Grand Slam

by Heidi McLaughlin

  “Travis, now that you’re in the company of your lawyer and—”

  “My public relations team,” I say, interrupting him.

  “Right,” he says, sighing. I’m sure he doesn’t like dealing with athletes, but I have to protect every side of my life here, and the last thing I need is a scandal. Saylor can, and will, prevent that. “Tell me about last night.”

  Instantly, I look at Saylor, who peers down at the table, avoiding eye contact with me. I shake my head and start. “I met Blue while I was in the bar. We shot a few games of pool. I let her think she was hustling me, so she won a few games. We kissed a few times, but I ran into a friend, and when she left, I did as well.”

  “And Ms. Ward?”

  I shrug. “I left her standing on the side of the road. I was more interested in my friend.”

  “And who is this friend?”

  Once again I seek out Saylor. She shakes her head slightly, confusing me. “Um…”

  “Do you know her name?” Hook asks as he slides the yellow legal pad over to me with a pen resting on top.

  I can feel everyone’s eyes on me, and I’m afraid to look back at Saylor out of fear that I’ll give her away before we have a chance to talk about last night. “I need to talk to her first. I, uh…I can’t do this to her without some warning.”

  “Do what, exactly?” Hook asks.

  I wave my hand dismissively. “The attention that is sure to come with being tied to something like this.”

  “Travis, it’ll help if you give them her name. We can protect her. Besides, she’s not the one facing this accusation. You are, and let’s face it, your reputation isn’t going to help you here,” Irvin says.

  I process his words, knowing he’s right. Another glance at Saylor, though, and I can see torment written all over her face. Something isn’t right with her, and I want to know what it is.

  “Was a rape kit done?” Irvin asks, steering the question away from me.

  “Yes; we’re waiting for the results.”

  “Great. Let us know when it comes in. Until then, we’re done talking.” Irvin and Saylor stand and motion for me to do as well. I follow them out and right into a media shit storm. The second the doors are opened, microphones are thrust into my face. The DA looks smug and pretentious as he glares at me.

  Questions are thrown at me right and left, most of which I can’t even comprehend. Every time I hear the word rape, I die a little on the inside. I don’t have to force myself onto anyone, and I definitely know what no means.

  Two police officers appear out of nowhere and try to put some distance between the crowd and us. Irvin holds his hand up, and microphones are pointed in his direction.

  “We know you have questions, and while it seems that the state’s attorney feels like he has an open-and-shut case, I assure you no charges have been filed. My client was here to answer questions and came in willingly. He was not, and has not been, arrested.”

  Irvin motions for us to leave. One of the officers leads us down the stairs while the other follows behind us. A black town car is waiting at the bottom of the steps for us to climb into. Once the door shuts, we speed off. While Saylor and Irvin talk about what happens next, my life, my career, and everything that I know flash before my eyes, and I don’t like what I’m seeing.

  Four

  Saylor

  While I’m busy with the sports media angle for Travis, I assume Abbott is doing the same, only on the legal side. Abbott and I have one common interest, and that is Travis. I’ll work to keep his endorsement deals intact and make sure he’s still given the same opportunities he would’ve been given days prior to the news breaking. Abbott should be working to prove that Travis is innocent, which I do believe he is.

  Travis Kidd is a lot of things. He’s a womanizer, a player, the quintessential bad boy, but never in a million years would I peg him for a rapist or a man who doesn’t take no for an answer. In the years that I have known him, seen him in action so to speak, I’ve never witnessed him be forceful with anyone.

  We pull up to the law office, and the media melee continues. Cameras are flashing before we even step out of the car. Abbott leads, with me following behind Travis. I remind him to keep his head down and mouth shut. The last thing I want is a sound bite of him spouting off with one of his one-liners. On a normal day, I welcome the media taking his comments and making memes and YouTube videos. Fans have a habit of keeping Travis, and my other clients, in their newsfeed, and today will definitely be one of those days. He will be a trending topic, and it won’t be in a good way.

