by A. J. Pryor
Is the new woman in Derek Cage’s life critically injuring his football career?
Rumors swirl that Derek Cage will be released mid-season, his lackluster performance on Sunday adding to the long list of disappointments.
I can’t conceal the tremor in my hand as I pass the note to Gwen. It’s dirty and wrinkled, but the letters SLUT are prominently displayed.
“How do you know this was intended for you?” she asks.
“It was on my windshield.”
“I guess that makes it obvious.”
“Glaringly.”
“So let’s dissect this for a minute. You get a package a few weeks ago with photos of you with Derek and now you have a note with the word slut. Again, Hannah, I think it’s a jealous fan.”
“What about the coffee shop?”
She looks at me clueless.
“At the coffee shop. Someone shoved me and called me a bitch and told me to rot in hell.”
“Have you called the police?”
“No, and I’m not going to. Derek doesn’t need that type of attention, and that’s exactly where they’ll look. But do you think whoever murdered Lily Harold is trying to stop me from getting too close to this story? Too close to Derek? Chandler told me the last reporter who tried to find out details ended up in rehab, maybe he was stalked, too.”
“Have you thought about contacting that reporter? Combining your notes?”
That idea did cross my mind, but I quickly dismissed it. This is my story, and Derek is my subject. I’m not sharing it with anyone, and I refuse to let someone scare me off my path. “Forget it. You’re probably right. I’m sure it’s just a jealous fan.”
“Hannah, if you think you’re in danger, you should tell someone.”
“I’m telling you.”
“Someone important, smart ass.”
“I’m too close, Gwen. This stays between us. I promise, if things get too tight, I’ll go to the police.”
“Fine, but you better keep me in the loop. Now, tell me again about last night.”
“No.”
“Please.”
“Stop asking.” Gwen’s done discussing my safety, but I’m done talking about Derek. I knew when my tired mind began to stir that he was gone. The bed was too cold, the room too quiet. He’d bolted, and I’m pissed and afraid.
“Maybe he had to restrain himself from strangling you in your sleep.”
“That’s not funny,” I say, disgusted.
“He does have that temper.”
“Not toward me.” I invade his privacy, ask him personal questions, pry into his past, and tear through his life. I asked him something deeply personal last night, had trailed my fingers along the edge of his chain, and he’d been bothered; he’d been distracted, but he hadn’t been mad.
“You think he’s innocent of murder?” she asks.
“I have serious doubts.”
“You said you asked him a question. You know he doesn’t like questions.”
I glare at her. “Gwen, he doesn’t mind when I ask questions.”
“Well, maybe it was that question he didn’t like.”
I rub my face in my hands and try to erase the memory of his tortured expression. Whether keeping a secret or remembering something from his past, Derek carries a treasure chest full of guilt.
I’m yours.
He left.
My heart hurts, my body is sore, my mind is scattered. After he freaked about the chain, we had sex twice more. Incredible sex, each time better than the previous. I’d fallen asleep cradled in his arms and awoken cold and alone, my phone depressingly silent. I made Gwen meet me before work. I’m beginning to think I should have stayed in bed.
“Sarah,” the Caribou barista calls out. It catches my attention, and I see Sarah walk up to retrieve her coffee. I haven’t seen her since the last time I sat in this coffee shop mulling over Derek Cage. What are the odds?
“Do you know that woman?” Gwen asks.
“I met her a few weeks ago. I’m surprised to see her back in the city, especially considering it’s only seven in the morning.”
After retrieving her order, Sarah turns, and immediately our eyes meet. Instant recognition brightens her round face. “Hannah! How are you?”
I stand and greet her, her friendly eyes maternal and affectionate.
“I thought you hated the city.” I pull out a chair. “Gwen this is Sarah—“
“Press.” Sarah holds out her hand. “Sarah Press, it’s nice to meet you.”
“Do you want to sit with us?” I ask.
