I shrug. “I have no idea.”
She shudders. “I hope they don’t try to send him to Tate’s family.”
“Why?”
“Let’s just say the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. I remember Daddy talking about Tate when he was still in high school. He was one of the hottest linebackers in his graduating class. Tons of schools were clamoring to get him. Tate didn’t have the grades for Stanford, so he wasn’t an option for Daddy, but Daddy said he wouldn’t touch him even if he could. From what Daddy told me, Tate’s father was some kind of con man, and he got Tate and his brothers wrapped up in tons of trouble. I think Tate was arrested a bunch of times in high school. Spent some time in juvie too, though I’m sure you know that. Daddy mentioned a number of reports of abuse—broken bones, busted noses, stitches. Tate had a bunch of brothers, four or five I think, and they’d get put into foster care then run away and go back to the father who treated them like punching bags. The whole situation was messed up.”
“That’s a horrible story, and I want to feel sorry for him, but I can’t,” I reply. “I just can’t sympathize with someone who could do what he did. Especially if he lived through it. He should know better than anyone the damage he was doing.”
She glances over her shoulder. “It’s getting late. You really should get some sleep. This may not look any better in the morning, but there’s nothing you can do. We just have to trust he’ll be arrested, and hopefully this will be the last we see of Billy Tate.”
“Let’s hope you’re right. I think I need to go to bed. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Love you, Blondie.”
Chapter Eight
Arianna
Stepping out of baggage claim, I see one of my favorite men. Unfortunately, he isn’t the man I was expecting. Trying to hide my disappointment, I cup his face. “You need to stop growing. I’ve been gone two weeks, and I swear you’re twice as big as when I left.” I kiss Calder’s head peeping out of Charlie’s Baby Bjorn.
I notice a bunch of flashes out of the corner of my eye. I peer over my shoulder and spot a hoard of photographers. I’d love to go bash in their cameras. It’s one thing for them to get pictures of me, but it’s another for them to get Calder. I move so I block their view.
“What am I? Chopped liver? I swear, ever since I pushed this kid out, I’ve become invisible.”
“Sorry.” I kiss Charlie on the cheek. “Thank you for coming to get me.”
“Sorry Chase couldn’t make it,” she says.
I had wanted to order a car, but Chase insisted he would pick me up. We’ve barely seen each other in weeks. Months, really. He’s consumed with football, and I’ve been traveling non-stop, trying to keep a million balls in the air. When we do get to see each other, we’re with his team, or his family, or some of our staff. Since our schedules are so demanding, most of our communication ends up being via text. Last night, when neither of us could remember the last time we had a real, live, face-to-face conversation, just the two of us, he said he was going to ditch practice to pick me up from the airport. It was sweet, and I love him for it, but I knew then it wouldn’t really happen. The Niners are playing Seattle this weekend. It’s easily the most important game of the regular season. No matter how much he wants to leave, he can’t.
The team is undefeated so far. With every win, the possibility they could return to the Super Bowl increases and the pressure on Chase’s shoulders mounts. I feel as though he’s carrying a thousand-pound barbell with him everywhere he goes. I hear it in his voice, and it worries me. He tells me he’s taking care of himself when I’m out of town, but he also PMs me play ideas at three in the morning, so I know he’s up watching film. I would love for him to win again, but I hate to see the toll the road to victory is taking on him. It’s just not worth it.
“I figured that’s how it would work out. I’m so happy he sent you rather than a car.” I put my arm around her shoulder. “It’s been forever since I’ve gotten to spend time with you. Let’s go to lunch and catch up.” I use my free arm to grab the handle to my suitcase, and I lead us toward the exit.
“No can do. You know that super-bitchy chick from the front office? The one who acts like her shit doesn’t stink because she works in the front office?”
I crinkle my nose. “Oh, Melody?”
