Love To Love You (Love/Hate #3)

by Isabelle Richards

  “I appreciate your concern, and I do believe you’re coming from a good place, but our relationship is terminated.”

  “Ari—”

  “No,” I cut her off. “I’ve heard all I need to hear. Now it’s my turn to speak. You’ve just suggested I abandon my fiancé in his darkest hour to protect myself. The fact that you could even present that as an option tells me that you are no longer the right people to represent me.” I stand and point toward the door. “Now please leave.”

  Slinging his bag over his shoulder, Simon stands and points at me. “You’re going to regret this. I give it a month before you start to lose everything. These magazine pieces are just the tip of the iceberg. You’re going to lose it all. I beg you, for your sake, please reconsider.”

  “Chase is everything. If you can’t see that, you can’t work for me. Now get out.”

  Simon storms out in a huff.

  I turn to Helen, who’s just sitting there, dumbfounded. “You too. Go.”

  She looks at me with pleading eyes. “Ari, we’ve been together for over a decade.”

  I shrug. “And clearly it’s time for a change. Good luck to you.”

  She picks up her purse and shuffles out of the room.

  Maybe I was a bit hasty. I could have talked it out with them, maybe tried to get them to understand my perspective. I could have just told them no, and maybe they would have dropped it and moved on. But anyone who would suggest I leave Chase clearly doesn’t have my best interest at heart. There was a time in my life when that was the kind of representation I wanted, when all I cared about was my career. But those days are long gone, and they knew that.

  I flop back onto the sofa. Looks as though I’ll be adding ‘find new representation’ to my ever-growing to-do list.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chase

  Dry roasted edamame. Cayenne chickpeas. Pea protein chips.

  What the fuck is pea protein? People actually eat this shit? You’ve got to be kidding me. Ari and I need to have a long conversation about snack food and household staples.

  I slam the cabinet shut and open the fridge. Salad dressing and ketchup. Not even good ketchup. It’s the sugar-free, organic ketchup. Since we can’t go anywhere without being attacked by press or Niner fans who now view me as the devil incarnate (or both), we turned shopping duty over to Helen. She didn’t go all last week. I thought she would have stocked up while we were in Dallas this weekend. Apparently not.

  I grab Heisman, clip on his leash, and walk down the path to my parents’ house. They’ll at least have something carnivorous.

  “Mom?” I call as I walk through the back door into the kitchen. “I’m here to raid your fridge.” I let Heisman off his lead and rummage through their fridge.

  Score! Leftovers. I load up a plate of pot roast and roasted chicken, plus a bowl of chili with extra sour cream and cheese. You never know how much you’ll miss cheese until you live with a vegan.

  While everything’s in the microwave, I look around for Mom and Pop. The door was unlocked, so they have to be here. I wander through the house until I hear the TV on downstairs. When I get into the living room, I see Heisman curled up with a sleeping Calder.

  “You let your grandchild sleep on the floor?” I ask.

  Mom and Pop look up from the TV.

  “Oh, shit, Chase,” Pop says as he searches for the remote. He grabs the one for the surround sound instead and turns the volume way up, blaring a commercial for Viagra. “Shit, shit, shit.” He grabs another remote and turns on the ceiling fan. “Kathryn, we have too many damn remotes. I just want to turn off the doggone TV.”

  For Pop to be this spooked, I’m a little scared to find out what they’re watching. The guy screaming about erectile dysfunction isn’t helping.

  The DirectTV remote is wedged between the sofa cushions. I grab it, then turn toward the TV to turn it off. The Viagra commercial ends, thank God, and Ari’s face comes on the screen.

  “What the hell?” I say.

  “Welcome back to the Jim Rome Show. I’m Jim Rome, and I’m here with the ridiculously hot Arianna Aldrich. Might I just say, you’re looking particularly smokin’ today.”

  “You be sure to tell your wife hello for me,” she says with a wink.

  I grab the Bose remote and turn down the sound. Jim Rome is hard enough to take at regular volume. Jim Rome flirting with my fiancée at ear-piercing decibels is enough to make me want to stab my eardrum with an ice pick. “She didn’t tell me she was going to LA today. Why the hell wouldn’t she tell me? And she despises Jim Rome. Why the hell would she go on his show?”

