I drop my bag by the front door and walk back to the kitchen. They jump up from behind the center island as I walk in. With waving jazz hands, they show off their find.
“Well, what do you think?” Katie asks.
“You’ve got to be kidding me. Where in the hell did you guys find these?” I ask.
They’re wearing Brennan Babe Brigade T-shirts. The BBB was Chase’s fan club in high school. They stalked him relentlessly, following him around like his own personal harem, and threw themselves at him any chance they could. They had their own cheering section at every game and even went to all of the away games. Their devotion was obnoxious. And the BBB wasn’t just teenagers. A few divorcee mothers, the softball coach, and a number of alumnae were also members. Had we not gone to a school run by nuns, I’m sure there would have been a few teachers as well. The whole thing disgusted me. I’d always assumed they took turns servicing Chase’s “needs,” but I never asked. Just the thought of it makes me want to gag.
“I was going through some stuff in the basement and found them in a box of Chase’s things from high school,” Katie replies. “Aren’t they a hoot?”
Charlie holds up a shirt. “We have one for you!”
“Oh no,” I say, shaking my head. “There is no way in hell I’m wearing one of those. I loathed those girls in high school. I mocked them mercilessly behind their backs. I refuse to wear one.”
“You can’t wear that,” Katie says, pointing at my silver Alexander McQueen fit-and-flare dress. “You’re not working this event, so you’re going to go dressed like a fan,” she says in the same tone she used to use when I didn’t want to eat my Brussels sprouts. “Fans do not wear designer dresses and heels to watch training camp practice. Cut-offs, Chucks, tees, and sunblock. That’s what you’re wearing.”
“I don’t even own cut-offs,” I protest.
Charlie holds up a pair of jeans. “These were Chase’s jeans from, like, freshman year in high school. Boys’ jeans make the best cut-offs!”
Twenty minutes later, we’re on our way to Levi Stadium, decked out in our Brennan Babe Brigade tees and cut-off shorts that are way too short. I’d put up a good fight, but the two of them are a force to be reckoned with. The stadium is more crowded than I’d expected it to be. Before the practice, the Niners’ organization is hosting some sort of local high school all-star thing.
As I get out of the car, I tug at my shorts. “My ass is hanging out of these. You do realize that, right?”
“Quit complaining. You look amazing,” Charlie replies.
“Aren’t you supposed to tell me I can’t leave the house looking like this?” I ask Katie. “That’s the motherly thing to do!”
“Who do you think cut them that short?” Katie replies with a laugh. “If I had those legs, I’d show them off at every opportunity.”
I dig through my purse for my aviators. “Don’t you think it’s creepy that his mother and sister are wearing his groupie T-shirts? We can still go back and change. We have plenty of time.”
Charlie puts her arm around me and gives me a little squeeze. “Not just his mom and sister. His girlfriend too!”
“It’s so nice to hear that again,” Katie says.
“I am not a groupie. I’m the group. Just me. Party of one.” I slide on my sunglasses. “These T-shirts make it seem like there’s a group to join. We are not accepting new applications. Membership is closed.”
“Are you done bitching yet?” Charlie asks.
“No. You know what’s going to happen, right? Someone’s going to see us, we’ll end up on the internet, and the Brennan Babe Brigade will become a thing again.”
Katie chuckles. “I hadn’t thought of that, but you’re right! I wonder if Pat ever got this trademarked. I know he was going to.” She pulls out her phone. “He’s here somewhere. I’m going to track him down. If this catches press attention, it’ll blow up! T-shirt sales alone could buy that boat I’ve had my eye on. I’ll meet you guys at the seats.”
“See,” I say, pointing at Katie as she walks off to find Pat. “There’ll be new chapters of the BBB springing up everywhere. Every stadium he goes to, there’ll be hordes of them. Do you remember his ego in high school? He was unbearable! Can you imagine that multiplied exponentially to NFL levels? This is a mistake. We should go change. Where’s the gift shop? I’ll buy us all Brennan jerseys. That’ll be so much better. I’ll even let you Bedazzle them the way Gisele did.”
