meetings about limiting player and fan contact even more during games. It hadn’t been an all-out brawl like the Pacers-Pistons blow up in 2004, but these things looked bad for the league, and they weren’t allowed to pretend that they weren’t happening or make excuses for their players.
Dante had left the bench earlier soon after being sent off the court. I had wanted to go back and talk to him then, but I was stopped by security until the game was officially over. At least he knew he had fucked up. He also hadn't been there to see his team eventually win, ninety-seven to eighty-two.
I had hardly noticed anything that had happened after Dante had left the court. I just wanted to go talk to him. What could he possibly have to say to defend himself? I didn’t even know what I wanted to ask him. I just wanted him to explain himself. I sort of wanted to yell at him.
Why now?
Why again?
Hadn't he done any work on himself during that whole eighteen months? That would have been a perfect time to get his anger under control, see a professional, and all that other stuff. It had only been six months since he had been back from that suspension. Was he really trying to get himself put on another one?
There were people who had just been waiting for him to fuck up again. Dante wasn’t beloved by everyone. If he got into trouble again, he might just be traded.
The minute the court had cleared, I went straight for the locker room. The person I wanted to talk to was Dante, but I couldn’t just go to him and pretend like the rest of his team, with or without him, hadn’t just played an amazing game.
None of the guys looked like they were going to talk to me. They all had their heads down like they hadn’t just won. Eventually their center looked at me and grudgingly answered a couple questions about the game. It was just the usual sort of boring answers that you heard all the time about them being proud and satisfied and happy with their teamwork and pointing out the guy who had made the last basket.
“Can I ask you about the fight?” I said to the man.
“You can ask me, but I know I don’t have to answer you,” he said. The way he had said it had sounded resigned and tired, like he just really didn’t want to talk about it. He hadn’t said it like he was mad, or he was resentful or anything like that. I wondered what they had been saying before I had come into the room. I wished so hard that I could have been a fly on the wall to hear that.
Their silence and reluctance to even really look my way was something. There was something going on, and they weren’t going to tell me. That was fine. I left the room and stood by the door. They would all need to walk by me to get out of there. He, Dante, the man of the hour, would as well—unless this was the night that he was planning on spending in the locker room. I could wait. I could wait as long as they could wait. Their workday had just ended. Mine was not going to end until I had gotten something out of Dante.
He finally looked at me. His face was drawn, like he was angry but trying to keep his cool. No more of that cocky smirk and sure of himself air. He had fucked up—and he knew it. He started towards me, and I waited. What would I ask him? How could I start? Now wasn’t a good time and here wasn’t the best place. I needed to sit down with him when we were away from the other players and the activity and the fans. I needed him to agree to talk to me alone, an exclusive.
He had made the offer for one, but he was likely being facetious when he did. I did want one, and maybe since he had offered, though saying I would have to go out with him first, he really was open to the idea. It would have been good for him, agreeing to talk candidly about what had just happened. Once is maybe forgivable, but more than once and he was going to start developing a reputation. One that might hurt, given his existing reputation, the one he was sort of allowed to just skate by with because it wasn’t hurting his performance.
“Some game out there today,” I said to him as he faced me.
“Are you just here to scold me?”
“No. You offered an exclusive, I’m here to collect.”
“Oh yeah, TMZ?” he said. “You heard my terms. I take you out and you can ask me whatever the hell you want.”
“I don’t know if that will work,” I said. “You are in trouble and you need to explain yourself. I’m offering you a platform to do just that.”
“I’m offering you a platform to all this,” he said, gesturing to his body. I smiled tightly and tried not to roll my eyes. If he was rattled, which he should have been if he knew what was good for him and his precious career, he wasn’t showing it. He was back, the Dante from before whom I had met on the court. All slick talk and confidence. I felt like it was a front, but the thought that maybe the guy was being this way because he really and truly didn’t give a fuck about his actions on the court just now was scaring me a little. I knew he wasn’t like that, but then again, who was I to make that judgement about him? Maybe he was and I was just trying not to assassinate his character in my mind.
“What do you say, hotshot? You have some explaining to do and I want to help you do it.”
He was about to say something, make some slick comment most li
kely, but he was stopped when there was some commotion from down the hall. There was a woman, walking very purposefully up to us. She was in casual clothes, so she wasn’t a reporter. She didn’t seem to be a cheerleader either, and there was no discernable reason why she should be back here. I looked at her face. She looked mad. My heart dropped when I noticed the black and blue bruising around her eye.
Chapter Four
Dante
What the hell was going on?
There was yelling, and a woman’s voice was heading our way. A lady rounded the corner heading for Quinn and I. Was she a fan? What was she doing back here? How did she get back here? Where was security? Were they just letting anyone back here who wanted to come? She was walking right for us, and she looked pissed.
Her hands were fists at her sides, and she was walking as if she was on a mission. She was short, or average height, and her face was fucked up. She had a bitch of a shiner on her eye. I wanted to ask her who she was, but she spoke first.
“Dante Rock!” she shouted.
I just looked at her, a little scared honestly.
“That’s me,” I said.
“You did this to me! What do you have to say to yourself?”
I felt like I had just been punched in the gut. I had done what? She kept pointing at her black eye, but there were more important questions to ask. First of all, who the fuck was she? I knew I did not know her. How had she gotten back here and why was she going on and on about her fucking eye. I didn’t do it.
“You might have me confused with someone else, lady,” I said to her.
“Dante Rock? I had no idea there were two of you. You did this to me.”
“That’s impossible, lady. Listen—”
“No, you listen. You did this to me. He did this to me!” she screamed.