Smiling she takes the offered seat. “I do hate the city, but I didn’t finish all my business, so I’m back.”
“What business are you in?” Gwen asks.
“I write history textbooks.” She takes a sip of her coffee, her gaze roaming the shop.
“Really? That’s one of those jobs you don’t realize exists,” Gwen says. “It’s not something I would give a second thought to.”
“You got that right. I fell into it about eight years ago. I’m somewhat of a homebody, and I don’t have to go into an office except when I need clarification or an accuracy report from a government official. Then I have to come into the city, and I can’t say I love that part. What about you, dear? How have you been since I saw you last?”
I take a sip of my coffee, avoiding her question.
“She got her heart broken last night.”
“Gwen!”
“What? It’s true,” she continues. “A big-time football player.”
“Oh my, well, I’ve heard those athletes can be tough on the heart, sometimes tougher on the soul.” She gives me a curious glance. “Would this football player happen to be Derek Cage?” she asks.
My eyes widen. “Is it that public?”
“I’m a news junkie, Hannah; it would be almost impossible to miss.”
If this woman knows about Derek and me, then how many other people’s radar am I on? Gwen’s theory is beginning to make more sense.
“I know I’m not your mother, Hannah, but I’m a good listener if you want to tell me what’s going on.”
I shouldn’t divulge information to this virtual stranger, but Derek hurt me last night and I could use some motherly advice. “He’s hot and cold,” I say. “One minute I think I’m his entire world, and the next he’s gone, vanished.”
“It doesn’t help that she’s writing a story on him. He’s her paycheck.”
“That’s the least of my concerns,” I explain. “I’m worried about him. He seems tortured.”
“Because of his past?” Sarah asks.
I nod. “It’s like he won’t allow himself to be happy.”
Thoughtfully, Sarah digests my words before frowning and taking my hand. Her soft grip is a comfort. “Then show him what happiness looks like.”
Show him what happiness looks like.
It sounds effortless. And maybe it is.
I breeze into the Monday morning meeting, my mind wrapped around Derek and my life. It seems I’m not the only one whose thoughts have drifted there. The men all gawk at me. Their eyes track my movement like predators to prey. No one speaks; no one hides their interest in my presence.
I take my seat next to Chandler who’s wearing a shit-eating grin.
“Stay strong, Sunshine.”
Travis doesn’t give his two-minute stare-down this morning. Instead, he slaps yesterday’s sports section in front of me. “If that had been any one of us, we’d be hauled into HR for sexual misconduct. You don’t belong here.”
My blood boils. “Is that your problem, Mr. McCoy? You’re looking for equal rights?”
He stands and leans forward, his hands supporting his weight on the table. “Are you fucking Derek Cage?”
I rise and meet his heated gaze.
“That’s none of your business.”
“I watch you,” he seethes. “In the locker room, on the field. I watch you. I see the way you look at him, like he’s a god or a prize, so
me type of trophy you’ve won. You’re an embarrassment to our industry.”
“Is it you?” My voice is lethal.
His brows knit in confusion. “Yeah, it’s Travis McCoy, the best sports reporter this city has ever seen, and I’ve never exposed my dick for a story. I’ve never had to.”
“Are you stalking me? Is this some kind of game?”
He jerks his head back, his eyes narrowing to slits. “You’re delusional. Larry should fire you.” He jabs at me with his finger. “Maybe you should have stayed in the kitchen. Being a woman and completely stupid about the sport you’re covering, fucking your way to answers is your only hope. I knew it would end like this. I fucking knew it.”
“Travis! That’s enough.” Larry enters the room, and everyone squirms like a bunch of school children caught cheating.
“Chandler, take Hannah to my office. I’ll be there momentarily.”
“Yes, sir.”
