by Nana Malone
“I see you changed it.” Behind the sorrow, she saw a glimmer of humor. Her Fox was in there somewhere.
She had changed up the sign. He’d been going on more and more tryouts, just to come home disappointed each time. She didn’t want to seem predictable, so she kept trying to come up with one that would make him laugh.
“Well, I can’t let you figure me out. You don’t want me to get boring, do you?”
Fox shook his head, “Thanks Sash, but I kinda want to be on my own tonight.”
She could see the shadow pressing on his shoulders. “Look, it’ll happen, Fox. Just believe me, I’m never wrong.”
He gave her a weary smile, “I know. Still, I’m just gonna head on out.”
When he got like this, there wasn’t much she could do except wait for him to come around. “I hear you. But obviously, you know, if you need to talk—” she stopped. He doesn’t want my pity.
“I know.”
“You know, you still haven’t seen my new place. You could drop by with a bottle of wine, or something.”
A smile tipped his lips. “Yeah, I got you, Sash. Call you later.”
Sasha could only watch as Fox lumbered to his car. She hoped he would be ok. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could watch the disappointment sink into him. She hoped that something happened for him soon. He deserved it.
Without Fox, her choices were to either go home or to the office. Before she even pondered her options, she knew where she was going. The office, because the longer she could put off the impending confrontation with Ryan, the better.
Two
Sasha could only avoid going home for so long. It was after 8 o’clock, and there was barely anyone on the news floor. She loved her internship at TVN and she knew how lucky she was to have it. So many other students had been declined. She still wasn’t sure how she got accepted, but she was making the most of it.
Her mentor, Ida Bailey, spotted her at her desk. “Hey Sasha, I’m glad to still find you here. Do you have a sec to talk about your proposal?”
Sasha loved that Ida hadn’t questioned her about being there so late. Long after most of the other interns and experienced news crew had cleared out, Sasha could usually be found at her desk.
“Sure,” Sasha replied, feeling pleased.
“So far, what I’ve seen looks great. Let’s talk in more detail in the morning, okay? I want you to come prepped with the sources you want to use, and the research you’ve already compiled. At this point, though, I’m very satisfied. You could really spread your wings, here. Make an impact.”
“I certainly hope so.”
“Well then, you should head on out for the night. Don’t you have a boyfriend to go home to?”
The question made Sasha’s gut curl in on itself. “Uh, yeah, I was just packing up my things.” Maybe she could track Fox down and help him drown his sorrows. Right now, that was a far more appealing prospect than going home. Sasha checked the clock again; it was 8:30. She couldn’t avoid it forever, but right now she had work to do. That story proposal was her ticket to her future.
Shit, he was drunk. At this point, Fox was no longer looking at the line items on his tab. The more he drank, the more he kicked himself for not having chosen the college track. He was twenty-one. He would have been in his junior or senior year by now. College hockey wasn’t as nationally prominent as college football or basketball, but he would have had broader exposure. Not to mention an education that would have left him with a degree to fall back on.
As it was, he would only be able to stick it out a few more years in the minor leagues before all chance at the majors would vanish. How long had it been since any of the teams had called up anyone over the age of twenty-five who wasn’t just playing in the minors as part of an injury-recovery stint?
There were only four years between him and the point at which he’d effectively be washed up. And worse than a has-been, he’d be a never-has-been-and-never-will-be. After twenty-five, how many years would he even be allowed to remain in the minor leagues? He’d need to find something else to do.
As if there were anything for him outside of playing hockey. If he didn’t make it or come up with an alternative plan, he’d have to cave and rely on his trust fund for everything until he could figure things out. There wasn’t enough money in his trust fund for him to live off of it indefinitely. Even the Coulter name didn’t come with unlimited funds. The millions would run out eventually. Then what will you do?
So far his father hadn’t extended an offer for him to work for Legacy Sports, the family’s sports equipment retail company. Bryce had been invited following his knee injury, but had vehemently rebelled against being encouraged in that direction. Echo had spent time working for the company, coordinating their charity efforts, before she, too, quit with an unexpected flourish. Dax hadn’t done anything in the company’s administration, but the store had been able to capitalize on his popularity as an NFL player.
What did it say that his father hadn’t even bothered to ask him about joining the company and keeping things in the family? Not that he would accept if the old man ever did make such an offer. He had zero interest in being stuck in a boardroom or learning what to do about missed shipments, vendor relations, or managing any sort of staff.
But given his father’s recent health concerns, there had been more talk about the company’s future should he need to take time off or retire altogether. And to the best of Fox’s knowledge, his name was never a part of any discussion.
The answers he came up with only drove him to drink more.
If things didn’t change quickly, he’d be up a creek with no paddle. It might be time to sit down with his unofficial career consultant, Sasha.
He smiled to himself. Sasha Tenison had been as much a fixture in his life as hockey was. Their grandfathers had played football together, and their families had been close ever since. She’d been a whiz in school and had saved his academic ass more than once. Although she liked to point out he understood things best when he read the assignments on time. He just didn’t have the time or inclination for those kinds of homework assignments. Hockey practices and games held most of his focus.