It was one thing that she was yelling like that, but the shit she was actually saying? Nope. No way. She had the wrong one. I didn’t know whom she was talking about, how many other Dante Rocks were out there, but she was not referring to me. Not a chance in hell. I tried to get a good look at her. She had blonde hair that was dark at the roots, and she was dressed, just normal, jeans and a t-shirt. I couldn’t see any sort of markings that would have identified her to me, like a tattoo or whatever. I had no idea who she was.
“Lady, I don’t even know who you are,” I said. She had drawn the attention of a few people now. I knew some of the guys were watching, and I knew that Quinn was watching. Oh shit. Quinn was watching. She was going to see this whole clusterfuck explode. Nobody was going near the woman because she looked a little unstable. I sure as shit wasn’t going near her. She was accusing me of having hit her. I wasn’t going to get close and have her scream rape or whatever.
I looked at Quinn’s face. She was white like she had just seen a ghost. She looked at me like she didn’t know who I was. It was like a look of disgust and shock. She looked so shocked. And mad. She turned and started walking away in the direction that the woman had been taken.
I panicked.
Was she following her to get her to make a statement? Was this the story she was going to write about me? I couldn’t let her do that. It wasn’t even true. She wouldn’t do something like that, would she? Would she?
I couldn’t wait to find out. I went after her. She was just walking so she hadn’t gotten very far. I caught up with her, calling her name. She wouldn’t turn around. I grabbed her arm to stop her then dropped it. A woman had just accused me of assaulting her; it wasn’t the best idea to grab this one. She stopped and turned around to face me.
“What?” she asked simply.
“Listen, that woman, I don’t know who she is. I haven’t seen her a day in my life.”
She looked at me silently and crossed her arms.
“I can give you an interview, a story, whatever you want. I don’t know who that was and I didn’t do that to her.”
“She seemed pretty sure that you were the guy she was looking for,” she said.
“I’m not. I don’t know her. I didn’t touch her. I swear to you. You have to believe me.”
“I don’t have to do anything, Dante.”
“Please do this. I didn’t touch her, and if it gets out that she thinks I did, I’m going to be in a lot of trouble.”
“More than a lot. You might not be able to come back from something like this.”
“So listen to me. Believe me, please.” I wanted to touch her, but I thought better of it. She looked at me, quiet. Was she really just not going to say anything? I needed to get something from her. Confirmation that she had heard me, or a slap in the face, or something. Anything.
Instead, she turned on her heel and walked away.
Chapter Five
Quinn
I followed after security, escorting the woman out. She had seemed to have quieted down. She struggled in the big man’s grip and freed herself, saying she could escort herself out. I caught up with the security guard, who watched the woman walking away. First of all, I was sure that that was incorrect protocol. I was sure that they were supposed to like, hold her for a while, get her picture, or call the police. Something. I didn’t think she was allowed to be back where the lockers were, and if she wasn’t, then that was a breach of regulation. Were they really just going to let her go?
“Excuse me, sir, who was that woman?” I asked the guard.
“Beats me,” he said shrugging. I frowned. What did he mean he didn’t know? I looked in the direction she had gone. The woman had already left the arena when I went to check for her outside. I went back inside. It was no use. That had been a potential story, right there, and I had just lost it. I retreated to the parking garage where my car was parked.
Well. That had been an interesting day at the office.
Where did I even begin? The day’s events had just mounted in excitement since I had gotten here. First, I got the interview with the Yellow Jackets’ coach. A legend of a man in the sport. A man who was potentially leading the fifth team of his career to a championship if the team focused and played well the rest of the season.
Then there had been talking to Dante. If anyone asked me out loud, I would have denied it, but Dante Rock… he was… something else. He was tall, but that was standard in the sport. He was a phenomenon. He was so skilled. Shockingly talented. We, as a nation, owed a reward to the first person who had put a basketball in Dante’s hands when he was a kid. With the way he lived, it was a miracle that he could still play at all.
Then, the icing on the cake of what had been the most eventful day was the lady with the black eye. Wow. Just wow. I couldn’t even make this sort of thing up; it had actually happened. She had just appeared, and then she had started yelling at the guy like they knew each other.
The jury was still out on whether or not they did know each other. He claimed that they didn’t. She claimed that they did. It was just a terrible case of he said-she said. I wish I could have heard more of what she had said because this was absolutely scandalous. In my gut, and I knew that this was not me being impartial, I wanted to defer to her. My immediate impulse was to believe the woman because so many times, women were not believed…and that was a problem. I never wanted to be the person, the woman who shut another woman down when she tried to speak up about something as egregious as this.
Dante had had some wild headlines about him and his life, but if this one was true… Dante Rock would become the guy we talked about fondly as having been one of the greatest of all time but he had shot himself in the foot before his career really got a chance to progress to the next level.
Athletes and generally well-loved men in the public eye recovered from a lot. This wasn’t a sex scandal. It was domestic abuse, and there was evidence, a woman with a black eye. People would likely have a lot of questions and would point fingers, maybe even siding with him, but he would never be able to go about playing the way he had before. Even in the event that his public apology was successful, and he squeezed out enough tears to get p
eople to believe him, it would take a while for his reputation to build itself back up again.
All this was in the event that he was actually guilty. Maybe I was getting ahead of myself. I was getting ahead of myself. There was no actual confirmation that he had done anything. The black eye was evidence of something, but it was not evidence of the exact thing that she was pointing a finger at Dante for.
He had said that he didn’t do it, and maybe he didn’t. I didn’t disbelieve him, but I didn’t believe him either. I believed neither of them. There was a lot more that had to be uncovered on both their sides to make a decision about what was going on.
Dante had stopped me like he was really going to tell me something, but I had just left. I couldn’t look at him just then. It was an emotional response, and maybe I was wrong about it, but I needed a minute. For a second, I let myself believe that he was guilty. I allowed myself to believe the woman when she made her accusation, and in that minute, I hated him.