by Mia Luxe
“Paparazzi scum happened,” says Caden with venom. He hands the tabloid article to Jason.
Jason scans through it, his face darkening. His fist clenches, the article crumpling, and I know he wants to wrap his hand around the neck of whoever took the pictures.
So do I.
“We have to call her and warn her.”
I nod. “I already did.”
Caden’s eyes narrow. “What the fuck are you talking about? You called her? You made that decision on your own? Sierra doesn’t belong to you, Ford.”
Jason holds up his hands. “It was the right decision.”
I meet Caden’s eyes. “She deserved to know. I had to tell her as soon as possible.”
Caden stands, and I pull myself to my full height. He squares up in front of me. “You don’t get to make decisions that impact all of us – not on your own.”
I look him square in the eyes. “What are you going to do about it?”
His fist lashes out with lightning speed. I’m ready for it. I sidestep, the air hissing by as his knuckles graze my ear. He’s off-balance from the haymaker and I use the split-second to wrap my arms around him, throwing Caden hard to the floor.
I back up, giving myself space as he picks himself up, fury in his eyes. My adrenaline pounds as I predict Caden’s next move.
He throws an uppercut.
I predicted wrong.
His fist hits my jaw with a sickening crunch, and I see stars as I back up against the counter. I get my arm up for a jab when Jason bull rushes us, bringing us both to the ground.
We’re pinned by his bulk.
“You two going to play nice?”
I spit out blood and smile. The tension is gone.
Caden nods, and Jason stands, helping us both to our feet. He looks at us, nodding. “We can’t be split-up right now. We need to work together. I know Sierra. There’s nothing she hates more than publicity. She’s going to hate us right now. If we want to have a chance, we can’t have any drama. We need to be united.”
I breathe in deeply, my body still humming from the fight. It might be childish, but I’ve got no animosity towards Caden, and he’s got none towards me. Caden nods, wincing and stretching his neck. “So, what do we do?”
I point to the stools. Jason and Caden sit down. It’s like the fight between Caden and I never happened.
That’s the way to do it. Fight like men. Move forward like men. No simmering resentment.
I lean against the other side of the bar, looking at my best friends. “We sit tight. I spoke with Marissa Tang when she brought over the article. She says as long as it’s Caden dating Sierra, this isn’t bad for us. He might not be that much younger than us, but Marissa says he feels younger. Apparently, feeling is what counts in this business. We just have to get Sierra on board with this. We can’t let the tabloids know the truth.”
Caden grins. “I’m good with that. I’ll wine and dine her while you two sit at home and jerk off.”
Jason’s eye twitches. “The truth? The truth is: none of us is dating Sierra anymore. There’s no way in hell she’ll want anything to do with us. This is her worst fucking nightmare. It’s the one thing she wanted to avoid. We did this to her.”
Caden’s grin disappears.
I tap my fingers against the marble countertop. “I don’t like it either, but we need to give Sierra some time. Boys – there’s more than just Sierra at stake. We’re all getting on a fucking plane tomorrow to play the double-header. I don’t need to remind you that unless we win both games, the Ravens aren’t making playoffs. We have to make playoffs if we want a big sponsorship. We need to fucking focus.”
Jason shakes his head. He’s a big man, but I see a hint of nervousness. “Sponsorship. Goddammit, all I’ve been thinking about is saving the orphanage from those predators from Martingale Development. They’ve got Mayor Thunderman in their pocket. If we want a chance, we have to make it to playoffs. But we’re screwed – Sierra’s the only reason we’ve been playing well. How the hell are we going to do it without her? We’re going to be back to being the same bruisers as before – the same nobodies.”
I shake my head and walk around the bar to where my two best friends are sitting. I put my hands on their shoulders.
“No. Sierra will be watching us on the TV, even if she won’t be there in person. We’re going to win – I know it. Jason, Caden – tell me right now: Tell me you feel the fire in your belly. Tell me you know we’re going to win, too.”
They’re silent for a second. Then Caden nods, slowly. “You’re right. I still feel it. We can do this.”
Jason growls. “You’d better be right.”
I clap them on the back. “So, it’s settled: We give Sierra some time. We get to playoffs, we get a fucking sponsorship, we save the orphanage from Martingale Development and their lapdog Mayor Thunderman – and then we think of a way to get Sierra back. Come on, boys. We can do this.”
Jason and Caden stand, and I take a step back. They nod, extending their fists.
We tap our fists together, the same way we have for over twenty years.
When I look into their eyes, I see certainty.
We will make playoffs.
We will get her back.
3
Sierra
The moment I step into my old home, the flood of nostalgia hits me. My house is protected by huge hedges in the front, and no one can see inside.
I’m instantly safe.
My mom smiles at me. “Welcome back, dear. You can stay as long as you like. If you need anything… I don’t know how it’s going for you in the city, but if you need money, or…”
I shake my head. “I want to make it on my own. Like Dad.”
“Your father would be so proud of you, Sierra,” says Mom, with a wistful look in her eyes.
My dad died when I was four, when a hit-and-run driver stole him from my life. I don’t remember enough about him – I just remember his love, and the way he made me giggle when he said “Oh, Cheese” instead of cursing.