  The microwave buzzer goes off in the distance.

  “Oh, did you make food?” Mom asks. “Why don’t we go get it?” She puts her hand on my back and nudges me toward the door. “Pat, why don’t you turn the TV off, and we’ll all go upstairs.”

  I brush her off. “I want to watch Ari.”

  “You know you’re not supposed to watch TV right now,” Pop says. “Nothing good will come from it. All this will do is rile you up, and son, you’ve got that in spades right now. Come on. Let’s just go upstairs.”

  I stare at him. “I’m watching,” I say in a tone that should tell him this isn’t up for debate.

  “Man, you’re gonna get me in trouble. I hate it when Ari’s mad at me. She gives me that face, the you-just-broke-my-heart-and-shattered-my-dreams-and-now-you-are-dead-to-me face. It kills me.” He points at Katie. “You’ll tell her it wasn’t my fault, right? I had no idea he’d be here, and the remotes… she knows I don’t know how to work this stuff.”

  My father is such a sucker for Ari. I swear he loves her more than he loves Charlie and me. I shake my head. “If you shut up, I won’t tell her.”

  I sit on the sofa and watch Ari banter with Rome.

  Ari cross her legs. “The investigation with the NFL is ongoing. These things take time, I understand that. Serious allegations have been made, and they need to be thoroughly vetted. But in the meantime, the world has already convicted and sentenced Chase. Do you know how many death threats we got last week? Seven.”

  Mom gasps. “Is that true, honey?”

  “Oh shit, how does she know about that? Scott was supposed to keep that between us.”

  Pop shrugs. “She’s Ari. She knows everything.”

  “Seven separate people want to kill him, or me, or both of us, because they’re convinced Chase committed this horrible act,” Ari continues. “Based on what? That’s the conversation I want to have. If everyone is so convinced Chase did it, show me what convinced you. If it’s actual proof, then I’m all ears. But if it’s just that you read a headline that said he did it and you believed it without anything backing it up, well, I think we need to change the conversation to when did Americans become a herd of sheep.”

  Pop claps. “That’s my girl. You get ‘em!”

  I love Ari for doing this, but she’s putting herself in the line of fire. This is going to piss Eckert off to no end, and he will retaliate.

  “I sent the Super Bowl game film to forty-five retired linebackers and quarterbacks. I asked them to look for any signs that a player for the Niners was deliberately trying to inflict harm, over and above accepted NFL standards. These are guys who would know a dirty hit when they saw it.”

  “And?” Rome asks. “What did they say?”

  “They couldn’t find one example.” Ari clicks a projector remote. “The hit that took down Marshall was a fluke, not a felony. Unlike this hit.” She clicks the remote again and shows a clip of me getting laid out last week. “This is the one everyone said is a dirty hit.”

  Grinning, Rome looks at Ari through narrowed eyes. “Ohh, you’re sneaky. I see what you’re doing there, you naughty girl, you. I guess I’ll just have to have you back on to chat about the unbelievably poor refereeing in Niner games this season. But that’s a convo for another day.” He claps and turns back to the camera. “Right now, let’s bring someone else on to discuss Ninergate
.”

  With raised eyebrows, Ari flashes him a stare of disdain. “Ninergate?”

  He shrugs. “Bountygate was already taken. You got anything better? Didn’t think so,” he says before she gets a chance to answer. “Come on out, Skip Davies.”

  The Price is Right music plays as Skip walks on the set.

  “Oh shit,” Pop says.

  “What?”

  Pop taps his fingers on the arm of the sofa. “I warned her not to go on this show. Rome loves to pit people against each other, and Skip hates Arianna. He’s going to come after her hard. I don’t like this.”

  “Wait, she talked to you about this? She told you and not me?”

  Mom and Pop both shush me.

  “Later,” Pop says.

  Skip sits across from Ari and straightens his tie with a nasty smirk. “So what? Your boyfriend can’t fight his own battles?”

  That son of a bitch. I wish I could reach through the TV and pull his balls out through his mouth.

