by Mariah Dietz
“Maybe we head downtown and get brunch. It’s nice out.”
Olivia brightens at my words.
A knock at the door has me looking at Olivia. “Tell me that’s not my dad,” I say.
She winces. “Want me to check? I can tell him you’re in the shower or taking a nap.”
“I’ll get it. How do you think I explain this? Something like ‘hi, Dad. I know we never had the birds and the bees talk, but thanks for helping me hide this slut badge…’”
Olivia smirks as there’s another knock on the door. “You’re such a master at words. I can tell why journalism appeals to you.”
“More with the sarcasm.”
She smiles. “Open the door.”
I straighten my shoulders and unlock the deadbolt before opening it. My breath catches in my throat as my guilt hits a new all-time high as Ian stands in front of me, one hand pushing his dark hair back. “Hey,” he says softly.
“You’re supposed to be in Arizona.” I could kick myself for lacking a filter and coherent thoughts. All I want to do is kiss him, and yet, I don’t feel like I have that right, not without telling him about yesterday.
Ian shakes his head. “I’m supposed to be here with you. I should never have left. Can I come in?”
I pull the door open wider. “Yeah. Yes. Of course. Please.” God, my thoughts feel as unstable as my emotions right now.
“Ian?” Olivia looks as shocked as me, which is even more concerning because if she doesn’t know then Arlo likely doesn’t know, either.
He smiles at her, then turns his gaze back to me. It’s penetrating and intense as he combs over my features, taking an intel of my thoughts.
“I’m going to go do some homework,” Olivia says before grabbing Juliet and heading to her room.
“I am so sorry,” my words blurt out without the explanation or preparedness I’ve been obsessing over before Olivia’s door clicks shut.
“You scared me,” he admits.
“I know. I scared myself a little, too.” I rub my fingertips along my forehead. “I have a lot to explain, and I know that, but, I don’t want you to lose your future for me. You need to get back to Arizona and play.”
Ian reaches forward and takes my hand. It feels so good to feel his touch, like the sun warming my skin and my heart. “I love football, but it’s a game.”
I shake my head. “But, it’s not. You’ve worked so hard to get this far. And football has taught you skills and lessons and has brought you friendships that are unparalleled to other experiences. I know this because that’s how I feel about yoga. It brings me a sense of serenity and peace and a connection to my mom that makes me feel sane. You can’t give that up for me. Not now, not ever.”
“It’s not about giving it up. It’s about making sure it doesn’t rule my life to the point I lose you.”
I shake my head, tears burning my eyes. “I don’t want to be a detriment to you. The website lied, but there was some truth behind the rumor. I did have those rules, and I’ve slept with other guys. And I hate that there’s a chance that my past could define your future. It makes me feel so ashamed, and embarrassed, and angry ... and that creates an entire maze of contradicting thoughts and feelings.”
Ian shakes his head and moves us over to the couch where we sit facing each other. “I don’t give one fuck about any guy before me. I care about now and the present and the future because I’m your future—you’re my future. Your decisions, your actions, your mistakes, and your triumphs—they all contributed to making you who you are, and I wouldn’t change a single fucking thing, Rose. Not one.”
Tears cascade down my cheeks. It’s so hard to feel so accepted and cared for—it’s so uncomfortable though it feels so good. “I really messed up yesterday.” I proceed to tell him about the day, once again starting from the beginning and my conversation with Amita to my day with Chantay and dancing with faceless guys, to Isla’s comment that ended my night. My chest feels tight, and my cheeks are wet as I look at Ian and wait for his reaction, noticing his jaw is strained, and his eyes are hard.
“I hate that a guy touched you. It makes me feel unhinged to hear someone tried kissing you, but it was dancing, Rose. I don’t want to date you so that you’ll change who you are. I don’t want to take your independence. I want you to feel enabled and empowered to keep doing the things you love. And I certainly don’t want other people’s opinions to change your opinions or your will. I love that you don’t give a fuck what people think.”
“That’s the thing,” I tell him, wiping at my cheeks with the back of my hand. “I do care. I care what my dad and sister think. I care about what Olivia and the team, and Chloe, and Raegan, and Alexis think. And I really care about what you think.”
Before my word settle, Ian’s kissing me, his fingers weaving into my hair as his lips trace over mine.
When he pulls away, we’re both breathless, and as much as it pains me to admit it, I’m so damn glad he’s here.
“I hate that this is happening to you. If I hadn’t asked for your help—”
I shake my head. “No. This isn’t your fault, and it’s not my fault. I’m glad I wrote those articles, and the fact that they’re going after me only proves we’ve shaken them.” I study the reluctance in his gaze, grateful that I can recognize it because these silent conversations we’ve shared have always felt so momentous. Like he understands me so completely and I him. “It brought us together,” I argue.
He expels a short breath and reaches for my hands again, wrapping them in his larger, warm ones. “That was going to happen, regardless.”
My lips curve, enjoying the idea that we would have ended up together eventually. “It sped things along.”
He brushes the back of my hand with his thumb. “I should have just been more persistent before I left this summer. I knew it scared you when I told you I was going to Italy, I saw it, and I should have given you seven days then.”
