First to Fall

by Lane, Stacy

  • • •

  As I drove Chelsea across town to Jo’s house she pulled up the photo Jo was being tagged in. Well, technically there were two photos. They were framed side by side, one dating back two years earlier, and the other from a couple weeks ago after the game. Both were Noah.

  Chelsea was confused why Jo would have been with Noah two years ago. The timing also coinciding with the allegations. We didn’t bother reading the captions. The words written beneath these types of dramas were almost always gossip.

  I, however, was confused and furious. Their connection was the brother, but why couldn’t she explain the truth when I asked that night at the bar?

  I couldn’t stop the theories or scenarios of Noah laying one finger on Jo from popping in my head on the drive over. By the time we made it to her house, it felt like someone else had taken over my body. This was nothing like the kind of adrenaline I experienced in a game when facing a mouthy opponent.

  She answered the door just the same as the night before. The heavy wood swinging with a gust of wind to blow the wisps of hair falling out of her ponytail and into her face.

  “Brooks,” Jo whispers, shock and relief joined together. Her eyes move past me to Chelsea. “Taytum called you didn’t she?”

  “She’s worried you’re freaking out.”

  “I am. Sorta.” Jo steps aside to invite us in. Today she’s wearing Wonder Woman tube socks, dark blue Under Armour workout shorts, and a matching blue and red tank top. She catches me ravishing what little bit of clothing she has on. “It felt fitting. After reading the tenth mean thing said about me, I needed a little Wonder Woman power.”

  “Taytum said we would probably catch you doing yoga and if so then you are not okay.”

  Jo rolls her eyes. “Tay likes to exaggerate. Yoga helps me when I’m stressed. Having to delete the app from my phone just to keep from reading any more crap about me makes me stressed.”

  “So you’re not okay,” I conclude.

  “People are really mean,” she states with little emotion. “But what makes it worse is that none of it is accurate.”

  “That’s not you with Noah two years ago?” I ask, my voice coming out stronger than I intended.

  Jo’s back straightens with defense. “I told you I never met him before that night a couple weeks ago.”

  “How do you explain the old pic? Photoshop?” My accusatory demeanor was out of place, and with the jut of her chin, she lets me know it.

  “A twin. Mason.”

  Werner’s a twin?

  “Mason,” Chelsea tests the name with a hint of mystery.

  “Mason, previously known as Kason,” Jo spits the name out with disdain.

  Chelsea gasps, hands flying up to her face. “Kason is Noah’s twin. And you thought Noah was him sitting there at the bar. Oh, Jo, I’m so sorry.”

  Kason.

  Where have I heard that name?

  Kason.

  She sleep-talks. Jo mumbled his name the night I carried her upstairs in Chelsea’s house.

  “And Kason is Mason?” Chelsea asks in slow realization.

  “Yep.” Jo walks off, Chelsea following behind her.

  I stand there more confused than before I walked in.

  “People are tagging me believing it’s Noah from two years ago,” Jo goes on to explain. We file behind her as she walks toward the kitchen. “That photo could have only been pulled from my page. Kason didn’t have one. These faceless people are twisting the truth.”

  “Werner has a twin named Mason, who you dated,” I clarify. When she nods, I go on to clear the confusion out of my head. “And Mason is dead, but you knew him as Kason.”

  “Yes. Pie?” Jo pulls apple pie out of the fridge, setting it on the island.

  “Jo, you can’t let what the cyberbullies say get to you,” Chelsea implores, standing close beside her.

  I remained near the entrance of the kitchen, leaning against the frame, arms crossed and keeping a careful eye on Jo. She held her head high, shoulders stiff, and it appeared to be all pretense.

  “I’m trying. But it’s a lot to take.” She avoids eye contact by moving about the kitchen, cutting slices of pie, and pulling down plates. “They think Noah and I were together two years ago which is when he did some bad shit. Does no one know he had a brother? It’s like it’s not even an option that I could have been with the other twin.”