  Ari flashes him the PR smile. “Such a pleasure to see you again, Skip. Obviously you’re not aware of this little thing called the NFL by-laws or the collective bargaining agreement. Players are prevented from speaking out against the NFL or discussing ongoing investigations. A seasoned sports reporter such as yourself probably should bone up on that.”

  Rome snorts. “She said bone. Arianna Aldrich talking about bones on my show. Damn it’s good to be alive, ain’t it?”

  Skip wags his finger at Ari. “You know, your father would be so ashamed of you, coming on here and defending a man who is singlehandedly destroying the Niners. The man who’s going to bring down the NFL. I bet Aiden’s rolling over in his grave. You should feel lucky he’s not alive to see this.”

  She chuckles and turns her attention to Jim. “People think that because they have a picture with a man and his autograph, they actually knew him.”

  Rome purses his lips. “I bet you get that a lot, huh?”

  Ari nods. “They see a man on TV every week and they think they know him. They forget he’s never actually been in their living room. I bet you get that all the time. People think you’re this chauvinist pig in real life. They don’t know you’re just a big teddy bear.”

  Rome holds his finger to his lips. “Shhh, don’t tell. That’s our little secret.” He swivels in his chair. “So back to Skip. She just called you out, dawg. Being a member of the Aiden Aldrich fan club does not make you bros. Whatchu got to say about that?”

  “Hey, I knew him!” Skip protests. “We were friends. Good friends.”

  Rome chortles, then covers his mouth, as though he’s trying to hide what he’s saying from Ari. “If you were, you’d know not to go after his daughter. Believe you me, there’s no faster way to get on that man’s bad side.”

  Ari ignores Rome and goes after Skip. “If you really knew my father, you’d know that he would be disgusted by the way the NFL is handling this investigation. Since a man’s reputation and livelihood is being decimated, my father would call for regular updates on the progress of the investigation. He would be revolted by the way the press has jumped on a presumptuous bandwagon and is crucifying a man without a shred of evidence backing them up. So yes, I bet my father is rolling over in his grave.” Ari turns her chair to look directly at Skip. “And another thing, Skip, if you disagree with me, prove me wrong. Present an actual intelligent argument based on logic and reason for a change. Don’t hide behind my father’s ghost. It’s cowardly.”

  “BURN,” Rome shouts. He points at the camera. “Be back after this!”

  “Oh, Ari,” Mom says, covering her mouth. “She’s poking the bear.”

  Pop pats her leg. “Ari’s got this. She can handle herself.”

  I mute the commercial. “What the hell is she doing? She’s throwing herself in the middle of this fight when she should be insulating herself.”

  “Someone needed to change the story,” Pop says. “Someone needed to remind people that you didn’t do this and there’s no evidence to prove that you did. Ari’s one of the few people who not only has access to do that but is a respected voice in the sports community. People will listen.”

  “Don’t be mad at her, honey,” Mom says. “She feels so helpless watching you go through all this. She wants to help, and this was the only way she could think of to do it.”

  “She should have talked to me!”

  Mom looks at me knowingly. “And you would have said no.”

  The show comes back on, and Rome signs off. Skip is glaring at Ari, obviously seething.

  “What’s that guy’s deal?”

  “He’s a sports writer who’s been dying to break into TV. He had a thing about Aiden—totally obsessed with the man. Not quite up to stalker level or anything, but let’s say an unhealthy fascination,” Pop says.

  “Man-crush of epic proportions,” Mom explains.

  Pop points at her. “Exactly. Anyway, he thought he was up to do a rotating spot during Aiden’s last season. It was his dream come true, then David brought Ari in. David never told anyone the real reason he was bringing her on, so Skip feels she used nepotism to steal his one shot at TV. He loathes her.”

  “And she knew she was going to be on a show with this fool? What is going through her mind?”

  “You,” Pop replies. “You are what’s going through her mind.”

  The grandfather clock in the living room goes off.

