by Penny Reid
“I don’t care about the endorsement opportunities.”
“That’s fine. You don’t have to. However, it’s my job to care about them, so get your ass in there.”
I shower while she scours my closet for appropriate attire. Twenty minutes later, I’m dressed and ready to head to the news studio.
She inspects me as she would a side of beef.
“Don’t look at my beard. It’s playoffs.” I stroke it affectionately.
“You look like a homeless man in expensive clothes. It should work in our favor.” Janette ushers me out the door. She hands me a folder once we’re in the car, heading to the studio. “These are the questions they’re going to ask. You will not be evasive.”
I leaf through the sheet of questions. “These are pretty personal.”
“That’s the point, Alex. You’ve spent the last seven years acting like a womanizing asshole in the eyes of the media for no good reason I can see. You want Violet back in your life?”
“Yes. Definitely.”
“More than you want the endorsements?”
“Of course.”
“Then you need to show her you’re not a total dick. To do that, you have to be honest for once.”
I nod and review the questions. I’ve barely finished reading them when she grabs the sheet from my hand, balls it up, and tosses it on the floor by her feet.
“What are you doing? I haven’t memorized them yet.”
“I don’t want you to memorize them, and I don’t want stock answers. You need to speak from the heart. How do you feel about Violet?”
“I love her.”
“Then make sure she knows it by the time you’ve finished this interview. Oh, and there will be a print version coming out next week with the interview as well. We want to cover all the bases.” She pats my cheek. I hope I don’t fuck this up, too.
We avoid the reporters lining the street outside the studio. Never in my life has the media paid so much attention to me as they have in the weeks since messing up with Violet. No one cares about the playoffs or how close we are to the Stanley Cup. All the media wants to hear about is why I broke Violet’s heart on national TV, because clearly we were in a relationship.
Janette accompanies me to the green room. She shoos away the makeup people. “You look like hell, I want to keep it that way.”
I assume she knows what she’s doing, so I don’t argue.
“How do you feel?” Janette adjusts the collar of my shirt and tries to smooth my hair.
“Like I’m going to puke.”
She puts her hands on my shoulders. “You can do this, Alex. Just be honest. You’re an absolute doll. Show the drama-loving public you’re not a jerk.”
“Okay.” She pats me on the back and sends me out into the jaws of the interview shark, Angelica Chase.
The questions start out easy enough. They’re pretty standard and revolve around the playoffs and the potential to compete for the Stanley Cup. I give the humble answers I’m used to providing.
Eventually Angelica, moves on to questions surrounding my fight with Butterson and the rumors that he’s dating my sister. They’re meant to provoke, as Sunny and Butterson have made no attempt to hide their relationship. I know she’s going to bring up Violet next; it’s always the perfect segue.
“Over the past several months you’ve been seen with your teammate, Buck Butterson’s stepsister. Recently you intimated you were just friends. Your comment seemed to incite animosity between you and Buck. Would you care to discuss some of the rumors floating around about you?”
I look to Janette, standing in the wings. She nods, and I take a deep breath, ready to spill it.
“Violet and I have never been just friends.”
“Mmm.” She nods her agreement. “Media coverage certainly suggests there’s more going on between you than friendship. So you lied in your previous interview?”
I wipe my damp palms on my thighs. This is it. I need to come clean if I have a hope in hell of winning Violet back. “I did. It was a terrible mistake. It cost me my relationship with Violet.”
“And why would you lie about your relationship?”
“Because I’m an asshole.” Janette gives me her death stare from the wings. I’m not doing well so far. “Sorry. I mean a jerk.”
“It’s fine, we can cut that out.” Angelica relaxes in her chair. “Would you care to elaborate?”
“I’m not used to being forthcoming in interviews, not where my personal life is concerned.”
“You’ve certainly never seemed to mind the media attention before.”