I’ve been away less than a year, but I had no idea how much I’d miss home until I stepped back into it. I walk up to my old bedroom and open the door, putting down my suitcase. It’s untouched. A time capsule back to my old self.
“Would you like some tea, dear?” Yells my mom from the kitchen.
“Yes, please!” I shout back.
I sigh, letting myself be immersed in nostalgia. I make my way to the kitchen. Without my father, my mom and I were very close growing up. When I first moved to New York, the first couple months we talked at least a couple of times a week… Then it became a couple of times a month, and finally, we just sort of lost touch. My mom would text and send emails, and I’d respond later and later… Or, eventually, not at all.
I step into the kitchen and it’s like I’m transported to a year ago, before I went to New York – before I ever thought about Jason, Caden or Ford.
My mom pours me a cup of tea, and motions for me to sit down. I take it gratefully. There’s a little plate with a sliced lemon at my place. Mom knows exactly what I like.
“The suspense is killing me, dear. Is this something to do with that interview you did? I know it didn’t go well, but I’m so proud of you for facing your fears.”
I groan. I’d almost forgotten about the humiliating Sports Sunday Segment. After the latest scandal, it feels like it was months ago.
I shake my head. “I didn’t face my fears. I was forced into it. Those three… athletes made me do the interview with them, and my boss threatened to fire me if I refused. Oh, I don’t want to think about The Herald. I’m supposed to go in today, but I didn’t. I’m not going to make my shift at the Time Out tomorrow, either. I’m going to lose both my jobs. I’ll never make it. I’m not strong like dad was.”
The words spill out. My mom is the person I trust the most in the world, even more than Rebecca. Other kids had to hide things from their parents growing up. I never had to.
But I
can’t tell her everything, can I?
My mom reaches over and rubs my hand. “Dear, you are strong. Stronger than you’ve ever imagined. Now, what was with the paparazzi waiting to ambush you outside the building?”
I groan. “Those three athletes I was telling you about? The ones who made me do the interview? Well, you might have seen that they’re on fire right now.”
My mom giggles. “They’re quite handsome, aren’t they? Yes, I’ve heard.”
I wince, closing my eyes tight. Here goes nothing: “They’re getting famous. The paparazzi saw me… Well…” I gulped. “There are pictures of me leaving the building that Ford and Caden live in. In the middle of the night. Now there’s going to be an article published in some garbage tabloid speculating on which one of them I’m dating. I can’t handle it!”
There’s a gleam in my mom’s eye. “Oh! I do hope it’s Ford. He has such marvelous eyes. Though Caden is such a treat to look at.”
My jaw drops. I was expecting sympathy, not for my own mother to join the masses of people speculating about my love life!
“Mom! Wait? You don’t think he’s too old for me?”
“Oh, pshhsaw. Your father was more than ten years older than me when we met, you know.”
I furrow my brows. I knew that, but it never really clicked. “You met at university, right?”
I only know my dad through stories and the few memories I have of him. He’s a warm, reassuring figure in my mind, but I can’t remember anything else except the feeling of love and comfort when I was with him.
“You never really told me much about you and dad when you were younger. You met at… University, right?”
She laughs, and takes another sip of tea. I squeeze the lemon into mine and sip. The familiar taste dances on my tongue.
“Yes, we did. But first, tell me more. Are you dating Ford?”
I can’t keep secrets from my mom. She’s the one person I can tell and hope to God won’t judge me.
I take in a deep breathe, and steel myself.
“Mom, I’m dating all three of them. Or at least, I was.”
She shocks me by laughing. “Oh, my goodness! I had no idea! Do they all know?”
I nod. “They know. They’re… I don’t understand it, but they don’t care that they have to share me. It was hard enough to work out my feelings for three men before all this tabloid stuff happened. Now it’s impossible! I can’t see them again – ever!”
My mom shakes her head. “You’re worried what the press will think of you?”
I nod. A huge weight has lifted off my shoulders. Being able to tell someone else about my romance with three men makes me feel a little less weird. My mom’s always been a free spirit, but I’m still shocked at how easily she took the news. I search her eyes for any hint of judgement – and I find none.
“You know, dear, I never told you the full story of how I met your father.”
I think back to the hazy details I know, glad to switch the subject. “You were in the same class, right?”
“Technically. He was my professor.”
I spit out tea in shock. “What! How come you never told me!”
She shrugs. “I was going to tell you. Soon, I promise. I’m only telling you now because… Well, your father risked everything for love. He was a young professor – just 30 years old. I met him when I was 18. That’s a bigger age gap than you and Ford. Trust me dear, I’d never judge you.”
I’m spellbound. I always thought my father had been a copywriter his whole life.
“He lost his job when a jealous ex found out about us. He was crucified by his peers. There was even a story about him in the newspaper. He even took my last name when we married, to sever all ties with the scandal. Can you imagine? He lost everything, but he didn’t give up. He was always a gifted writer, and we started freelancing together. I won’t lie and say it wasn’t tough. I won’t lie and say it wasn’t scary to face people judging me, and people judging him. But we made it through. And you know what your dad said?”
