by Rose, Callie
Dawson: Pain, Fury, and Addiction!
I recognized the photo on the cover, though it had been heavily edited. Three children with beaming smiles stood beneath a tree with their arms over each other’s shoulders. The younger girl’s face was highlighted, while Sawyer’s had been darkened. Amelia faded off to the side, unaltered. Heart pounding in my chest, I flipped the magazine open to the article.
Everybody knows Sawyer Dawson has had a rough couple of years. After an ugly and public breakup, his career nearly derailed as he slipped into a lifestyle of drugs, women, and alcohol.
But what isn’t widely known is that Dawson’s problems began much earlier than that. It’s been widely assumed that part of his meteoric rise as a hockey player was due to the two-year gap he took between high school and college to work on his game, but that isn’t the case at all. A source close to Dawson tells us that he had, in fact, been enrolled in college the same year he graduated. As is his habit, he immediately screwed it up.
Parties, alcohol, and loose women were Dawson’s constant companions during his freshman year. Is this just who he is? Our reporters dug deeper.
“It was because of his sister. She died two years ago,” our source (who prefers to remain anonymous) told us. “She had been sick since middle school. Her mom blew her off for years, assuming that she was just as dramatic as Sawyer. The whole family is full of drama queens, it’s no wonder her mother didn’t take her seriously.”
The room began to spin around my head. I wanted to throw up.
He was subsequently kicked out of school, the article went on. He spent another year or more on drug and alcohol fueled bender before being forced to return to college or be cut off from the family financially. Unwilling to work for a living, Dawson did as he was told. His sobriety didn’t last long, if it lasted at all. Our source tells a different story.
“Oh he never stopped drinking. He throws rowdy parties in his mansion to this day, you just don’t hear about them because he’s sworn them all to secrecy. He blackmails his team to cover his rear, it’s the only way he gets away with anything.”
Blackmail on the ice? Shameful.
“I think if his little sister hadn’t insisted on being the center of attention all the time, he would have been better off. But he spent his whole life catering to her every demand, so when she died, he lost whatever sense of self he had managed to scrape together. He drinks because she broke him, and since she’s gone, he’s never going to get better.”
Skeletons in Dawson’s closet continue to come to light. We contacted the family for comment, but they were unwilling to talk. It’s safe to say that Dawson’s rage issues are inherited directly from his father. Is Dawson’s checkered past and unfortunate family going to be the Gladiators’ undoing? Stay tuned as we dig deeper into his sordid past.
“Oh my God,” I breathed. I put the magazine down on the counter, feeling like the world was slipping out from under my feet.
“What, you didn’t think it would print that fast?” The cold disgust in Sawyer’s voice cut through my soul.
“What? Sawyer, you can’t think—“
“Apparently not. If this—“
“Sawyer, come here.” Amelia had left the room while I was reading, and was calling him from the living room. Sawyer snapped his mouth shut and marched into the living room, where his sister was staring at the TV.
“Breaking news in the world of sports today, the notorious Sawyer Dawson is at it again. We’ve sent Charlene Eckles to Colorado State University to get the story.”
“Thank you, Jane. I’m here today with Professor Udemi, who was Sawyer Dawson’s tutor at the time of his enrollment. Professor, could you tell me what your impressions were of Sawyer?”
“He was a good kid, anybody could see that. Sure, his grades suffered during his freshman year, but he was dealing with a lot at home. I was among those who advised him to take some time off, and I think it was the right call. When he came back to school, he was in a much better place. He’d put his life together.”
“You’re aware, I assume, that putting his life together was an act?”
Amelia switched the TV off. Sawyer’s face had gone a sickly shade of grey.
“How much did they pay you?” His voice was flat and strange.
I didn’t answer. He couldn’t possibly have been talking to me. But Amelia was staring at me, waiting for an answer. Sawyer whirled on me furiously, all that pain in his eyes flipping to fury. “How much did it cost for you to ruin my life, Addison?”