I nod. This honesty thing isn’t as simple as I thought it would be. “I’ve always assumed publicity, no matter what form it comes in, is positive, even if it makes me look like a player and a jerk. Recently, I allowed some endorsement opportunities to cloud my judgement.”
“I’m not sure I understand.” Angelica slow blinks. “You’re saying you lied in order to secure an endorsement?”
I reach for the glass on the table and take a long drink, working to formulate a response that isn’t going to dig me into a deeper hole.
“We all have goals. There were questions about whether or not I’d be able to handle the demands of NHL hockey when I was drafted. I had to prove myself as a valuable player. I didn’t get this far without working for it, so when the endorsement I’ve been striving for became a possibility, I listened to some bad advice without considering how it would affect the people I care about.”
“Are you referring to Beautiful People’s Bachelor of the Year shortlist? Word has it you’re expected to be in the top ten. Are there others?”
“I can’t talk about them. They’re hardly worth it if it means I lose the person I love, though, are they?” I look at Janette in the wings, concerned I’ve said the wrong thing. She smiles encouragingly, so I focus my attention on Angelica.
“So you’re saying you love her? Violet Hall? Buck Butterson’s sister?”
“Yeah. I’m in love with Violet.”
She leans forward, lowering her voice, “Does she know that?”
“She does now.”
Angelica grins and settles back in her chair. “I assume your relationship with Violet has created tension between you and your teammates.”
“We’re all trying to stay focused on the playoffs and the game, but yeah, it’s been difficult. I’m not proud of how I managed the situation, and this may be my only chance to tell Violet how I feel.”
Angelica folds her hands under her chin. “Why do you say that?”
“Because she won’t talk to me.”
“I see. This puts you in quite the quandary, doesn’t it?”
“It does.”
“What’s so special about Violet that she’s made you want to change?”
I frown, unsure what she means. “Change?”
“Come on, Alex. You’re a notorious ladies’ man.”
“I’m not really.”
“There’s quite a significant amount of photographic evidence to the contrary.”
I need to be careful how I word this. “I think people see what they want to see. Just because I’m standing beside a woman in a photograph doesn’t mean I’ve had a relationship with her.”
“Are you saying your reputation—”
“—Is based on conjecture. I won’t say I’m not at fault for perpetuating it, but it’s not an accurate representation of who I am, and it’s not how I want to be seen. Not when it jeopardizes my relationships.”
“You’re referring to Violet, specifically?”
“I miss her. She’s my Q on a triple word score.”
“I’m sorry; I don’t understand the last part.”
“It’s a Scrabble thing. Never mind. I just want her back in my life.”
“What are you going to do to make that happen?”
“Whatever it takes.”
Chapter 24
I HATE ALEX WATERS (I’M ALSO IN LOVE WITH THE JERK)
Violet
I allow myself some time to mope post epic televised humiliation. I even take a few days off work and lie around in ratty sweats and a stained hoodie, eating copious quantities of junk food. I refuse to wallow in self-pity for long, though. I made the choice to be with Alex even with Buck’s warning and all the red flags waving right in front of my face. Between bouts of uncontrollable sobbing and some mild self-loathing, I scour the classified ads for an apartment. I need to make some life changes, and I’m starting by getting my own place.
Sidney secures a realtor who finds the perfect building only two blocks from my work. It’s a tiny little one bedroom, barely more than five hundred square feet. The rent won’t kill me, and it’s in a decent neighborhood. There’s a Thai restaurant and a candy shop two doors down, so I’m set. It’s also available immediately, which is a plus.
As unhappy as my mother is about me moving out of the pool house, she helps me pack my things. Three weeks after I was publically dumped, Buck and Sidney load up the U-Haul while Charlene, my mom, and I head over to clean my new apartment. It’s exactly the kind of distraction I need. As much as my heart hurts, the best thing I can do is move forward. I’ve changed my cell number, blocked Alex’s email address, and stayed far away from social media.