  “Gossips only want the juiciest story. The truth doesn’t matter to them,” I say.

  “They’re lies,” she stresses, slamming the cutting knife down on the counter. “I’m not one of the girls from two years ago that accused him of sexual harassment. I’m not one of the girls he supposedly paid off and is now back for more money.”

  “Jo,” Chelsea says with concern.

  “I woke up this morning, turned on my phone while laying in bed to scroll through my feed like I do every day. Want to know the first word I saw this morning? Whore.” She scoffs, shaking her head. “These people don’t even know me.”

  No one reaches for the pie. Chelsea glances over at me, unsure what to say.

  We never get a chance. Jo mumbles an incoherent apology before walking out of the kitchen.

  Noah is not the culprit, but I feel a fiery need to take my aggression out on him. He’s no innocent either. Where is he during all this? Jo’s taking the brunt of this debacle.

  Jo turned down the hall toward the back of the house. I step to go after her, but Chelsea grabs my arm.

  “Just give her a minute.”

  “A minute in Jo’s head with this shit will do more damage than good.”

  Leaving Chelsea in the kitchen, I track Jo’s steps and find her in the last room on the right. There’s a treadmill, a TV, small weights, and a neon green mat rolled out in the center. Jo stands in the far corner of the room, peering out the only window facing the backyard.

  “Hey.”

  Jo’s face turns at the sound of my voice, giving me her side profile. “How do you do it?”

  Her small voice pinches my heart.

  “Do what?”

  “The spotlight. All the unwanted opinions of you.”

  “It’s hard at first. I’m thankful social media wasn’t around when I drafted. I grew thick skin by the time people started talking shit.”

  “Why did you come?” she whispers, turning toward the window once again.

  My rubber sandals scrape across the hardwood floors as I approach. “I wanted to check on you.”

  “I wish you hadn’t, Brooks. I hate when everyone else sees my weaknesses, but letting you see them feels worse.”

  “It shouldn’t. I’m your friend, remember. It’s all about the support system right?”

  Jo finally faces me. Her big green eyes glisten with unshed tears. The pinching I felt moments ago turns into an awful twist as I catch the hurt seeping out of her stare.

  Her lips contort as she bites down on a wave of emotion. “You are going to be my support system?”

  “I’ll be the damn leader,” I grin.

  “I wish I had your confidence,” she mumbles, brushing a hand up and down her other arm.

  Closing the space between us, I cup her face in my hand and lift her eyes to meet mine. “Stick with me and the Labelle ways will start to catch on.”

  Jo’s arm sneaks around my waist, pressing her front to mine. I drop my chin to the top of her head, sweeping my hand around the back of head beneath her ponytail.

  “The terrible part about all of this is I can’t ever have closure with Mason.” Her forehead falls to the base of my neck. “I never got closure after he died because I didn’t get to see him buried. Then I learn about all these secrets he kept and I can’t ask him why he did it.”

  “How’d he die?”

  “A car accident. Although, it’s crossed my mind if another girlfriend, whom maybe called him Jason, found out about his secret life and ran him off the road.”

  I try suppressing my laughter.

  “Please,
don’t hold back your humor on my account,” she says. “I need something to feel normal right about now.”

  Holding her, my fingers glide through the silky strands of her from the top where it’s tied to the ends running down her back. Pressed against me, without the sensations of desire fogging my brain, I can take in the actual petit size of Jo this way. She’s an average height, but she’s all legs. Long, thick legs. Her shoulders are slim, her chest small. Wrapped up with her feels momentous. What brings us here is unfortunate, but this revelation alters everything for me.

  “Have you called Noah?” I ask in a rough tone.

  “No,” she replies sharply. “This will blow over. I’ll just have to stay away from social media for a while.”

  “Jo, you are getting hit with all the criticism while he probably sits comfortably in his city apartment.”

  “I don’t want to speak to him, Brooks. He sounds exactly like Mason-Kason.” She lets loose a defeated sigh.

  “Is that what we’re calling him now?”