It was all well and good for Sasha. She’d wanted to be in journalism and had been one of the anchors for their high school’s morning announcements. She’d even been on local San Diego television.
They’d been like oil and water, but as thick as thieves in spite of that fact. No matter what, she was always there for him. And he was there for her. It’s just how it was. Things had been strained lately because of her boyfriend, but the guy was a douche and Fox was just waiting for the day he needed to turn up at her place with wine, a tub of ice-cream, and cheesy sci-fi movies. Ryan was temporary; he was forever.
The evening had long ago reached a point where the bartender asked for his car keys, leaving him with limited mobility. He could call a cab, but imagining the look on his parents’ faces when he rolled home lacked a certain appeal.
His friends would be equally shitfaced by this time, and had likely figured out that he wouldn’t be joining them as the preseason began. Depending on how much they had drunk, they would either be overly sympathetic and reassuring or they would give him a good ribbing over the whole thing. He wasn’t sufficiently in enough control of his limbs to feel confident of being able to withstand either treatment without taking a swing at someone.
It took a few minutes for Fox to figure out if he knew of anyone else in the area who might be willing to let him crash on their couch until he sobered up. Maybe he just had Sasha on his mind, but a part of him wanted to see her. Because you’re a glutton for punishment. No. They were friends. It was just Sasha. They’d been friends forever. He sucked at trying to convince himself he didn’t have it bad for her. Usually, he didn’t care too much who she dated. But this last asshole—it required all of his strength not to flatten the dude.
His fingers refused to cooperate as he navigated his controls to his favorites
on his contact list. She didn’t answer, but he could find her place. It wasn’t far. He’d just never done it wasted before. But likely that was because she’d moved there only two months ago. A drunken visit was inevitable. But what would Ryan think? Shit. Dude was not a fan. And as much as Fox hated him, he didn’t want to make problems for Sasha.
But fuck it. He should have taken her up on her offer to go drinking. He ordered a bottle of vodka to go. After all, he would need a proper can-I-crash-on-your-couch gift. And Ryan was more likely to not give Sasha grief about him showing up if he brought liquor. At least, Fox hoped so. Because as alarming as it was to think about, he had nowhere else to go.
Three
Sasha rubbed her temples as she tried desperately not to throw something.
“Is it so bad that I want to spend more time with my girlfriend?”
Sahsa dragged in a deep breath and prayed for calm. “No, it’s not a bad thing, but it would be nice if just once you supported me.”
Moving in with her boyfriend was supposed to help their relationship. Ryan had been complaining about how much time she spent working at her internship, on her classwork, and at the restaurant.
“I do support you. I just didn’t expect you to take me for granted.”
She took a deep breath and then another. Take him for granted. Take him for—she was pretty sure, he didn't know what the hell that meant.
“You mean like the several times I’ve covered for you at work when you’ve been too hung-over to go in? Or the times you’ve left your wallet and asked me to go fetch it between class and work and the restaurant just so you didn’t have to leave work? Or the times I make you dinner and you don't even bother to call and let me know that you’re going out with your friends?”
“Shit, are you seriously still mad about that? It happened a couple of times.”
She threw up her hands. “It’s happened twice this week alone.”
This was an old argument. He’d been complaining since the beginning of their relationship that she didn’t make enough time for him. So when he floated the idea of moving in together, she’d jumped at the chance, believing it would help the situation. More like help her need therapy.
How could he complain they weren’t together enough if they were sharing a bed every night, and eating breakfast together? If she sat next to him on the couch most evenings, while she studied for her exams and he watched his reality TV shows? Apparently, Ryan was going for a medal in complaining.
Somehow, being around each other so much had only made Ryan’s complaining and jealousy worse, and she had run out of energy and patience to deal with him.
“You’re at the news studio more than I am, and I work there full time,” he yelled at her.
She refrained from pointing out that her internship in story development, with the promise of researching, writing, and filming her own segments, was at a higher level than the editing booth. Ryan helped record the journalists’ voiceovers and spliced them together for the video editors to sync up with the final cut of the story. One-upping him would not be helpful.
“There’s no way you should be there so much unless there’s something else that’s keeping you there,” Ryan said with growing indignation. “Or maybe I should say…someone.”
She blinked at him. Then blinked again. “Someone?” she repeated, his implication sinking in and feeding the fury in her chest. “Yes. There’s someone keeping me there—me. I keep myself there. This internship is everything I’ve wanted to do with my life. If I stick with it and put as much of myself into it as I can, then I could make my career. If my internship goes well enough, they could hire me full time when I graduate. Do you not appreciate how important that is or why I might be so dedicated to my work?”
“You don’t need to have your master’s degree to work there,” Ryan emphasized. “I don’t. You could already be working there full-time and getting paid for it.”
“I pay my own way around here, and don’t you forget it,” Sasha spat back at him.
“Yeah, by waiting tables and working even more hours when you could be doing something more worthwhile with your time.”