Alex has come by on more than one occasion—not just at my house but at work, as well. So far everyone has been good at keeping him away from me, and I’m grateful. I don’t want to see him because I don’t think I’m strong enough not to cry all over him yet.
“What do you want to do with this box?” Charlene asks.
It’s labeled with a biohazard sticker.
“You can put it in my bedroom closet. I’ll figure out what I want to do with it later.”
She and my mom exchange a look.
“What’s in here?” Charlene rifles through the contents.
“All the stuff from Alex. I’m not ready to get rid of it, okay?”
My mom puts her arms around me and gives me a hug. “It’s okay, Vi. When you’re ready, we can get drunk and burn it all.”
I laugh and sniffle. Heartbreak is aptly named. The thought of burning the Waters beaver makes my stomach clench. I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready for that.
My mom does a little jump, like a yippy terrier and claps her hands. “I picked up a few new things for you!” She opens a box filled with brand new glassware. It’s another diversion, and I gladly take it. Thinking about Alex makes me emotional.
It turns out she went on a shopping spree with Sidney’s credit card, so I have a whole bunch of new things I didn’t anticipate. Including a flat screen television and an awesome leather couch. Once my living room and bedroom are set up, and most of the boxes are unpacked, we crack open some beers and order pizza.
Charlene stays long after everyone else goes home. We watch bad sitcoms on my hi-def TV until her eyes get droopy and she calls it a night. As soon as she leaves, the tears I’ve been holding onto all day begin to fall. I want the ache in my chest to stop, but I know it’ll take time. I torture myself by watching hockey highlights until my eyes are puffy and I’m too tired to keep them open. In bed, I toss and turn, unable to sleep.
I stare through the darkness at the closet. Several minutes later, I get out of bed and open the door. I flick on the interior light and kneel on the cold parquet floor to open the box. The Waters beaver is on top. I bring him back to bed with me. I want to hate Alex, but my heart hasn’t quite caught up with my head.
Apartment living takes some time getting used to. It sucks when I forget something and have to wait for the elevator to go back up and get it. The walk to work is nice, though, and having my own place affords me some much-needed independence.
A few days after I move in, Buck stops by to play video games. It’s his way of making sure I’m okay. He also brings treats.
“I wasn’t sure what you’d want, so I brought options.” He hands me a tray with a milkshake and a chocolate sundae topped with peanuts.
“That’s a hard choice. I’m gonna have to go with the sundae.”
Buck follows me into the living room, which is about six feet away from the door, and we lounge on my couch. I dive into my sundae while Buck sets up the Xbox.
“How’s it hangin’ these days?”
“Limp and to the left.” I don’t even crack a smile.
“That bad, eh?” He’s adopted some Canadianisms from talking to Sunny.
“It’s fine. I’m fine.”
“You keep saying that, but I don’t know if I believe you, Vi.”
“This one’s gonna take a while for me to get over, that’s all.”
“Look, Violet, I know you feel shitty, but Waters is a huge dildo. You can do way better.” His phone rings. He holds up a finger and answers it. “Hey, babe . . . I’m with Violet . . . no, no way.” He shakes his head vehemently. “I’m not telling her that. He’s a dick—sorry. I know he’s your brother—” He chews on a hangnail while he listens for a few seconds. “I don’t—okay, Sunny. I miss you, too . . .”
There’s another minute of back and forth, followed by an air smooch. “Bye, Sunny Sunshine.”
I make gagging sounds as he hangs up. I shouldn’t ask, but I can’t help myself. “What did Sunny say?”
“Nothing important. Let’s play something violent.” He hands me a controller and picks up his own.
I don’t argue or push for more information. It’s better if he doesn’t tell me.
“I know it hasn’t been long, but maybe you need to go on a date or something. Get out there and have some fun.” He’s trying to be helpful; it’s nice but not realistic.
“This is fun.” I gesture to the screen where Buck is running over a pedestrian.