Scowling, she narrows her eyes. “Yes. Melody.” Charlie says her name as though she’s talking about a yeast infection. “She thinks I’m Chase’s PA and she has the right to bark orders at me. She called about an hour ago and informed me that I was to pick you up and bring you to Levi. Jeb wants to see you.”
Again? Oh man, this is getting out of control. I talk to Jeb more than I talk to Chase. Don’t get me wrong, I love that Jeb values my opinion and he trusts me enough to bring me into the fold with team issues. It’s tremendously flattering, and I enjoy helping him work through these challenges. However, he has a whole staff he pays handsomely to work on these problems. I’m trying to juggle eight million balls as it is. I don’t have time for another one.
“I need to talk to him about this beck-and-call-BFF thing. I can’t keep running up to Levi every time he wants to talk. I’m sorry they forced you into chauffeur duty. They should have just called a cab.”
“It’s all good. I wouldn’t have been able to hang out anyway. Calder and I have a Mommy and Me yoga class, then we go on a stroller walk with the other moms from class.” She stops dead in her tracks as we walk by a newsstand.
“What?”
She points at the rack of tabloids. “Depending on which magazine you believe, you’ve broken up, had a secret wedding, and had a baby last week.” She picks up one of the magazines. “I haven’t seen this one yet. It seems Chase is having an affair with a mystery woman.” She looks closer at the picture of Chase hugging a woman in front of his truck. “That’s me! Calder and I brought him dinner last week.” She gags. “That’s disgusting.”
I point at the group of photographers hanging around. “They’ve been taking pictures of us the whole time. I’m sure next week’s cover will be ‘Arianna and Secret Mistress Airport Showdown.’”
She holds up the magazine for the photographers. “I’m his sister, you morons.” She looks at the picture again, then looks down at Calder. “You don’t think they think this is Chase’s baby, do you?” She gags again. “I’m going to be sick.”
“Let’s get out of here.” I put the magazine back on the rack, grab my bag, then walk toward the parking garage. “I’m so sorry you’ve been dragged into this. It’s completely unfair. Chase’s going to lose his mind when he hears about it. Ever since we announced our engagement, the press has been a nightmare. I swear it gets exponentially worse every day. Especially when I’m in New York. The paparazzi there swarm like African Bees. It’s insane.”
She keeps looking over her shoulder to see if they’re following us. “I love you, but I hate this part of you.”
“I don’t blame you. You didn’t sign up for any of this.”
******
Charlie drives like a maniac to the stadium, constantly checking her rearview mirror to see if anyone is behind us. I try to reassure her that we’re fine, but I can tell she’s still ill at ease. This isn’t the first time she’s been in pictures that have ended up in the papers. But usually she’s in the background. She’s fuzzy or it’s half of her head, or an arm or something. This time it’s her back and the side of her face, so very few people will know it’s her. But I think Calder is the difference. Mama Bear mode has kicked in, and she wants to make sure he’s protected. I can’t blame her. I don’t want those parasites taking his picture either.
I know it shouldn’t matter. He’s a baby who looks like a million other babies. No one’s going to be able to pick him out of a crowd as Chase Brennan’s love child, but it still bothers me. I want to keep something for ourselves—not for public consumption. Plus, people have been watching me since I was born, and when people follow you your entire life, they feel like they own a piece of y
ou. I don’t want that for Calder.
After she pulls up to the stadium, she puts the car in park. “Dinner tomorrow night? You can fill me in on all the wedding details?”
I kiss her cheek. “I’m leaving again tomorrow morning. When I get back?”
“Perfect. Just leave your entourage at home, okay?” she says, worry lines creasing her forehead.
“You got it.” I glance back and look at Calder through the mirror Charlie has set up so she can see him even though he’s facing backwards. “Thanks for being my chauffeur. Have fun at yoga.”
“After this, I need to work on my chi!” she replies.
I pull my luggage out of the back of her Range Rover, then head into the building. The guard stows my bag for me, and I take the elevator up to Jeb’s floor. I get the go-ahead from the receptionist to go back to Jeb’s office.