Charlie tugs on my arm and pulls us out of the line at the gate. “Hey, hey, hey. Stop right there. What’s going on? I feel like we’re talking about more than a stupid T-shirt here.”
“Nothing,” I snap. “I just really hate these shirts!”
She takes off her sunglasses and slides them on the top of her head. “You know that there could be hordes of whores throwing themselves at him and he wouldn’t even notice. He loves you. Only you.”
Women have always presented themselves to Chase like gifts. “Love and fidelity don’t always go hand in hand.”
“Oh, honey,” she replies, finally understanding. “Chase isn’t Aiden. He would never—”
“We don’t know that. A year ago, I would have bet my life that my father would never have cheated on my mother. But men cheat. It’s an undeniable fact. Look on the internet at all the celebrity couples getting divorced. You’d think divorce is the latest diet craze with how often it’s happening. There’s so much temptation out there.” I tug on my shirt. “Stirring this stuff up again is just an invitation for trouble. I can feel it.”
“And a year ago, you would have said this was genius because it would get him free press and increase his marketability,” Charlie says. “It’s just a T-shirt. I know a lot has changed for you in the last year, but let’s keep things in perspective. You gave him a free pass to chase as much skirt as he wanted, and he didn’t look twice at anyone. I know this because he spent every night out playing stupid games on his phone or texting me about you. ‘What’s Ari doing now?’ ‘Do you think I can come back yet?’ ‘Should I get her some flowers on the way back to your house?’ It drove me crazy.”
“You don’t need to make stuff up to make me feel better.” But now that she mentions it, I do remember her getting a ton of messages late at night. I’d just assumed she and Spencer were sexting from opposite sides of the house.
She pulls her phone from her purse and shoves it at me. “Check my phone.”
I gently push it away. “It’s okay. I believe you.”
“I can’t say anything about your parents, but I know Chase. I’ve held his hand as he has fought to get you back. There is no way he would throw you away over a little road tail.”
“But—”
“Do you trust him?” she asks. “Because if you don’t, you need to stop this before it begins.”
I think about everything he’s done over the past few months, everything Wallace just told me. Chase has stood by me through everything, even when I made it impossible for him. He’s done more than I could ever have asked. “Yes, I do.”
“Then there’s your answer. Listen to your heart and stop stressing. I’m not saying your relationship’s going to be perfect. He’ll mess up. But it’ll be over stupid stuff like getting chips in the bed or not changing the light bulb you’ve asked him to change a million times. He’ll never stray, and he would rather cut his arm off than hurt you. My brother was selfish brat for a long time, but somehow, along this journey back to you, he’s grown into a caring, sensitive guy that I’m so proud of. I wouldn’t let him have you otherwise. Now enough sappy stuff. Let’s go watch some football.” She hooks her arm through mine and we walk to the gate and scan our tickets.
After weaving through the stadium, we finally get to our seats. Front row, fifty-yard line. Pat and Katie are waiting for us, and it looks as though they raided the concession stand. They have pretzels, popcorn, hot dogs, and nachos.
“It’s going to be a little bit before they come out. The high school kids have t
o clear out first.” Pat holds out a basket of chicken tenders. “Want one?”
I shake my head. “No, thanks.”
Charlie takes a bite out of her hot dog. “Ari’s still only eating things that grow from the ground and taste like cardboard.”
“Leave Ari alone,” Katie replies. She turns to me. “I noticed you didn’t work Wimbledon this year. Are you going to work the Open?”
“No. I’m not sure I’m going to go back at all.”
She wipes a glob of nacho cheese from her chin. “Is it just commentating you’re done with or tennis entirely?”