I’m dumbfounded by the information dump – wondering what other secrets I might discover. I can only shake my head.
“He said he’d do it all over again. Sierra, you can’t let yourself be constrained by what society accepts or believes is right. Screw the press. Screw the tabloids. If you care about these three men, you can’t let anything get between you and them.”
I put down my tea cup, exhausted. “Mom, this is so much to process. I only got three hours of sleep last night and…”
“As you saw, I kept your room just how you left it. Go have a nap. I’ll be here if you need me. You know – if you ever want to know your father more, you can visit his study. I’ve barely set foot in it since he passed. He worked so hard because he wanted to build a future for you.”
A memory flashes in my head. My father’s study. A closed door that I never crossed.
I shudder. Do I want to know more? I had this idea of my father in my head… What if something changes that image?
I pull myself up and walk to my old room. The walls are the same cheery pink. My bed has the same blanket that I’ve used since I was ten years old.
I pull my clothes off and curl into bed, trying to calm my racing mind.
When I finally get control of my thoughts, I wish I could sleep forever and not have to face my life again.
4
Caden
I step on the chartered plane, groaning at the thought of the tiny seats. No airplane was made for a 6’6 behemoth. At least I get two to myself. I could never fly commercial – not packed in like sardines.
I make my way to the back of the airplane, keeping my thoughts light – not wanting to let myself feel the mounting pressure of the upcoming game. I plan on taking a power nap and recharge while we fly.
Dickson, one of our forwards, stands up and blocks the aisle. There’s a magazine in his hand, and my anger surges. It’s the tabloid.
“Caden, my man! Are you the one hitting that sexy journalist?”
It takes half the team to pull me off him.
“What the fuck are you doing, Caden? Save that for the game! Sit at the back of the goddamn plane!”
Coach Hendricks yells at me, and I say nothing – wordlessly letting Jason and Ford pull me to the back of the aircraft. I wriggle my fingers, feeling the old dull pain I get when I have to hit someone.
“Cool down,” says Jason, pushing me into my seat.
I crack my knuckles. “Bastard was talking about Sierra,” I say, in a hushed voice.
Ford narrows his eyes. “And now the whole team thinks you’re fucking her. Just cool down. Focus on the game tonight. We need this win.”
I nod, pushing the anger back to a slow burn. None of us is feeling talkative as we land and check into the hotel. I grab a mini bottle of vodka from the minifridge, pacing the room.
What is Sierra doing right now? Will she take me back? What if whatever magic she was working to help me win wears off, now that she hates me?
Doubt. I hate doubt, and it’s festering in my mind. I throw the unopened mini-bottle against the wall, the plastic bouncing and falling pitifully to the ground.
My watch beeps. 6:00 PM. Time to go to the stadium and warm up for the game.
I put on headphones as I walk down to the team bus with my gear. I don’t play music. I just don’t want to talk. I’m on autopilot on the drive to the stadium, zoning in and out during warmups as my thoughts center on Sierra.
Coach Hendricks puts us on first when the game starts.
It isn’t just a win I’m after. I want to crush someone.
I stare at the player in front of me. He meets my eyes, unflinching, but I see the flicker of doubt. He knows he’s playing against the O Line. I chomp down on my mouthguard, energy boiling up in me.
The referee holds the puck in the air, and the roar of the stadium fills me. He drops the puck, and time slows for a moment as the black disk hangs in the balance.
Ford wins the fa
ceoff clean, and I weave around my man and take the pass – hard and crisp on my stick. I wind up for the shot, seeing the puck moving before it happens –knowing I’m going to bury it into the back of the net.
The magic is still alive. My skin prickles, my hair standing up on the back of my neck as I envision the shot going in, picturing the inch where the puck is going to slip past the goalie and explode against the net.
I take the shot, but the puck isn’t there.
In my anger, I’d lost track of the defensive player who snagged the puck from my stick the instant before I could get it off. I turn, rage filling me, and he skates up the boards. My skates dig in as I propel myself towards him, ready to flatten him into the boards.
He pauses and keeps his head up, ready to pass.
I should skate past him and chase the man who’s going to receive his pass. I need to switch to a defensive roll on this play.
But he’s open for a hard hit.
I make the split-second decision.
He gets the pass off clean as I crash into him, knocking him against the boards with a satisfying crunch. I instantly feel better, the anger at losing Sierra leaving my body.
The goal horn sounds and I turn to look. The player I should have followed just scored. The home team yells and cheers as the stadium erupts into a cascade of noise and celebration.
Ford skates to me slowly. “What the fuck was that? You lost your mark just to get a hit?”
I glare, the anger pulsing back up in me as I take my spot on the bench.
We end the period down a goal, and we march into the locker room to regroup and listen to Coach Hendricks’ intermission pump-up talk. I trail the team, and Ford grabs my arm before I can go into the locker room.
Jason and Ford look me down, and we wait in the hallway, the dull roar of the stadium filtering towards us.
“Caden, I know you’re pissed. I’m pissed too. You don’t know how fucking angry I am right now. But you have to decide right now who you’re going to be.” Ford’s green eyes seem to light up in the dark hallway, flickering with energy.