I feel pressure at my trembling elbow and realize Chandler is guiding me through the hallways, his touch a welcome support. Tears sting my eyes. I’m not a slut, have never used sex to get me anywhere in life, and I’ve been called it twice in the past twenty-four hours. Fuck that. Fuck Travis McCoy. Fuck Derek Cage. And Fuck football. We enter Larry’s corner office, the view of the river especially clear and beautiful this morning. I’ve made a mess of things, and I don’t know how it happened. Maybe that’s Derek’s specialty. Fly into someone’s life, capture their heart, and then rearrange the pieces. It’s how I feel right now. Out of order.
“Well, that was interesting. You sure know how to make an entrance, Sunshine.”
“Go ahead, Chandler. Ask what’s on your mind.”
“We don’t have a lot of time before Solomon appears, but do you know about Derek’s other women?”
I don’t know where he gets his information, or why he taunts me, but shit, that comment slices me like a knife.
“Talk,” I say.
“He has women. Lots of them.”
Jealousy is a wicked bitch. It wraps around me, squeezing me like a vise, stealing my breath. “Who are they?”
“Wives, executives, political junkies. All miserable in their lives but unable to escape the hell they’ve signed up for. There’s a handful he likes to entertain.”
I sit still. Quiet. Needing him to explain further. Although a large part of me doesn’t want to know any more.
“He keeps to himself, Sunshine. His relationships are hushed, his activities in the bedroom all gossip. There’s some truth to it, though. There’s always truth to the rumors.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because you’re different. Either he’s playing you like a fool, or he’s into you. You need to watch your back, Sunshine. Both in the office and with Cage. You’ve just made yourself vulnerable, and you need to be careful.”
“Do you think I’m in danger, Chandler?”
“I have no clue, but I hope not.”
I should tell Chandler about the note on my car, the photos, but then his information sharing will stop, his belief that looking into Derek’s past forced the last reporter into rehab will be confirmed, and I need him.
“What more can you tell me about Lily Harold?” If I can figure out what happened that night, things may begin to fall into place.
“I’ve already told you what I know, but I can get you a meeting with her parents. They haven’t given an interview in years, but I know them well. I think I can get them to talk to you.”
It feels like a betrayal to Derek. A stab in the back. But so did waking up alone this morning. “Book it. Please.”
The office door swings open. “Chandler, thank you for your help. You can go now.”
A knot forms in my throat.
He closes the door after Chandler leaves and sits across from me.
“Have you fallen for him?”
“Excuse me?” I ask, startled.
“Derek Cage. Are you two an item?”
It’s a direct question. No bullshit, no beating around the bush, no false pleasantries.
“I’m not sure Derek does the ‘item’ thing.”
He rubs his forehead in frustration. “Hannah, you’re my employee, my responsibility. Derek Cage is dangerous. You’ve seen this up close. You’ve experienced the ramifications of his rage. What are you doing?”
Yet you gave me this assignment. You threw me into the fire.
His office is eerily quiet, the ticking clock on his desk deafening. “I’m trying to get his story, Larry. That’s what I’m doing.”
“I never asked you to sleep with him, Hannah. That’s not the type of business I’m running.”
“And I’m offended you’d think I’d sleep my way into a story, Mr. Solomon.”
“Then what is this?” He drops the paper in front of me. I hadn’t seen it until this moment, and I can now understand what all the commotion is about.
Whoever took this photo has impeccable timing. They got this shot before I slapped him. Our eyes are closed. Our lips pressed together in a searing kiss. That kiss was filled with more heat and passion than I’d realized, and everyone else must realize it, too.
“That is private.” Well, it was meant to be.
“Then it wouldn’t have landed in the paper. I don’t give a shit who you’re sleeping with or what goes on in your personal life. I can’t have McCoy getting riled. He’s already a loose cannon and this just adds a whole shit storm of problems to my team. Sleep with who you want, Hannah, but keep it out of the press.”
“What’s McCoy’s problem? He’s hated me from the start.”