Jeb walks to the door and gives me a hug when I enter his office. “Arianna, I’m so happy you’re here. You’re just in the nick of time. We’re in dire need of your help.”
I slip out of my coat and drape it over the back of the sofa. “Anything for you, Jeb, you know that. What can I do?”
Jeb gestures to a woman about thirty-five years old, who has short auburn hair and high cheekbones. “This is Cammie Conrad, Vice President of Marketing. We were just brainstorming solutions.”
“I’ve heard so many wonderful things about you,” Cammie says as she walks toward me. “Thank you so much for coming in. We’re in a bit of a pickle, and I’m hoping you can help.”
I shake her hand. “The pleasure’s mine. So what’s going on? Besides the obvious.”
Jeb sits and gestures for me to do the same. “As you know, this whole Billy Tate scandal has been a devastating blow to the organization. It makes me physically ill that I chose him to be a part of our family. The coaches were worried about his checkered history, and I said, ‘Everyone deserves a second chance. Let’s give him a fresh start.’ What does he do with that second chance? He beats his son over the head with it.” His head falls into his hands.
I can see how this has crushed him. He’s lost weight. The little hair he has left is thinning. The past three weeks have done a number on him. Especially since the DA decided not to press charges. The video was too grainy. Earlier parts of the video had been edited. Something about chain of custody, and the editing made it impossible to verify authenticity. No one believes any of it, it’s just Tate’s lawyers helping him slide out of trouble again.
We kept hoping the DA would find another way to nail him, but then another video magically appeared, showing Billy across the country at the same time as the timestamp on the video. He was at a non-official practice a few hours before the video was shot. We might not have video to prove it, but we know it was impossible for Tate to have been on the east coast when this exonerating video was shot. Several players including myself offered to testify, but the DA told us he was dropping the case. The ex-girlfriend and little boy swore Billy would never hurt them, that the video was some sort of frame job. All the people at the party corroborated, so the DA felt the case wasn’t winnable and his hands were tied. Billy walked away scot free.
The NFL issued a six-game suspension, but the courts overruled it, and Tate is free to sign with any team and start playing immediately. The suspension was overturned not because of the suspension itself but because of the way the commissioner botched the disciplinary process. Now the story’s shifted from a child abuser walking free to the degrading authority of the commissioner. Billy, the worm that he is, slithered out of trouble again.
His agent is probably working overtime to get him picked up by another team. The sad thing is someone will take a chance on him. No matter how deplorable the man may be, someone’s desire to win a Super Bowl ring—and he is a great player—will supersede their disgust.
“Jeb, you have to stop beating yourself up. There was no way you could have known. Think about how many people you’ve given that second chance, and they took it and went on to do amazing things. We all need a fresh start at one point in our lives. We need someone who believes we aren’t defined by our mistakes. Don’t let this situation stop you from giving people an opportunity to turn their lives around.”
He nods in a way that says, Thank you for saying it, but I don’t believe it. “I’m doing everything I can to repair the damage done here. Unfortunately, it feels like all I’m doing is throwing money around rather than actually making a difference.”
“You know, I was thinking about that.” I tap my fingers on the arm of the sofa while I debate if I should offer my idea. It’s not really my place to put in my two cents, but at the same time, he did ask me here to help. “What if instead of trying to fix it, you embrace the issue? We’re all saying we had no idea any of this was going on, and that’s often the case with domestic violence. People get very good at hiding it, and unless you’re looking for the red flags, the average person could miss it. So what if we start an awareness campaign completely owning our mistakes? Something like, ‘We missed the signs, so could you.’ We can have players do PSAs talking about red flags, where to go for help, and that not all child abusers look like what we’d expect them to. I honestly think if you want to help, drawing attention to the issue is the number-one way you can make a difference.”
