Three & Out

by Laura Chapman

For another, Brook is way too loyal to tell anyone anything that might depict me in a bad light. Sam doesn’t seem like a gossiper, but word would get out. After that, there’d be the possibility for the other coaches to come forward with statements like “Maybe she was asking for it” or “Are you sure she wasn’t just imagining things?” Brook wouldn’t want to risk any of those reactions.

  That’s probably for the best. Now that he’s sparred with Griggs on national television, there isn’t much to keep him from brawling behind the scenes with the rest of the crew. Until the speculation simmers down and we figure out what to do, he needs to keep a low profile.

  So, it’s with apprehension and hesitation I’m going to see Whitney. While I trust her, and presumably Sam, I also don’t want to be quizzed over this subject. I’m not as restrained as Brook. Despite how hard he’s inevitably worked to keep everything under wraps, I’ll probably spill everything before our entrees are even served.

  Not that I fault Whitney for her curiosity. If the roles were reversed, I’d want to know, too. Who wouldn’t?

  I tried to ignore the message boards after it happened. I didn’t want to stumble upon anything that would land me in another war with some punk kid. Even though I’m off wine, I’m sure it still wouldn’t take much for me to get into it with anyone. My mama bear instincts are at an all-time high.

  Whitney is already awkwardly pushing herself to her feet when I step into the restaurant. “Oh my God.” She waddles around the table and throws her arms around me. “I’ve been thinking about y’all ever since I saw it on TV. Are you holding up okay?”

  “We’re fine.”

  “I tell ya what, I don’t blame him.” Whitney sits back down, taking a moment to adjust her sweater and find a comfortable position in the hard wood chair. “I can’t blame anyone who gives that Griggs an ass chewing. He deserves worse. He’s a real piece of . . . work.”

  “No arguments here.”

  She lowers her voice. “Can I tell you a secret? No one knows about it besides Sam and, well, Griggs.”

  “Of course.” I’m so relieved she isn’t jumping all over me with details I eagerly lean forward to listen. With any luck, we can stretch this story out throughout lunch before she remembers she wanted to know what happened with Brook.

  “It’s not something I’m particularly proud of.”

  “Okay . . .”

  “Griggs grabbed my butt a couple of months ago.”

  “Wait—what?”

  A waiter approaches the table and I wave him away.

  “I was feeling a little sad. Just dumpy about how much weight I was gaining, missing home, and missing my husband even more. You know how that goes.”

  “I do.”

  “So, I decided to pull myself out of the blue spell and take Sam dinner one night. Just a stupid sandwich I threw together with chips and carrots.”

  “That’s a really nice thought.” And I, once again, feel like the worst wife-of-the-year for never coming up with that idea for myself.

  “They were still out on the practice field when I got there, but Griggs offered to let me into Sam and Brook’s office.” She frowns. “Isn’t it weird that Griggs never seems to be on the practice field or in the room watching game tape with the guys?”

  “I get the impression he’s lazy.” And a sleazeball.

  “So he walks me back to the offices, all the while telling me how much I’m glowing and that I look great for how many months I am.” She shakes her head. “I hate to admit I was flattered. It’s not that I wanted him to think I looked beautiful, but with as bad as I felt, it was nice to hear someone objective tell me I looked good. It’s not the same when Sam says it. Trust me.”

  “It makes sense.” And it does. Your baby’s father is pretty much required to tell you you’re gorgeous when you’re carrying his child. I’m sure it’s nice, but you can hardly believe it.

  “Then he starts asking me how I like Seattle, and before I know it, I’m blubbering about how much I miss home and how I haven’t made very many friends, and I’m lonely and scared about being even lonelier once the baby arrives. He goes through the motions of soothing me, saying all sorts of nice things. Then he pulls me in for a hug, and the next thing I know, his hands are on my butt and he’s telling me that I don’t have to be all alone in town.”

  “No!”