Laughter tickles my throat. “I don’t know that I would have accepted the stipulation.”
He grins, but his eyes look remorseful. “I was borderline terrified you weren’t going to, a couple of weeks ago.”
My smile grows, an attempt to reassure him. “Now you’re stuck with me.” I pull in a deep breath. My cheeks feel dry from having cried, and my head is beginning to ache again, and so is my chest as I consider what I need to do. “We should go get some food and then I can drop you off at the airport,” I tell him.
“I don’t want you to face this alone.”
I shake my head. “I’m not. Olivia is here, and now that I know I’m not going to sink your future, I care a whole lot less about these stupid rumors. If people want to assume I’m sleeping with the football team, then who cares?”
“I still hate it.”
“The site’s been taken down,” I tell him.
His eyes widen with surprise. “When? Are you sure it’s down?”
I nod. “My dad filed an injunction, and they took it down an hour ago.”
His shoulders fall. “Thank fuck. We should have done that from the beginning.”
“The rumors are probably going to continue for a while, but if someone really believes them, then it’s a reflection of them, not me, not us.”
He kisses me again, building my confidence that is slowly beginning to assemble a new footing.
“Would you be okay if I invite Olivia to go with us?”
Ian nods head. “Yeah, of course. I’m pretty sure I owe her a lot more than brunch. A kidney might make us even.”
I knock on Olivia’s door before pushing it open. She’s on her bed, Juliet on her lap as she reads a romance book I suggested to her. She lowers the book, her blue eyes filled with questions.
“Rose. He’s here,” she whispers. “This is serious. Like serious, serious.” She moves Juliet, who protests with a quiet meow before curling into a ball. “I hope you kissed the hell out of him. He just hit like the jackpot for brownie points.”
“We
ll, he feels he owes you a kidney, so you guys are equally enamored with each other.”
She grins. “Have I mentioned how glad I am that you pursued your feelings for Ian and were willing to forget about your rules? I’m so damn proud of you. I’m proud of you for being so fearless, and for writing these articles, and starting your empire. You, Rose Cartwright, are a badass.”
I wrap my arms around her and hug her tight. “I wouldn’t be without you.”
Her arms constrict around my back. “Likewise,” she says.
“Are you up for going to brunch with us before I bring Ian to the airport?”
She smiles. “You guys should go. I have you all weekend.”
I shake my head. “We want you to come—both of us. You’re a huge part of my life and you always will be. I’ve appreciated how inclusive you and Arlo have always been with me, and I want to ensure that continues now that Ian’s a part of the picture.”
Olivia nods. “Yes. Double dates. Vacations. Duplexes … I’m on board with this.”
I laugh, hooking my arm with hers, and find Ian in the living room. He looks so much less tense than when he’d arrived, his smile instant and wide.
“Raegan suggested a new breakfast place,” I tell them. “She said they have the best eggs benedict and french toast.”
Ian nods. “That works for me.” He looks at Olivia, and my heart melts. Not only does he look like a Roman God and make me feel heard and seen, and is a master in the bedroom, he cares for Olivia, respects and likes her, and in this very moment, I can feel myself dropping every last wall and reserve I have toward our relationship.
We spend breakfast laughing and sharing stories, avoiding the rumors and the past couple of days, and I’m so grateful for the reprieve of thoughts and worries as I enjoy my two favorite people. And when it comes time to say goodbye at the airport, it feels both easier and harder, wishing I could go with him and also feeling so much better than I did three hours ago when he arrived.
28
Rose
Olivia and I unload our bag of Mexican takeout. Yesterday, after dropping Ian off at the airport, we stopped downtown and walked through Pike’s Place, where not a single soul recognized me as the girl from the rumor site. We ended the day at home with more Harry Potter and pizza.
This morning, we finally went and got my car from Chantay’s, and on the way home, we got takeout to eat while we watch the game. Olivia slides my burrito over so it’s in front of me on our small coffee table. She sets sides of sour cream, guacamole, and salsa and then reaches for the remote to turn on the game.
“Isn’t it early?” I ask.
She shrugs, opening her nachos.
I check my phone again for the thousandth time. It’s becoming a fast habit with Ian being gone.
“It’s totally normal,” Olivia assures me. “I haven’t heard from Arlo all day except for the couple of texts he sent before I woke up. Game days away are all about focus and warming up and blah, blah, blah.”
I chuckle, reaching for my burrito. I still feel nervous, and I don’t know if it’s about my impending Monday or because I’m still in doubt that my dad’s injunction will keep the rumor site down, or because I’m still feeling the effects of guilt from Thursday, but there’s a heaviness on my chest that makes eating less appealing.
Olivia takes a bite of her nachos. “Oh! This is good queso. Try this.”
I take a chip but nearly drop it when I hear Ian’s voice on the TV. “What is he…? What?” I stare at the TV, seeing Ian with Paxton, their bodies and jerseys marked with black and red paint.