“That’s brilliant,” Cammie says as she jots notes on a pad. “We could get the NFL involved. I know they’re smarting over not being able to do anything. A league-wide ad campaign will be right up their alley.” She taps her pen on the pad. “That won’t help Tate on his mission to get picked up by another team, which makes it all the more delicious. How could any team pick him up if the entire NFL is making a stand against domestic violence?”
Jeb smiles at me. “You’re a genius. I’d better be careful, or they’re going to kick me out of this office and give it to you.”
I wink at him. “You own the team. Your job security is locked. Now that I’ve offered you some unsolicited advice, what is the problem you asked me here to help with?”
Cammie puts the cap on her pen then sets it and the pad next to her on the sofa. “In addition to a number of other things we’re doing, we’ve asked the players’ wives to organize an event to raise funds and awareness for domestic violence issues.” She shifts in her seat. “It hasn’t been going well.”
I cross my legs. “No?”
“Our goal is to send the message to the community that the Niners will not tolerate domestic violence in our family. We’re trying to re-instill the public’s faith in us and who we are as an organization. Unfortunately, this group of women is more focused on which shoes they should buy and if the bartenders will be good-looking. We’ve hired three different event coordinators to support them, and they’ve all quit. The last one said he’s worked with high schoolers that are more mature.” If her tone didn’t betray her level of frustration, the red splotches on her face do. She takes a breath. “We need for this to be taken seriously, and with the women in this particular group, I’m not sure that’s going to happen. Would you be willing to step in?”
“Who’s in the group?”
She pulls a sheet out of her folder and hands it to me. The list is surprising.
“We have so many really talented wives affiliated with this team, from so many different walks of life. Women who could offer so much. How come none of them are involved?” I ask.
“Oh, that would probably be because of Candy McHue.”
I furrow my brows as I try to recall a Candy. I know a lot of the player’s wives and girlfriends but not all of them. “I’m not sure I know her.”
“She’s a gold-digging whore who’s as shallow as a kiddie pool,” Jeb retorts.
Cammie chuckles. “He said it, not me. She’s Norm Cowie’s wife.”
Ah, that explains it. Norm is a mover-and-shaker of epic proportions. He’s the type of guy that’s always on the move, always has twelve things lined up. There’s probably a girl waiting for him at each event too. He’s ne
ver said anything, but I wouldn’t put it past him. His wife probably has to act out just to get his attention. I’ve gotten to know him pretty well over the years and he’s never once mentioned her. I didn’t even know he was married. Ouch!
“If this gives you a frame of reference,” Cammie continues, “She’s tried to get on one of the Housewives shows, but they said she’s too intense for them.”
“Wow. Is that even possible?” I guess if she makes a complete ass of herself on national television, he’ll have to talk to her.
She shrugs. “I have no idea, but that’s the rumor. Several wives have said they’d help as long as they don’t have to work with Candy. We’re hoping if you’re involved, maybe some of the other wives who haven’t been active will choose to participate.”
The last thing I have time for is another project. I should just tell him no. There has to be someone else. But this project has Katie and Charlie written all over it. I just need to take back control from the mean girl who forgot to grow up, and I can pass the baton. “I’m happy to help. My plate is very full right now, but I’ll find a way to help you get this back on target. Just let me know when and where, and I’ll make it work.”
Jeb looks at his watch. “Oh my, look at the time! I’m sorry, but I have to cut this meeting short.” He shuffles some papers on his desk, then pulls out a folder. “Arianna, could you be a dear and take this downstairs to conference room C on your way out? Oscar’s waiting on these figures.”
I take the folder. “Of course.” I turn to Cammie. “Call my manager, Helen, and set up the meeting.”
I rush down the stairs and look for room C. The hallways are strangely empty for this time of day. The heavy smell of Italian food hits me, telling me I’ve found the right room. Where there is food, there are coaches. I knock on the door.
Love To Love You (Love/Hate #3) Page 8