  “Fuck, I’ve got to get to practice.” I look at Heisman snuggling with Calder. “Will you watch him? Helen was supposed to come by this morning to walk him, and she never showed. Between bailing on that and not going grocery shopping, I don’t trust that she’s coming later either. I don’t want to leave him in the crate all day, and I won’t be home until ten or eleven. Since Ari’s apparently in LA, who knows when she’ll be home?”

  Mom puts her hand on my back as we walk upstairs. “I’ll take care of everything. I’ve got Calder for the whole day, so I can just as easily watch the dog. Just get to practice, and please stop worrying.”

  “Remember you promised you wouldn’t say anything to Ari,” Pop shouts through the intercom as I leave the house. “You never saw that. You know nothing about her being in LA.”

  I run home, grab my keys, hop in the truck, and fume the whole way to the stadium. I hate when she keeps stuff from me. I understand why she’s doing it, and I can’t say I wouldn’t do the exact same thing in her shoes, but I still hate it.

  Tapping my thumbs on the steering wheel, I fight the urge to call her. To let her know how pissed I am right now. But she’s probably still on the sound stage, and the last thing we need is for someone to overhear us arguing on the phone.

  When I pull into my parking spot, I send her a text. After writing and deleting several versions of me telling her just how pissed I am, I realize I sound like a total prick. She is doing this all for me. I settle on something less hostile.

  C: Have a safe flight home.

  Now she knows that I know. There’s no avoiding this discussion now, Ari.

  ******

  It’s almost midnight when I get home from practice.

  “Ari?” I call out as I pull my keys out of the lock on the door. The lights are on, but there’s no sign of her or Heisman. I drop my bag on the floor by the door, kick off my shoes, and head upstairs.

  When I get into her bedroom, I find her and Heisman asleep on the bed. The way Heisman’s sprawled out, he’s taking up ninety percent of it.

  “I know you’re mad at me, but can you yell at me tomorrow?” she mumbles without lifting her head off the pillow or opening her eyes. “I’ve had a long, crappy day, and I need to sleep. I promise you can scream as loud and as long as you want in the morning.” She pulls the blanket close, then drifts back to sleep.

  She looks so beautiful lying there in my old jersey from high school. My anger melts a little with each tiny snore.

  I kiss the top of her forehead. “All right, Blondie. Tomorrow.”

  Sh
e smiles ever so slightly. “Love you,” she says with a sleepy voice.

  “I love you too.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Arianna

  The alarm goes off at three thirty. I shut it off quickly, hoping I don’t wake Chase. My heavy lids threaten to close, but I force them back open. My morning is too busy for sleep. I have to call into ESPN Radio for an interview at four my time, seven eastern time. CBS Sports Radio at four thirty. Then Sirius XM NFL channel, then Mad Dog Sports. Then I call in for segments on the local shows: Boston, three in New York City, Washington, Charleston, Philly, Pittsburgh, Miami, Cleveland, Cincinnati. Back-to-back-to-back interviews on sports-talk radio stations. I’ll be going until eight AM Pacific time. Tomorrow I do the mid-west to the west coast. If I have a voice left.

  Everyone has questions, and I’m the only one offering any answers. I pray to God by the time I’m done, people will at least keep an open mind about Chase. Maybe, if we’re lucky, all this press will put pressure on the commissioner to put some pace on the investigation.

  Pulling my hair into a knot, I rush downstairs, then grab some water before heading into Daddy’s office to look over my talking points. I have a lot to squeeze into a very limited time. The art to radio is getting information out in a nonchalant manner. If people feel as though you’re going through bullet points, they zone out. No one wants to be lectured as they fight the morning commute. So the key is slipping it in as conversationally as possible.

  By eight o’clock, my voice is hoarse and my brain is fried. The response was quite varied. The majority of the hosts wanted to pick a fight. Others were somewhere between curious and supportive. I took a few calls on various stations when there was time, and for the most part, I was chewed out. But that was to be expected. Now I feel as though I’ve gone a few rounds in the ring, and I just need a few minutes of quiet.

  As I close my eyes and lean back in Daddy’s desk chair, Chase pops his head in. “Butch and Carmen are on their way over to give us an update. I made you breakfast if you want to come down and eat before they get here.”