“I think I’m done commentating for any sport. It would be too hard to go back. I’d just think about Daddy all the time. As far as tennis goes, I love giving lessons to the kids at Huckleberry, but that’s only because I don’t do it very often. I think I’d love to mentor other phenomes and their families. Not coaching, but helping them navigate the perils of the press, the pressure of trying to move up the ranks, and the emotional and physical impact of traveling and competing ten months of the year. To be honest, if I never did anything else with tennis, I’d be okay with that too. I never really loved tennis. I did it because of my mother. I was good at it, and everyone expected me to play, but it never really made me happy.”
“Oh, honey, that makes me so sad to hear.” She brushes a stray lock of hair off my forehead. “You had so much pressure on you. It really wasn’t fair.”
“It didn’t make me unhappy. I don’t want to sound like I was miserable. It was a job, and I did it, but it wasn’t… I don’t know. It’s not what I want to do when I grow up.”
“What do you want to do?” Pat asks as he squeezes mustard onto his pretzel.
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out.” Being twenty-six and having no idea what I want to do with my life feels so pathetic. This is why they tell athletes to finish college so they have something else to fall back on. I have enough money to keep me set for the rest of my life, but I can’t do nothing. It’s not in my personality. I just have to figure out what.
“Would you be interested in working with me at the foundation?” Katie asks. “It’s really your foundation, after all. You could take it in whatever direction is important to you, do as little or as much as you want.”
“I don’t know. I’ve been enjoying my work at Huckleberry. I’m not sure I want to switch from working with the kids to fundraising.”
“I’m so happy to hear you’ve been making a difference there,” she replies. “But here’s something for you to consider—you have wealth and influence. You can do more for a cause by raising money and awareness than you can on the front lines. That’s not to say your work isn’t worthwhile, because it is. But if you truly want to help, your celebrity status can do something that other volunteers can’t do. You should think about it.”
“I’ll be honest. It’s hard for me to think about doing anything in my parents’ name right now. I’m still really confused, and I’d feel like a sham going out there and preaching about the good Aldrich name when I don’t believe in it myself.”
Katie takes a sip of her beer. “Maybe working at the foundation would give you a way to work through that? It might help you remember all the good your parents did rather than focusing on their mistakes. They were good people, Arianna. But they were human.”
“I know,” I say quietly.
An awkward tension falls over our group. I feel as though the whole stadium has gone quiet, and all I can hear is the crunch of Charlie’s chips and the deafening silence of four people who have no idea what to say to each other.
“Your other option is to get married and start pumping out my grandbabies,” Katie says, trying to lighten the mood.
Charlie chokes on her water. “Mom,” she says in a warning tone. “Enough about grandchildren.” She looks at me with apologetic eyes.
We never told Pat and Katie about the miscarriage. I didn’t see the point. I smile at her to let her know I’m okay.
Katie holds up her hands. “Okay, okay, I’ll back off.”
Pat shoves a piece of pretzel into his mouth. “I was just talking to a bunch of other GMs. The NBA has a great program to help teach young players how to deal with money issues, press, women, the whole bit. The MLB has something similar, but it’s nowhere near as good. I bet that’s something you could spearhead if you were interested. You’ve lived the life. It doesn’t matter that it was a different sport. The issues are the same: managing money, time, health, keeping your head on straight. Your road was even harder than theirs since you played eleven months out of the year. They at least get half their season at home. You could teach these kids a thing or two.”
He’s right. That’s something I could do. There’re a million things I could do. I just have no idea what I want to do.
Charlie taps my leg. “No more heavy life talk. They’re taking the field.”
I’d forgotten how much fun it is to watch from the stands. There’s a required decorum when you’re in the booth or in a box, but down here, I can just act like a fan. Chase looks good. Real good. Probably the best I’ve ever seen him play. I’m going to have to stretch to find something to critique.
Charlie leans over and says, “Looks like he has his spark back.”
We were warned ahead of time that players aren’t allowed to socialize after the session, so at the end of practice, the team heads toward the locker room and we collect our things. I’d been trying to get Chase’s attention, but I couldn’t catch his gaze. That’s understandable though—he’s been working hard.