“Skank”
“Whore”
“Slut”
“Queer”
“Cheater”
“Liar”
“Joining me tonight are the captains of Brighton University from Seattle, Washington. This is Ian Forrest and Paxton Lawson. Guys, can you tell us about the message you’re sharing and why you have these words written all over yourselves and your jerseys?” a woman reporter asks.
Ian places his hands on his hips, and I see “Murderer” written on one forearm and “Whore” on the other. “Absolutely,” he says. “We’re here, standing up to bullying. Someone decided it would be entertaining to post pictures of our team with false and often offensive material.”
“That’s right, and they called them rumors, is that correct?” the reporter asks.
Ian nods. “They must have worked pretty hard because they’ve been pulling up stuff that is several years old, but they’re intentionally lying about the stories. And for a while, it was kind of a joke for a lot of people, but it became increasingly hurtful as they butchered the truths of our lives. Recently, my girlfriend, Rose Cartwright, who is a student and journalist at our university’s paper and the most amazing and brilliant and beautiful woman on this earth, tried to help us by writing articles that talked about who we really are off the field, and the same website viciously attacked and lied about her. Sadly, our classmates turned their backs on her rather than standing up for her, and so we’ve come out tonight to say enough is enough. We won’t stand by and allow bullying, not on our team, not at our school. Not for Rose or anyone else.”
Olivia is grinning, clearly in the know about this situation. But before I can ask her how she knew, the reporter asks them how the site has impacted the team.
Paxton leans forward. “It tested us, but ultimately I think it has brought us closer as a team. We’re brothers, and when someone messes with one of us, they’re messing with all of us, and this extends to our loved ones. Someone has wronged our friend, and we’re all upset about it. We’re done waiting for them to grow a conscience. This is showing people that words are felt, not just heard. They become a part of us, and so we’re taking a stand, and tonight, we’re going to wash off these words filled with hatred and small-mindedness, and we hope others will do the same.”
“What a great cause. I hope that site gets shut down, but more importantly, I hope those who are watching will realize their mistake by believing it.” They cut to another reporter, and I turn my attention to Olivia.
“What just happened?”
“I’m pretty sure he called you his girlfriend on national television. Grand gesture and now a declaration. Arlo better be taking notes.”
I chuckle, appreciating her attempt to inject some humor into the situation as tears cloud my vision. The other members of the team stand together, showing off the rumors we’ve all been accused of, stopping on Olivia’s dad, Coach Harris, who has “Slut” written across his hat.
The camera pans to the cheerleaders, whose arms, legs, and cheeks all have the same ugly words written across them.
I sniffle, brushing a tear as it slides down my cheek, and Olivia hugs me for what has to be the hundredth time this weekend. “We plan to dress up and wear the words on Monday to school, too.”
Tears are streaming from my eyes now, even though I’m smiling. “I can’t believe you guys.”
“We love you,” she says. “We’d do anything for you.”
When my phone rings after the game, my heart feels so full and so nervous that my hands are shaking. “Hey.”
“I’ve been gone a day, and I already miss your voice,” he says.
“I’m speechless,” I admit. “Your interview, the way you guys wore those rumors, that you got the cheerleaders and coaches to do it with you…”
“Your dad got rid of the site, I’m hoping this will get rid of all the rumors.”
“Thank you for what you said and did. I wish you were here,” I tell him.
“God, I wish I was there.”
“What time do you get home tomorrow?”
“Eleven, and my only plans are to see you.”
“I have brunch at my dad’s and will be home around two.”
“I’ll be there.”
I swallow, unspoken words sitting heavy on my heart that come out in appreciation “Thank you, again, for what you did … for what the entire team did.”
/>
“It was a start,” he says.
“It meant a lot.”
“You mean a lot.”
The butterflies in my heart flitter and then flutter.
“Goodnight, Rose.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I lean back against my headboard, feeling the first sense of peace in days.
Our brunch was moved to the middle of the month due to all the scheduling conflicts. I always dread brunch Sundays, but I’m dreading it even more today as I work at putting these rumors behind me. The site has remained down for nearly forty-eight hours, and this morning, when I chanced going onto social media, I didn’t see a single post about me. Instead, political drama filled my news feeds, giving me another ounce of hope. In addition, Ian and Arlo, and the rest of the team are currently on a flight heading back to Seattle.
“You okay?” Olivia asks from her seat beside me as I park at my dad’s.
“Just hungry.”
She looks relieved to hear this—too relieved.
We climb out of the car and head to the front door, where I knock twice before pressing the lever open. He still lives in the same house we moved into shortly after he moved to DC. Tucked away in the outskirts of the city, the house is too big for him, yet far less lavish than many of the wealthy who call Seattle home.
“Rose,” Dad says, climbing to his feet, a drink in his hand. His gaze is fleeting, making that twinge of shame to sharpen.
“Hey, Mr. Cartwright,” Olivia says. This is where Dad always corrects her and asks her to call him Bill, but today he doesn’t. “How are you?”
Dad says nothing and instead walks over to Olivia and hugs her. “Thank you.” His words are soft and gentle, and for reasons, I don’t want to consider, my eyes sting with fresh tears.