  “Mason-Kason,” Jo repeats. “Yep. Trying to decide which name to say is exhausting so I’m giving him a new one. He did it. I can too.”

  Smiling, I place a kiss at the crown of her head. “I’m gonna call my publicist. Have her get in contact with Noah’s. He needs to clear this up.”

  “Brooks,” she starts.

  “No, Jo. He needs to set everyone straight. A lot of the gossips won’t care, but sadly, hearing from him will cool things down a lot quicker than you trying to defend yourself.”

  “Okay,” she concedes, tilting her face back. “Thank you, Brooks.”

  I stare long into her eyes, brushing my thumb over her bottom lip. “Anytime, Angel.”

  SIXTEEN

  Jo

  Noah released his statement.

  He left out a crucial part. The part that mattered the most to me.

  It’s Tuesday night. Brooks and his team landed back in Florida earlier today after two away games in the Midwest. Their next game wasn’t scheduled until Thursday. Having tomorrow off, a few of them were hanging out at Triplets.

  Chelsea shot me a text message first asking me to join her. She was stuck down there with all the bachelors of the team, and her husband. I felt bad declining her offer after she opened up by saying how she wished Vic wanted to spend their free night alone in their own home for once instead of partying with the guys.

  But with everything going on I really didn’t want to be in a public place like the bar. It felt like the scene of the crime. It’s where I discovered Noah, and the place someone invaded our privacy by snapping a photo without our knowledge.

  That’s basically stalking. I don’t understand how these celebrities live day in and day out like that. Maybe losing pieces of your privacy is something you get used to, but it should never become acceptable.

  I’ve stayed away from anything involving social media. Taytum came home Saturday and I spent the entire weekend at her and Nick’s place. She’s my best friend and loyal to the point that I could go dig up Mason-Kason’s grave just to spit on him and she’d be standing there holding the shovel, but all I wanted for the weekend was company and distraction. Taytum couldn’t keep away from her phone, cursing everyone who dared to speak foul of me in the slightest, and fought strongly on the side of good as a keyboard warrior. She had my back, no doubt about it. But healthy distraction was not accomplished.

  Monday morning I threw myself in work. Sat down to watch the hockey game that night with the three-quarters of apple pie that remained. Betty made the best apple pie I have ever tasted. I already thought about bribing her for another one. Willingly hanging out with Brooks should achieve that.

  So when he texted me not too long after turning down Chelsea, I accepted their invite for the promise of a new pie.

  Not because I wanted to see him again. Certainly not because the last time we were in the same room together he held me like a rare possession only he was meant to handle. A gem, grown and found in nature. I don’t know what it’s like to belong to someone, never put much thought into it since people should never be considered as something you own, but there in his arms Friday afternoon I felt as rare as Painite as one could get.

  Brooks is a friend. Both wonderful and terrible in his own way, but an unlikely friend I didn’t expect to have. Now that I do, I didn’t want things like attraction screwing it up. Attraction will eventually fade. It’s the chemistry I had to make sure that never blossoms into something as inconvenient as love. He’s made it clear, love is not in the cards.

  I walked through the front doors of Triplets despite Brooks telling me to park in the back. For some inane reason, I expected the chatter to cease, for the jaws to hit the floor, to have every head turn in my direction. The woman being accused as a gold digger had the nerve to show her face and I wanted to meet those shocked looks dead on and without any fear.

  But no one cared. I stepped inside the noisy bar and the only person to pay me any mind was the woman entering right behind me who slammed into me as I came to a stop and blocked the doorway.

  She called me a name—rightfully placed in this scenario since I was the bimbo to freeze at the entrance—and nothing made me happier. Finally, someone disliked me for a legit reason again.

  Heading toward the back where the team always sits, I find their section open and crowded with regular patrons. My stomach drops when I wonder if I took too long getting ready and everyone left for the night.

  I felt the need to protect myself in cosmetic armor and spent a lot of time styling my hair and applying makeup. The Converses and ripped jeans remained as usual, but I wore a long sleeve V-neck without a camisole beneath.