  “I pushed him away and slapped him. Hard. I dropped the lunch bag on Sam’s desk and stormed out of the building. I would’ve gone all the way home, but Sam was just running in to grab some notes. He saw how upset I was, so I told him what happened. That’s when he punched Griggs in the face. A few times.”

  “Sam punched Griggs?” My jaw drops open. “And he didn’t get in trouble?”

  “Well, O’Dwyer wasn’t too happy about it. But after he heard what instigated it, he could hardly side with Griggs. We all talked it over and decided not to take it any further.” She runs her hand over belly. “Sometimes I wish Griggs would’ve tried pressing charges or something so we could take it to court—or at least the regents—and we could let them know what kind of a jerk they have on their staff.”

  “Is that why you stopped going to the watch parties?”

  “I just couldn’t stand the idea of being in his house, even if he wasn’t there. I didn’t want to have to pretend nothing had happened just so Lisa wouldn’t make my life hell.” A tear drips down her cheek. “It’s pretty stupid, right?”

  “No, it’s not stupid.” This changes everything. If Griggs was groping Whitney and coming on to me, then it’s highly probable there are other women. “I have to tell you something, but first I have one question.”

  She sniffs. “Go ahead.”

  “When did this happen?”

  “Oh, probably six weeks ago or something.” She wipes away another tear. “My only consolation is that Griggs had to walk around for a few days with black eyes.”

  That explains why he was able to drop in on my meeting with Kristen—and why he looked like hell. Before I dwell on that, though, fair is fair. I have to let Whitney know that she isn’t the only person who Griggs harassed. Shooing away the waiter with an apologetic grin for a second time, I explain everything. As I tell her each detail, I don’t feel better, but I do feel less alone.

  Week Twelve Recap: Team MacLaughlin Falls, Again

  After mounting another two-week comeback, Team MacLaughlin slipped up this week in a massive 105-143 loss.

  Once again, she had to rely on her backup QB Alex Michaels when Todd Northwood was marked out. Rumor has it he’ll be back next week, and we can only hope that’s the case for her sake. With consistently strong performances from her wide receivers, and an adequate showing from her running backs, that’s really the missing link for her team’s chances in the long-haul.

  The scales are balanced once again as Team MacLaughlin heads into the final two weeks of regular season competition. She’ll have to win out to be a contender for the tournament. It’s going to take a lot of luck, and while you can bet on luck, you can’t count on it.

  Real Coaches’ Wives Record: 6-6

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  I END UP TAKING THE rest of the afternoon off from work. It’s not like I had anything to do there. Now that the Sounds’s season is over, and the rumor mill is working overdrive speculating that half of the coaching staff will be fired, I can practically hear the questions running through Jessie’s head every time I’m in the office. She might not ask them out loud—yet—but they’re still there. Right now, after everything Whitney has told me, I can’t take one more thing.

  It’s a blustery Seattle day, the kind of weather I expected to have all the time when we moved here. Over the summer, with the clear skies and practically perfect temperatures, I’d forgotten the city’s rainy reputation. It’s funny how something can suddenly be exactly what you always thought it was, even if it put on airs for a while.

  Though I hadn’t planned on it, somehow I find myself outside of Kristen’s downtown of
fice. Somehow, my body knew what my head was working out during the walk. I have to talk to her. Not because she’s one of the few people I know in this city, but because I need to find out if she’s like the Griggses. I want to publish this book. I seriously tested my relationship with Amelia to make it happen. But if she’s like them, I’m out. No matter how much I want it, I don’t want it if it means sacrificing any more of my dignity to those people.

  There’s one person I have to talk to first. Ducking under the expansive awning outside of the building, I call Amelia.

  “Harper, I was just thinking about you. I had a great idea for the book—” She breaks off when I let out a sob. “What’s wrong? Tell me everything.”

  With tears mixing with raindrops on my cheeks, I recite my story again, this time adding Whitney’s experience. By the time I finish, I’m also done with my cry. I’m sure I look crazy right now, standing on the side of the street with melted eye makeup, but my vanity can take a break.