“What? Nothing! I mean—“
“You just gave it to them for free? So you’re cruel and an idiot.”
I wasn’t going to stand there and take that, no matter how much I wanted him to know that it wasn’t me who sold the information. I turned on my heel and left the room. I’d like to claim that I maintained poise and decorum as I left, but that would be a lie. I stormed up the stairs and slammed the bedroom door.
My cursor blinked mockingly at me on the laptop I had failed to close. I couldn’t possibly print that now, not with this story blowing up all over the place. It wouldn’t be long before Edwards got wind of this, and—
My thought was interrupted by my phone ringing. As I suspected, it was my editor.
“Beyers,” I answered, trying to sound calm.
“Beyers! What the hell is going on over there?”
“I wish I had an answer for you,” I said honestly. “I had nothing to do with this, and I don’t know who did.”
“Is all of it true?”
“I don’t know. He isn’t talking to me; he assumed I sold the information. I know he had a sister who died, and I know he started college a couple years late. The rest of it, as far as I know, is unfounded. I have evidence of his partying two years ago, but in college? No, that didn’t come up in any of my research. If there’s truth to it, it isn’t a truth that I’ve been made privy to thus far.”
“The hotel says you checked out almost two weeks ago. Mind explaining that?”
“I’ve been living in his house to get the full story. That happened after he continually sabotaged my attempts to interview him.”
“I see. Figure this out, Beyers. Don’t make me regret sending you.”
“I won’t.” I forced a confidence that I didn’t feel into my tone. “I’ll get the real scoop.”
“You’d better. I just got off the phone with Alistair. He’s livid.”
“I can imagine.”
“He blames the magazine.”
“It’s unfounded. I didn’t even know half of that stuff, and if I did I would’ve kept the information to myself until I finished this article, and longer if I thought it was irrelevant. I certainly wouldn’t have sold it to tabloids. You know how I feel about those.”
“That’s what I told him. He’s not convinced. Whatever piece you’re putting together better be the best thing you’ve ever written, Beyers.”
“It will be.” Somehow.
She hung up the phone and I folded onto the bed. I still had a story to write, but it could wait. For that moment, I needed to allow myself to be crushed under the weight of it all, to succumb to it long enough for my being to reset. Hugging a pillow to my chest, I pulled the blanket up over my head and shut out the world.
23
Sawyer
Amelia had stopped trying to jump to Addison’s defense after Addison had stormed out of the room. Now she was just standing there, staring at me with a strange look on her face.
“What?”
“Dad is going to flip. Mom… oh God, I better call her.”
Half-remembered guilt swirled with the frustration and fury in my chest. I needed to get out of here, away from Amelia’s worry, away from Addison’s entire existence. I wanted to storm up there and kick her to the curb. I was so furious with her I couldn’t see straight, but it went deeper than that.
I was hurt. Betrayed.
She had harvested the most sensitive, personal information she could get h
er hands on and sold it for profit.
She was just like everybody else. More interested in dollars and cents than people and true connections. I didn’t know why I even tried anymore. I left the house without a word to Amelia and drove too fast through the neighborhood and down the highway, making a beeline for the rough part of town.
I moved like a zombie, retracing steps I had spent so much time trying to forget. Betrayed, again. Reliving my sister’s death, again. This time the whole country was reliving it with me.
The sacred memory of Elyse was tarnished now by the eyes and opinions of millions of people. My family would never speak to me again, and why should they? It was my hotheaded bet that had brought the poisonous woman into my house in the first place, given her full access to every painful memory. She had used them to her advantage. I could blame her for that, but why bother? I knew what she was when I invited her in. It was my fault. She was the scorpion on my back, and I was the idiot toad who decided to give her a ride.
I hadn’t partied in college. I’d taken time off to be with Elyse. It had killed me to be away from her, and she’d been going through a particularly bad time that fall. So, yeah, my grades had been shit. But not because I was fucking partying.