  Abbott ushers Travis and me into a conference room, leaving us in here alone. I busy myself by making a cup of coffee. “Do you want a cup?” I ask with my back facing him.

  “No.”

  I jump slightly at his tone, spilling some coffee not only on my hand but the cart as well. His demeanor shouldn’t shock me. All it takes is one accusation to destroy a life. I can’t let that happen. My next call will be to Ryan Stone, the general manager of the Boston Renegades. It’s important that the organization stand behind their star left fielder.

  “We need to talk, Saylor,” he says, letting out a long sigh.

  “I know.” I turn and find him sitting at the end of the table with his head down and his hoodie pulled over his brown hair. “I don’t want you to worry about the BoRes. I’ll speak to Stone today. I promised Paul Boyd from ESPN that he would have your first interview. Once the rape kit comes back and you’re cleared, we’ll schedule that interview to take place in your home. We want the viewers to have sympathy for what you’ve gone through by the time this is all over.”

  “I don’t care about any stupid interviews,” he says. His voice is strained and laced with anger.

  “Travis, I know things look grim right now, but—”

  He lifts his head, and from across the room, I can feel his blue eyes, eyes that have seen every part of me, boring into mine and making me feel about two feet tall. My hand shakes as I set down my cup of coffee, afraid that I’m going to spill the hot liquid again if I don’t.

  “You know I didn’t leave with that woman last night, Saylor.”

  “Travis, I—” He stands, effectively cutting my words off. I cover my face, shaking my head in the process. I know what I saw when I got out of that taxi, and I know that I could give him a witness, but it may not be enough. What if he doubled back?

  “Listen to me, Saylor. I didn’t rape that woman. I kissed her and may have touched her ass. But once I went outside with you, I never gave her a second thought. I got in that cab with you, and I know you watched me drive away, because I was watching you until I couldn’t see anymore.”

  “What if you came back for her?”

  Travis walks over to me. He’s within arm’s reach, causing me to step back. The more space between us, the better off I am. I made a mistake with him once. I will never do it again.

  “If I did, why would I leave my car sitting at the bar?”

  “Because you had been drinking.”

  He shakes his head. “Not enough to impair my driving abilities.”

  I used to think the same thing until I wrapped my car around a telephone pole and had to be cut out of it. I was lucky. I escaped with no major injuries, my life still intact, and a huge blemish on my driving record. Not to mention probation and the loss of my license and car, but at least I was still alive.

  “Saylor, I need you to tell them that you were in that cab with me. Tell them the truth. Tell them what you saw and how she acted when I tried to leave with you.”

  Tears begin to form, blurring my vision. “I can’t, Travis.”

  “Why not?” he asks, his arms flailing about in frustration.

  “Because I’ll lose everything.”

  He stares me down, making me feel like I’m the worst person in the world. Here he is, on the cusp of a crisis, feeling as if I’m the answer when I’m not. When I can’t be. I have too much at stake, and while I know he does as well, he has
lawyers at his disposal that can help him. I only have me.

  Before Travis can say anything else, Irvin and his team come in. Each associate is poised and ready for action as they gather around the conference table, taking their respective seats. A plate of bagels, assorted cream cheeses, and bowls of fresh fruit are set in the middle, making my mouth water. My stomach growls, catching Travis’s attention, and I watch while he reaches for some fruit. When he hands me the bowl, he does so with a smile. I know he’s genuine, but at the end of the day, he’s Travis Kidd, and that’s not enough for me to jeopardize everything I’ve worked for.

  “All right,” Irvin says as he sits down, effectively breaking the trance that Travis has me under. “Travis, we need to go over your story.”