  “I need to talk to Kristen. I know I pushed for this, but—”

  “We don’t want to work with her if she turns out to be a giant asshole like Brook’s boss and his snotty bitch wife.”

  “So you’d be fine if we walked, even after I pushed you into this.”

  “You didn’t push me into anything I didn’t want. Well, maybe you nudged me—hard. But no, I’m fine either way. We can take our ideas to someone else. This one is your call.”

  With her support, I take a moment to right my appearance and walk in for an unscheduled meeting with our publisher. I anticipate having to wait for a while, but I’m surprised to be ushered right inside. Always five steps ahead of everyone, Kristen ushers me into a seat, a hand wrapped around my shoulder.

  “Are you okay, honey?”

  For the second time in ten minutes, I find myself retelling the Griggs story, though this time I include the origins about my arrangement with Lisa, and I manage to avoid crying. She leans against her desk, a finger thoughtfully tapping her lip while she listens, never betraying any hint of emotion. Once I’m done, I wait for her to react.

  “I wish I’d known about this sooner.” Kristen’s arm falls to her side and she rises back to her feet. “I wouldn’t have sent them a Christmas card or that bottle of wine to thank them for introducing us. I actually planned to blow off Lisa when she emailed to arrange our meeting.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, but I was curious. So I looked up your website. I loved your products and voice. I knew we had to work with you. That’s the only reason we had dinner. I hope you won’t let your opinion of them change the way you think of me. I hardly know them.”

  “But aren’t they your friends?”

  “Acquaintances. They’ve never been my favorite people. I only tolerate them because she’s in my spin class. Griggs has always been an asshole and Lisa is a total wench. I wish there was something I could do to teach them a lesson.”

  And for some reason, her unexpected parroting of Amelia and total support makes me laugh. It feels good to smile again after the week I’ve had.

  THOUGH J.J. KNOWS JUST about everything with the Griggs situation, I wait for him to go to his room before I tell Brook about my conversations with Whitney and Kristen. With a serious look on his face, he nods. “I figured as much.”

  “How so?”

  “Well . . . Sam was waiting for me at the office today, and he wanted to know what happened during the game.”

  “You told him?” Frankly, I’m surprised. Brook isn’t usually that easily swayed.

  “I figured it couldn’t hurt anything.” He shrugs. “There’s no doubt I’m on my way out. They haven’t fired me yet, but it’s only a matter of time.”

  “So you told him because you wanted someone to know your side?”

  “Exactly. That’s when he told me what happened between him and Griggs earlier this year. We knew there’d been a fight, but no one knew it was with Sam. Rumor had it some ex-player came in and sucker-punched him.”

  “But it was Sam.”

  “It was Sam. They swore him to secrecy, saying he’d lose his job—and they’d press charges—if he told anyone. I guess Sam told me because he wanted me to feel better about my chances.”

  “If he didn’t get fired, you won’t either?”

  “That’s the gist of it. O’Dwyer said as much when he called me in for a talk, too. Griggs wants to keep his job like the rest of us. Hell, probably more.” Brook clenches his fist but loosens it when Blitz jumps into his lap for some attention. “I figured that’s how he gets away with it. He tries to seduce women with husbands or boyfriends who have as much at stake to lose as he does. When they get tired of it, they leave. People assume it’s because the team sucks, but that’s not why they have such high turnover. It’s to keep his secret.”

  “Apparently it works.”

  “Not anymore. I’m not going to keep quiet.”

  My heart thunders in my chest. “You’re going to report him?”

  Whoever he tells will know I was involved, too. While that shouldn’t bother me, it does. Not because I did anything wrong. I didn’t. I’m just not sure everyone else will see it that way. Our world has a funny way of painting victims in a negative light.

  “I’ll go to the athletic director or the president of the university—whoever I have to—because this has to stop.” He reaches for my hands and pulls me closer. “Harper, it wasn’t just you and Whitney. He’s been going after the players’ girlfriends. And a reporter just came forward this week to say he’s been making unwanted advances toward her, too. If we don’t say anything, they’ll bury her and he’ll keep doing it.”