“You mean waiting on you, instead? Is that what you want me around here for? So you don’t have to do your own laundry or cook your own meals? Newsflash, Ryan, that wasn’t going to happen anyway. I’m not your mother or your babysitter. It’s not my job to take care of you.”
His face went red, and a twitch above his right eye appeared, making his brow leap spastically.
“Or are you more worried about how it looks to have me working there more hours and so much harder than you do? You just don’t like the fact that your intern girlfriend is making you look, what…lazy? Unaccomplished?” Oh, shit. Too late to call that back.
He glared at her. “I think you’re using your pretty face and ass to make me look like the fool who can’t see when he’s being cheated on,” Ryan sneered.
Sasha’s palms itched at her sides with the urge, the need, to slap him. Instead she gritted her teeth. That was not going to solve her problem, no matter how satisfying it might be. And in a physical confrontation, she was at a distinct disadvantage. He’d never touched her like that, but he liked to use his size to crowd and intimidate her sometimes. She might be fit, but he still weighed more than she did and was taller. She wasn’t sure if she was quicker, but she didn’t want to have to find out.
“Get out,” she said with quiet force. “We’re done. I want you out of my apartment.”
“It’s our apartment,” Ryan reminded her.
“It’s my name on the lease. I will call the cops and have you removed if I have to. I am done with your paranoia. I’m done with your whining and with your self-centered…assholery.” She swept around the room and picked up his scattered things off the coffee table and the counter and the sofa, throwing them into a pile for him to take. His sweatshirt, an orphaned sock, the empty case to one of his video games. She ushered him toward the door.
“It’s McAllister, isn’t it?” Ryan sneered, as he made no move to retrieve his things. “He’s always staring at your tits. He’d probably promote you to the anchor desk if you gave him a blowjob. Or maybe you have. Maybe he’s holding out for more. You know, you really don’t have to work as hard as you pretend to. You could easily leverage that face of yours into a career.”
“That’s all I’ve ever been to you, isn’t it? A pretty face you could parade around the office and piss on to show I was yours,” Sasha said, fighting the lump in her throat. “You never actually cared about me at all. You just wanted to make sure no one else had me. Well you can fuck off. I’m done stroking your ego and your limp dick. You can go back to stroking it for yourself. Lord knows, you’re more than capable.”
“Guess you’ve found someone else’s ego to stroke.”
There was a knock on the door.
“You should really stop talking now,” Sasha advised as she went to answer it.
“I’m only just starting, babe,” he called back.
She rolled her eyes and took a deep breath before she pulled the door open. Fox fell into the apartment, a bottle of vodka rolling across the floor and into the kitchen.
“Whoa,” he said, chuckling as he pushed himself onto his knees. Sasha reached down and took hold of his arm to help pull him up. “Sorry about that,” he slurred. “Thought it was the wall I was leaning against.”
“Fox? What are you doing here?” Sasha asked, confused and embarrassed. Of course, her best friend would show up here, just as she was breaking up with Ryan.
“As you can see, I’m drunk.” He swayed a little. “Any chance you can let your loser of a bestie crash on your couch? I even brought vodka.” Fox dropped back to his knees to search for the wayward bottle.
“I knew it. You’ve been fucking Fox behind my back, then?” Ryan accused.
Though Fox was preoccupied when Ryan said it, Sasha noticed that he perked up when the words sank in. “What the fuck? Have you lost your min
d, dude?” He asked, reaching for the wall and pulling himself to his feet again.
“Fox, leave it,” Sasha interjected. “Ryan was just leaving—weren’t you, Ryan?”
“The hell I am,” he insisted. “I live here, and I’m not about to walk out so you can turn around and fuck your friend just to get back at me.”
“I’ve already told you, Ryan, I’m done with you. Dumping you, breaking up with you, kicking you to the curb. Pick one.” She added, “If you don’t want to pack your things now, I can do it and leave them for you to pick up later. In the meantime, just get out!”
But Ryan ignored Sasha and focused entirely on Fox, who was blinked rapidly in an attempt to clear his vision.
“I know what you’ve been up to,” Ryan said slowly to Fox. “Behind my back. I should have known better than to trust you. No way you two were just friends. Sasha’s always talking about you. I knew something was up.” He sneered. “A fucking Coulter. But you’re not one of the famous ones, are you? Is this what you’re doing, instead? Going after other guys’ girls with your…stick? You know,” he said, turning to Sasha, “you’ll be needing a sugar daddy to help you pay the rent on this place without me. Maybe you should start your interviews with this one, here.”
Fox looked Ryan up and down, then leaned to the side to eye Sasha. “How did you decide on this prick, again?”
“I’m a better choice than a has-been.” Ryan grabbed hold of Sasha’s arm and gripped tight.
She winced. “Let me go. You’re hurting me.”
“You’re seriously fucking this loser? I have fucking given you every—”
But he didn't get to finish. One second he was getting in her face and gripping her so tightly she was sure he was going to leave bruises, and the next she was free and he was staggering back and howling in pain.
As a goalie, she’d rarely seen Fox engage in the fistfights that were as much a part of hockey as the ice the players skated on, but even falling-down drunk he had better technique and aim than Ryan did.