  He sits down and sighs. I’m tempted to fix him a bagel or get him a cup of coffee but I take my seat instead. The bowl of fruit mocks me, though. Travis did something nice for me, and I could easily return the favor. Except when I stand to do so, a young woman, who I would guess is an intern, is handing him everything he needs. She leans into him, brushing her breasts along his arm, and when he looks at what she’s offering, a little piece of me dies on the inside. Not because I like him, but because he’ll never learn. The man is facing a rape charge and he’s gawking at this young woman’s breasts.

  “Tell me about last night,” Irvin says, breaking Travis’s concentration on the intern.

  “I was bored and decided to hit the bar. I thought I’d play some darts, shoot a little pool, and wait for the hockey game to be let out.”

  “And Rachel Ward?”

  Travis picks at his bagel, taking small bites. “She approached me, asked me if I wanted to play a few games with her. I bought a few rounds and let her hustle me for a game or two before I showed her I actually knew how to play pool.”

  “Did you kiss her? Take her to the bathroom for sex? What about touching?”

  Travis frowns and holds his head in his hands before looking back at Irvin. “Lots of touching, but nothing close to having sex. She’d brush up against me or bend over to give me a view of her cleavage. I touched her butt. We kissed, once or twice. I don’t really remember.”

  “You need to remember, Travis.”

  “I know,” he says. “My mind last night—it was elsewhere. On someone else.” He looks up and straight into my eyes. I deviate and take a sudden interest in what everyone else is doing. As I look around the table, everyone has their pens moving fluidly along their legal pads. A few scribble faster than others, flipping pages, drawing arrows, and adding sticky notes to the sides.

  “On who? Is this the person you left with?” Irvin asks. He leans forward, knowing that this could break their case. I find myself doing the same, wondering if he’s going to out me. Knowing that if he does, I could face jail time and lose my job.

  “I need to speak with her before I can give anyone her name.”

  Irvin throws down his pen in frustration. “Travis, I need her name. I can subpoena her to testify.”

  Travis pushes his bagel away from him and folds his hands. “It’s complicated. I’ll talk to her. Besides, I didn’t do this. Shouldn’t the rape kit be enough to prove that?”

  “Some rape kits come back inconclusive,” an associate says. “We want a strong case moving forward, which is why we’re getting all of this down now. It’s fresh in your mind. When the DA submits their fact finding, we want to be prepared.”

  “Fine, so you left the bar with who?” Irvin sighs at the end of his question.

  “The other woman, sort of.”

  “What do you mean, ‘sort of’?” Irvin asks, his frustration level growing, which is evident by the veins in his forehead.

  I have to bite my tongue to keep from speaking out. I hate knowing that I could have a say in this, but at what cost? Travis leans back in his chair and pushes his hoodie off. His hair is wild, crazy, and the exact reason the phrase sex hair was invented. I’ve seen this look on him before. I put it there.

  “We both got in a cab together, leaving Rachel on the sidewalk. She yelled something about how I’m going to pay for this. My friend got out of the cab, though, before it could pull away.”

  “Where’d you go from there?”

  “Home.”

  “Anyone witness you entering your house?” Irvin asks, while Travis shakes his head.

  “Okay, how’d you get to the bar?”

  “I drove.”

  “And where’s your car now?”

  “I’m hoping at the bar, along with my jacket. I was in a hurry to speak to my friend and left my coat inside.”

  More scribbling is done, and this time I pull out my cell and send a message to Jeffrey about Travis’s car. I think we need to get it picked up before the police do. He’s not under arrest, so they can’t impound it, but the bar could have it towed.

  “How’d you get to the police station?”

  “Uber,” he says. “I need to use the restroom.” Travis exits, leaving us all a bit dumbfounded.

  “This woman sounds like she’s been scorned,” one associate says.

  “You can’t say that. She was raped last night,” another says.

  “That’s what she’s claiming. Doesn’t mean it was by our client.”

  “Are you calling her a liar?”

  “No, I’m simply stating it wasn’t our client who did it.”

  This ping-pong match goes back and forth until Travis walks back in. He’s run some water through his hair, taming it slightly. When he returns to his seat, he picks at his food a bit more.