Because I was already grieving.
Elyse had been the one who’d talked me into going back, in that sweet, infuriating way she had of always being right. She’d let me blow off my responsibilities for two years—two years I wouldn’t trade for anything—before she sat me down and told me she was the one who was dying, not me. She’d made me promise not to let myself get dragged down by my sadness and helplessness.
And for a few years, I hadn’t.
I had finished college, and found time to train my ass off in between my studies. And I’d gotten recruited by the Gladiators—one of the best days of my life.
But I hadn’t been able to keep my promise to Elyse when her time finally came. The doctors said she was strong, that she’d been a fighter, and that her strength had given us more time with her than they ever could’ve hoped for. But I still hadn’t been fucking ready. How can you possibly be ready for something like that?
The grief had hit me like a tidal wave and pulled me straight out to sea. My girlfriend, the one I’d been planning to ask to marry me, had stepped back almost immediately. I don’t know how I missed it for so many years, but she loved the idea of me, not me. Not the real me, the one who was fucked up and grieving and needed her help and support.
She wanted me to go back to focusing on her all the time, wanted me to be cheerful and act the part of a star hockey player.
But I hadn’t given a shit about any of that in the weeks following Elyse’s death.
And without those things, my girlfriend hadn’t given a shit about me.
Fuck.
I slid onto a barstool, leaning my elbows on the bar. Charlie, the bartender, recognized me but didn’t call me by name. This was a place of anonymity. I recognized a politician, a businessman, and a news anchor. We politely ignored one another. Nobody was anybody here, and that was the whole point.
“Usual?” Charlie asked.
“If you remember it,” I said.
He winked at me and made the drink. Two kinds of whiskey and a shot of soda. It tasted like a root-beer float and looked like death. Memories rushed back as I chugged it down, brought to life by the taste on my tongue. Women, fights, nights spent with my head in the crapper. It numbed my fury and depression. Her cutting betrayal had left me feeling lost. Now, in this smoky bar with a drink in my hand, I knew where I was once more.
24
Addison
“Where did he go?”
“Why do you care?” Amelia’s cold look made me shiver.
“Because I do.”
“Because it’s your job? Do it yourself. I’m not going to help you ruin his life again.”
“You can’t possibly think I did this?” I was more exasperated than anything. “I thought we had a rapport!”
“Oh, we did. That was smooth, by the way. Bonding with his sister to get your grubby paws all over his childhood stories. I don’t know how you stumbled upon his unfinished year at the university, but I doubt he gave that to you freely. You’re a vulture. A harpy.” Her expression didn’t change at all as she spoke. I rubbed my arms, feeling suddenly cold.
She shook her head. “If he comes home before I do, try to restrain your glee. You’ve wounded him, and you’re going to see the fallout.”
Before I could reply, the doorbell rang. I went to the door, but she beat me to it. Chase was on the other side. When he met my eyes, a cloud of fury crossed his face. Amelia turned to me.
“We’re going to discuss how to mitigate the damage. Try not to break anything else.”
I watched them through the window as they left. Amelia’s façade fell away when they reached Chase’s car, and she buried her head in his chest and sobbed. I shook my head.
She’s expecting him to lose it again, I thought. How many times has it happened? Twice, at least. First his sister, then the girlfriend. It’s only logical that he would go there again.
Holding out hope that he had really changed and wouldn’t do what Amelia clearly feared, I paced the mansion floor by floor as I waited anxiously for Sawyer to return.
When he finally arrived, the cab driver practically threw him through the front door.
“This yours?” He asked bitterly. “He puked in my car.”
“Oh gosh, I’m so sorry. How much is it?”
“$50 for the fare. $60 for the cleaning.” The driver crossed his arms and glared at me, expecting me to argue with him. I wasn’t going to. I’d take it out of the expense account. I gave him the cash plus some, and he left without another word. Sawyer lay on the floor in the foyer, stinking of cheap perfume and alcoholic vomit.