Larry rubs at his chin. “The Bears are his. He’s been covering them for years. But he couldn’t get close enough to Derek to write about what color his eyes are let alone find out what time the man takes a shit. He’s jealous, and he’s furious. He’s going to do whatever it takes to break you. You need to be prepared to fight him off.”
“If you want to protect me, Larry, you’re focusing on the wrong man. Maybe you should let your loose cannon fly.”
He chuckles and takes a deep breath. “Travis has a specialty for every other athlete, just not Cage. Write a killer story, Hannah, and all of this will fade away.”
A killer story. What a shitty choice of words.
“Where were you tonight, Derek?”
I rub the sleep from my eyes, and a blurry vision of my father assaults me. The last time he’d woken me up was to tell me my mother was dead. This can’t be good.
“I was with Lily. Why?” I sit up and yawn. It’s close to two a.m. My room is brighter than it should be. There are blue and red lights flashing outside my window.
“Where? What were you doing with her?”
“Just hanging. What’s going on?”
I jump out of bed and head to the window. “Dad, why are there cop cars at Lily’s house?” My insides churn, and I race out of the room, not needing his response.
“Derek, wait!”
I take the stairs two at a time and run out my front door. It’s freezing. I’m barefoot and shirtless, but nothing is going to stop me from getting to her. There are so many cops everywhere, and ambulance lights ablaze.
“Lily!” I run through the commotion screaming her name, searching for her face. Confused and panicked.
“Son, you can’t go in there.” A uniformed policeman is blocking my path.
“My girlfriend lives there. I need to see her.” Adrenaline is fueling my actions, my heart a ticking time bomb.
“You need to step back.”
“I need to see her. She’s probably scared shitless. Let me through.”
A desperate scream breaks the darkness of the night, and we both gaze to the house. A stretcher is wheeled down the front path, a body bag resting on top. Mr. and Mrs. Harold falter on the front steps, still in their black-tie clothes, their sobs echoing through the neighborhood.
“Lily.” My voice is shaking, my heart catching up with my mind. “Lily,” I say lo
uder. I make a run for the stretcher, the sight a nightmare I need proof to believe. Not again. Please don’t let this be happening again.
“Derek.” My dad grabs my arm and yanks me back. “Get inside.”
I shrug him off and keep moving. “Who is in that bag?” I ask the officer.
“I can’t disclose that information.”
“Is it Lily? It can’t be Lily. I was just with her. Please, what’s going on?”
“You were with the young woman who lives here tonight?”
“Yes. Where is she?”
“Derek! That’s enough. Get in the house!”
It can’t be Lily in that bag, but her parents . . . Her parents are in agony. Please don’t let it be Lily.
One look at my father’s face, and I knew. It wasn’t pain I saw in his expression; it was doubt. Had someone killed her? Did my dad think I had anything to do with this? What the fuck? Was the cop connecting unbelievable dots as well?
I later learned Lily had been killed instantly when someone took a rock to her head.
Sixty seconds was all it took to drain the life from a beautiful and vibrant girl.
Sixty seconds for my life to irrevocably change forever.
Sixty seconds to destroy my trust in family and love.
My mom’s death had killed part of my heart. Lily’s death abolished the rest. For the first time since that devastating night, I can feel the beating of my heart.
An unidentifiable fingerprint saved me from a lifetime in jail. But it didn’t release the chains around my heart. Hannah’s the only one able to ease that pain.
My actions Sunday night were unforgivable. Leaving the way I did was cowardly. But I’m going to win Hannah’s heart. I have to.
The street is dark, a few lamps illuminating spots here and there. I push the button to her apartment, and wait for her to answer.
“Who is it?” She sounds tired, the spark in her voice drained.
“It’s Derek. Can I come up?”
She’s silent. That’s never a good sign.
“Please.”
“It’s late, Derek, and it’s been a rough week. Can we do this another time?”
“Give me ten minutes, Hannah.”
“Not tonight.”
“You can ask me anything you want. I promise I’ll answer honestly.”