  “Saylor, does Travis have any charity events coming up?”

  I already know that he doesn’t but pick up my phone anyway and go through his calendar. “No, but I can get him on the list for some. Jeffrey will think it’s a good idea. We don’t want Travis hiding from the public.”

  “Or answering questions. Right, Travis?” Irvin’s voice is stern. Travis nods in agreement and hopefully he’ll obey his attorney.

  “I think, until the rape kit comes back and the DA moves forward, we have everything.” The associates gather their things and start to exit the room, but Irvin stays behind. “I don’t have to remind you that cooperating is in your best interest, but you will do so only if I’m by your side. Do not talk to or engage the media, fans, or anyone else regarding this matter. In fact, it’s best that you ignore everyone except the people who are paid to protect you.” Irvin stands and moves toward the door, only to look back at Travis. “And don’t think about leaving town. Doing so would only raise suspicion that you’re guilty.”

  “I’m not, though. I didn’t touch her.”

  “I know, Travis.”

  Irvin walks out, shutting the door once more. There’s awkwardness between us. It’s personal and not work related.

  “I should get back to the office. I’ll call you with your schedule.”

  “Saylor, wait.” He reaches for my arm, keeping me stationary. “Can I come over tonight? After Lucy has gone to bed. We need to talk.”

  I pull my arm away. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

  We take a break from our off-season vacation to bring you some important news regarding left fielder Travis Kidd.

  Earlier this morning, Kidd was spotted entering the police station. At the time, there wasn’t any word as to why he was there. However, outlets are reporting that Kidd voluntarily went in for questioning in connection with a reported rape.

  Attempts to reach Kidd have been futile, and the Renegades organization is refusing to comment.

  Irvin Abbott, private counsel for Kidd, had this to say: “The truth will come out in due time. Right now, my client is upset and is asking for privacy. We feel that the state’s attorney is being presumptive, and his press conference earlier this morning is nothing more than a witch hunt against my client. We will hold our own very shortly.”

  We will keep you updated!

  The BoRe Blogger

  Chapter 5

  Travis


  Irvin has his car service bring me home, after I was informed that Jeffrey was having my car picked up from the bar, if it hadn’t already been towed away. As soon as the driver opens my door, the occupants of the numerous cars, vans, and whatever else is parked on my street do the same. I’m a sitting duck, out in the open, without any security. The media come at me with their microphones pointed in my direction, yelling questions that I can’t answer. When one calls me a rapist, my steps falter. I hear someone laugh. Maybe it was the one who asked the question. I can’t be sure. I want to turn around and square off with the person, and hate that I can’t. They get to say whatever they want about me, and I have to take it. I have to ignore it and pretend that everything is okay, when it’s anything but.

  Standing on my stoop with my back facing the crowd, I hear words like coward, piece of shit, loser, and again rapist. Each one tears at my psyche, making me feel weaker than I already am. What happened to innocent until proven guilty? Are they like this because of who I am? And what if they’re wrong? Will they apologize? I already know the answers. I’ve seen countless friends and peers be destroyed by the media, and once they’re done with you, they move on to the next unsuspecting target.

  My house is cold and dark, and for the first time in my life, I feel like I’m alone. Normally, I’d go out and find a female companion for the evening. Someone I can show a good time to and who can help warm my bed. But that is out of the question, and with very few of my teammates in town, including my best friend, Ethan Davenport, who is three thousand miles away visiting his family for the winter, I’m stuck in this solitude.

  A light flashes in my eyes. It’s someone with a camera, taking pictures of the inside of my house. I move swiftly to shut the blinds, and while that may keep them from peering inside, it doesn’t keep their voices from being heard. Turning on the television to drown them out, my face is all over the screen. The only saving grace is that the photos are random and not a mug shot—although they have video of me leaving the police station, and the caption reads, “Renegades star brought in for questioning.”