“Get up,” I snapped.
“You get up,” he slurred.
I shook my head at him. “You really can’t help it, can you? The least little thing puts you right back here. You’re a damn drunk, everything else is a sham.”
“You’re a sam… shame… you’re that.”
“Get up.”
“Don’t tell me what t’do.”
“Get the hell up! You have a game in five hours, damn it!”
He waved at me clumsily. “I’ll be fine, I’ve done it a hunnerd times.”
“I bet you have. Fine. Sleep here.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Ugh!”
Furious and verging on tears, I stormed upstairs. Let him freeze on the tile. Let him wake up stiff and sore, what did I care? I wasn’t the one who leaked the story, and the more I was painted as the villain the less I cared about clearing my name. Sawyer was a powder keg, and he’d just blown. I had my story. “Sawyer Dawson, unstable genius, drunken strategist.” It was exactly the kind of expose Edwards was looking for, and I had everything I needed to write it.
“Too late,” I muttered as I opened the internet on my laptop to see his face plastered all over everything. “That headline’s been used. Well… maybe mine’s kinder that what’s being posted, but still. The story broke. There’s nothing for me to add to this.”
I couldn’t go home and tell Edwards that I had nothing. I needed a new angle. It didn’t help that I was still reeling from the infatuation and subsequent heartache. I wasn’t thinking clearly and I knew it. I wasn’t behaving like myself. I was better than this.
“At least I can do something about that,” I decided.
I went to Sawyer’s room and took his blanket and pillow off of his bed, then rifled through his medicine cabinet for aspirin. His phone charger caught my eye on my way out of the room, and I grabbed that too.
When I made it back to the foyer, he had curled up and passed out on a pile of shoes. Anger battled with a maternal feeling in my chest. This time, I let my maternal side take the lead. Pulling him to his feet, I staggered under his semi-conscious weight as we teetered toward the couch. He flopped down a
cross the cushions, and I tucked the pillow under his head and the blanket around him. I placed the aspirin on the coffee table then went to the kitchen for a glass of water.
“Maybe it was a one-time thing,” I muttered to myself. “Everybody has relapses sometimes. There’s no reason to blow the lid off of this. I bet he’ll be sorry tomorrow and ready to get right back on that horse. He’ll make it through this. He has to.”
I kissed his forehead as I set the water down beside the aspirin. Afterwards, I plugged his phone in, hoping he had already set his alarm for the following morning. I set mine just in case. One way or another, Sawyer was going to be on the ice the next day.
He was, but it almost would have been better if he wasn’t. He played terribly. Amelia was there, but she didn’t speak to me. She seemed to be seething. The only time I saw her smile was when Chase made a goal, and that only happened once. The wonder-twins were broken, and it was clearly Sawyer’s fault.
I tried to talk to him time and again throughout the week, but he kept finding reasons to avoid me. He wasn’t even trying to hide his drinking from me. One morning I walked down to breakfast only to find him pouring whiskey in his coffee.
“Seriously?” I asked.
“What, are you going to mother me now? Back off, paparazzi. This is what you wanted, isn’t it?”
“Of course it isn’t.” My heart was breaking at the sight of his three-day scruff, bloodshot eyes, and the deep purple smudges under them. “I just want you to be okay.”
“No, you just want your damn story. Well congratulations, you got it. My kid sister’s memory is a juicy tidbit. Should make your career blow up.”
“You’re being completely unreasonable,” I said, trying to sound calm but firm. “My career will—“
“So you admit it! I knew it, it is about your career! And here I was stupid enough to think you actually liked me.”
“I did,” I said coldly. “Turns out my first instincts were right.”
“The hell does that mean?”
“It means you’re just like every other immature, unreliable, self-absorbed jock I’ve ever dated.”