  I had cleavage tonight. A real rebel I was.

  Almost defeated and ready to retreat, I heard my name being called from the other side of the bar.

  “Jo-Jo!” Cam flagged me down, pointing to a group hanging at the opposite end near the small karaoke stage.

  Turning left, I made my way over.

  Chelsea sat in a stool, Vic standing close and draping his mammoth arms around her. I recognized three more guys from the team, one including Marc. Brooks, I did not see.

  “Jo, you came!” Chelsea exclaimed.

  “Yeah, changed my mind.”

  For pie, of course.

  “Please, please, please say you’ll do karaoke with me,” she begged, hands squeezed together at the center of her chest.

  “Uhh. I just got here. Try asking again in thirty minutes and we’ll see.”

  “That’s code for liquid courage,” one of the guy’s chuckle.

  Can’t remember his name at the moment but he’s the one I told his future GM he needed to step up or be cut.

  “Let’s remedy that,” Marc purrs in my ear, closing in on my right. “What can I buy you to drink, Jo?”

  “Um,” I swallow, still green when it comes to talking to so many hot guys at once. “I’ll take a—”

  A strong arm swoops around my middle from behind. The warm palm slides over my ribs and across my abdomen, pulling me back until I hit a wall of heated steel. The only reaction my body has is to curl into the owner’s touch. I don’t jump or worry, because I know who that arm belongs to.

  “Careful how you answer that,” Brooks brushes into my ear. “He might think you’re interested.”

  “Is she not free to be interested, Brooksy,” Marc grins, egging for a specific response.

  “Jo can do whatever she wants,” he replies, dropping his arm. “Just not you.”

  I feel both the urge to snatch his arm back around me and stomp on his toes.

  “I’ll take that drink,” I say to Marc, stepping away from Brooks and taking the stool Claude relinquishes for me. Before I can give my drink order though, Cam sets a cold beer in front of me.

  “On the house.” Cam shoots a quick glance behind me at his brother, then turns his lips up in a smug look at Marc.

  “Thanks,” I mutter. Damn Labelles. “So why no VIP treatmen
t tonight?” I ask anyone willing to answer.

  We’re a group of seven taking up the corner of the bar. Chelsea and I are sitting adjacent to one another, Marc on the stool to my right, while the rest of them stand. I turn my body to face Chelsea, but it’s easy to distinguish a set of long legs boxing me in from behind. We’ve all naturally turned in toward each other, but Marc’s proximity feels intentional.

  “That’s only on game nights,” Vic answers. “We have to fend for ourselves all the other times.”

  Glancing around the filled room, I noticed no one paying them any mind. Not much to fend off.

  “We have a decent group of fans,” Marc adds. “They keep to themselves mostly. We’re all here for the same reason. Drink some beers and hang out with friends.”

  Brooks, who I have been aware of standing nearly on top of me since I took the seat beside Marc, moves away only to slide in the spot beside Chelsea and Vic. His watchful eyes are glued to the little space between Marc’s open thighs and my hips.

  If I were a teasing kind of woman I would play the part to mess with his head just to get what I want. But I’m smarter than that. I don’t need to use another man to get the one I want to make his move. Brooks either makes it verbally or physically clear, or he can’t have me at all.

  Chelsea and I start our own conversation, leaving the guys to talk amongst themselves. I apologized for being absent these last few days. We’ve started our own routine of hanging out on the nights of their away games. It gets me out of the house, and it gives Chelsea something to do other than go stir crazy in her big house all alone.

  “I’m flying home for a few weeks in December,” she tells me.

  “That’s great,” I smile, happy she’ll be with her family for Christmas. She mentioned it a week ago, but still had to run it by Vic. Sounded like the vacation is what she needs since he can’t do anything about his hockey schedule around the major holidays.

  “Are you going to see your parents for Christmas?”

  “That’s the plan.”

  “Do they know about Noah?” she asks quietly.