“You know what I mean. Sometimes you need to get back in the ring and fight.”
I raise my eyebrow; a boxing metaphor for relationships is actually quite fitting.
“I know you’ve had some bad luck recently, but there’s this guy, he plays for New York, they’re looking at trading him—”
“Buck, I don’t want to date another hockey player.” I set down my controller so I can shovel more of the sundae into my mouth, uncaring of the suffering that will follow this frozen dairy heaven.
“Not all of us are dogs, Violet. Randall’s a great guy.”
“His name is Randall. How awesome can he be?”
Buck mows down a group of people playing road hockey. “He goes by Randy.”
“Even better. His name is another word for horny. Sounds perfect for me.” I’m not sure if I should laugh or cry.
It’s not Randall’s fault his parents named him in relation to horniness. I can’t even entertain the idea of dating anyone else right now. Besides, I could never get serious with a hockey player again, or a dude named Randy. I’d make thrusting motions every time I said his name. It’d be awkward.
“Wait a minute. Didn’t Alex get suspended for kicking the shit out of some guy named Randy?” I’m almost positive this is the case.
“That was Randolph Cockburn. This is Randy Balls.”
“Are you serious?” What’s with these guys with terrible last names?
“Yeah, why?” Buck, my perverted stepbrother, doesn’t connect the outlandishly pornographic last name with the first name.
“Randy Balls?” I burst out laughing. “You want to set me up with a guy named Randy Balls? Can you even imagine what would happen if we got married? My last name would be Balls. Violet Balls!”
“Huh.” He makes a scrunchy face. “That wouldn’t be so good, would it? ’Specially if you hyphenated. Hall-Balls.”
I continue to laugh until I start crying, which turns into hysterical, desperate sobs. I don’t want to end up as Violet Balls. I wanted to be Violet Waters—it sounds so romantic—and Alex ruined it all.
My life sucks Randy’s balls.
Buck has no idea what to do. He offers to go out and get more ice cream, but my stomach is already cramping thanks to my dairy intoleran
ce.
“I’m sorry, Violet. I didn’t realize how serious you guys were.”
“It’s not your fault.” I swipe my tears away, but there are new ones to take their place.
“I introduced you to him. I should’ve stopped you from meeting up with him.”
“How were you supposed to know I was going to hook up with Alex? Besides, you tried to warn me. I’m too much of an idiot to take your advice, that’s all.” I believed he was a hockey whore in the beginning, and I still slept with him.
He flexes his biceps. “I can punch him in the balls if you want.”
“That’s kind of you to offer, but if I ever see him again, I want to do it myself.”
Buck pats my shoulder and gives me an awkward hug where my face ends up in his armpit. I hold my breath until it’s over.
“I’ll totally let you beat me.” He motions to the TV.
I indulge Buck in a few rounds, but he has to work pretty hard to lose. After an hour of Xbox, it becomes pretty obvious I’m not invested in the game, and my stomach starts to gurgle.
Buck puts a beefy hand on my shoulder. “You okay?”
“The sundae isn’t sitting well.”
“Shit. You’re gonna have the moops, aren’t you?”
I grimace as another stomach cramp rolls through. “Yeah.”
“I should probably head out and leave you to it.”
I follow Buck to the door and watch while he shoves his feet into his massive shoes. We exchange a quick hug, and I open the door. We’re immediately assaulted by the stench of body odor. Melvin must have been in the hallway recently.
Buck frowns. “What the hell is that smell?”
“That’s my next door neighbor Melvin.”
“That’s from a person? It smells like a rotting sweaty corpse was dragged through the hallway.”
“I know. Rank, isn’t it? That’s nothing compared to his taste in music.” As if on cue, the death metal starts up.
“Is this guy for real?”
“The music doesn’t last too long.” Only two or three hours. I don’t tell Buck that Melvin also stops by almost every night to see if I want to hang out.