  My stomach clenches and a wave of nausea rises over me. It was one thing when I thought this was just me. But knowing it’s a repeat behavior—knowing he’s gone even farther and done worse to someone else—changes things.

  “What are we going to do?”

  Brook swallows hard and links his fingers with mine. “We’re going to have to fight the system.”

  A FEW DAYS LATER, I’M called into the athletic director’s office. It was harder than I expected—telling the AD about what happened with Griggs. While he’d been kind, he’d shown no real emotion. Either he wasn’t surprised by any of my accusations, or he has one hell of a poker face. It’s also possible he doesn’t believe me, but I don’t want that to be the case. Brook tells me he’s a fair man, and I’ll just have to believe and hope that’s the case.

  After Brook and I made our decision, it didn’t take much to get Sam and Whitney and a few other people on board. Within a few days, the team’s biggest boosters arrived in town for a closed-door meeting. While Brook and the other coaches met with the boosters, we women took turns talking to the director. By the time I’d recalled everything to the best of my ability and turned over my phone and ticket records, I was wiped. Brook told me to head on home without him. If I’d been stronger, I would’ve declined and waited. But tonight I feel like a weak woman—or at least one who is sleep deprived.

  All I want is my bed. And in approximately one minute, I’ll be able to crawl into it.

  I stop short outside the apartment and notice the door is ajar. My heart pounds as the possibilities race through my mind. We’ve been robbed. Griggs and O’Dwyer have caught on to everything and they’ve put a hit out on us. I should call 911—or at least J.J. first—and make sure I’m not in any real danger. I probably should, but the nagging need to find out what’s happened urges me to push the door open a little wider and step in. I’m greeted by the blaring of our TV and empty beer cans strewn throughout the living room. There’s also the unmistakable smell of marijuana, which should come as no surprise given that J.J. is sprawled out on our couch with his bong on the table.

  What I don’t find is Blitz racing toward me. When he doesn’t turn up in a quick search of the apartment, I shake J.J. awake. “Where’s Blitz?”

  He blinks at me. “What?”

  “The cat. You left the door open, you as
shole, and I think the cat is gone.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Muttering swear words under my breath, I do another search—even shaking the treat bag, which has never failed to bring him out of hiding. My fears are confirmed when there’s no sign of Blitz. Oh, God. He finally did it. He finally made his escape thanks to the idiocy of J.J.

  I tuck the treats into my coat pocket and grab an umbrella and flashlight. By now, J.J. is on his feet with a shirt pulled on over his chest. “Where are you going?”

  “To find the cat.”

  “In the rain?”

  “I don’t really have any other choice, do I?”

  After a second, he lets out a sigh and steps into his tennis shoes, grabbing his jacket from the hook by the door. “I’ll come with you.”

  “No.”

  “It’s late and it’s raining.” J.J. takes the flashlight out of my hand. “I can’t let you go out there alone.”

  Too tired and too scared of not finding Blitz, I give up my argument. I need to save that energy and time for the search. Oh, God. What if he’s been hurt or worse? I move quickly down the stairs and around the exterior of the building calling his name.

  With every step down the glittering, damp pavement, my worry grows. With every step I stew. I’m a mess of fear and anger. At any given second, it’s hard to tell which emotion will shine through the brightest.

  J.J. follows closely, holding an umbrella over our heads, shining a light in front of us and from side to side. His presence only confuses me more. On the one hand, he seems genuinely concerned and is doing the best to help. On the other, he’s the reason we’re out here, the reason Blitz is lost. As he steps closer, so does the stench of alcohol and weed. I fight a gag.

  The words come out before I can stop myself. “What are you still doing here?”

  Drops of rain cover his furrowed brow, and J.J. stares at me in confusion. “What do you mean? I’m trying to help you find the cat.”

  “No, not here, here. What are you doing here in Seattle? What are you still doing in our home?”