Just as we’re about to leave, he sprints from the other side of the field and uses a Gatorade jug to jump up into the stands. He pulls me into his arms. “Couldn’t let you leave without saying good-bye.” He dips me slightly and kisses me.
“Hope you brought your checkbook, Brennan,” his coach yells. “That’s gonna cost you!”
He smiles at me. “So worth it.” He jumps down to the field and chases his team.
Chapter Forty-Four
Chase
Four hours. I got her back for four short hours before I had to let her go for a month. Why is it that we can’t get the timing right? I guess I shouldn’t complain. At least I got her back, and this time I know it’s for good.
Training camp was brutal. It’s been one of the hottest summers on record, and we’ve had guys dropping from dehydration left and right. My backup, Stu Segal, blew out his knee screwing around on the first day of camp. We drafted a rookie quarterback, Jimmy Lee, late in the sixth round this year, but he’s green. Way too green. I work with him nonstop during the first week, hoping I can get him up to speed, but he just can’t get the hang of the shotgun offense. The coaches aren’t ready to give up on him, but they decide to bring in some insurance. They offer an invitation to a guy who’s floated around the league for a while but never really made his mark anywhere: Brock Sanders.
Brock and I haven’t spoken since the night he lost the Heisman and foolishly decided to tell people he’d been sleeping with Arianna. Just thinking about the things he said and the way he tried to force his way into her room makes my blood boil. We’d been good friends for years, but I hadn’t realized what a tool he was until that night. I filled Aiden in on what happened—well, the parts pertaining to Brock anyway—and he spread the word around the league that Brock was bad news. Come draft time, Brock went from being a potential first- or second-round pick to going undrafted. He managed to walk onto a team and has been fighting for a roster spot ever since. I’d warned him not to fuck with Aiden Aldrich’s daughter. The bastard got what was coming to him.
But in a way, I guess I should thank him. Arianna cleaning my cuts from my fight with Brock sparked the moment that started it all for us. Had he not been a total fuckwad, she and I never would have had sex that night, and who knows how long it would have taken us to get together. It would have happened eventually, but knowing us, it could have taken decades.
When the coaches told me Brock was
coming to camp, I knew right then it meant trouble. He walked in on his first day with the biggest chip on his shoulder, just begging for me to knock him on his ass. For the whole week, he egged me on, daring me to take a swing, but I was a professional and kept my cool. I may have encouraged the quarterback coaches to make him run additional sprints, but that’s just harmless hazing.
Our first pre-season game was an away game against Denver. Ari was in the first row, right at the forty-yard line. Since I only played a handful of series, I spent the majority of the game working with Brock and Jimmy, but I was always watching her out of the corner of my eye. She was far more entertaining than the game. Pre-season games were just painful to watch.
After he turned over the ball for the third time, the coaches took Brock out.
He took his helmet off and sat next to me on the bench. “Did you see who’s in the stands?”
“I’m focusing on the game. If you have any hope of keeping your spot, I suggest you do the same,” I retorted.
“Oh, I think you want to know. It’s our old friend Arianna.”
I’d known he was talking about Ari. Gripping the clipboard so tight it have might snapped I ignored him and focused on the game.
“Did she ever give it up to you?”
“Brock. Shut the fuck up,” I said through gritted teeth.
“That’s too bad, dude. She has the sweetest pussy I’ve ever—”
Before he could say another filthy word, I cold-cocked him.
I got fined by the league and thankfully avoided a suspension, but I picked up a bad boy reputation. Suddenly my stability was called into question. The team had to deal with a ton of bad press, and my publicist earned her money putting out fires. It was a PR nightmare, but I’d do it again if I had the chance. Around the third week of pre-season, a story leaked that I had been defending the honor of a lady, and suddenly a bunch of women’s groups came out in support of me, claiming chivalry wasn’t dead or some shit like that. I was sure the story had been entirely manufactured by my PR team, but that was what I paid them for. By the end of camp, the whole thing died down. Sadly, Brock has secured the third-string roster spot, so I’ll have to deal with him for the rest of the season.
Love To Hate You Page 37
