Love To Love You (Love/Hate #3)

by Isabelle Richards

  Scott flashes me a smile that makes me want to take a shower. “That’s the spirit. Shelly, talk to the magazines. Give them a new way to spin the story. You don’t have to be a size zero to be sexy. Women will love it.”

  Shelly nods. “I think that’ll work well with the ad campaign you did with Henrik a few years back. I’ll make sure they mention it.”

  “Great idea!” I say.

  “No way,” Scott shouts, making a big production of making an X with his arms. “I put a kibosh on all things Henrik. The focus is on Chase, ladies. Not Ari’s ex.”

  I roll my eyes at Scott’s childish outburst and lean closer to Shelly. “How about in a few months? After the wedding. I bet we could pull Lindsay Vonn and Alex Morgan, maybe even a few other female athletes, into it. Henrik’s family would love to support something like that, and I’ll be married then, so it won’t stir up any drama. Maybe we can make sure they mention how good of friends Chase and Henrik have become.” I point my thumb at Scott. “It’s not relevant, but it might help keep his blood pressure down.”

  “Let’s keep our eye on the current prize. We can plot later… later.” He looks at Shelly. “Did you talk to her about Vogue?”

  Shelly presses her lips together. “Not yet.” The apprehension in her voice makes me very uncomfortable.

  I look back and forth between them. “What? What about Vogue?”

  “They would love to do a spread on you for their bridal section,” she says. “They’d like to take it a step further and have an even more detailed piece online.”

  “Okay,” I reply tentatively, waiting for the shoe to drop. “What’s the idea for the piece?”

  “They want to show a behind-the-scenes look at what it’s like having a custom couture dress designed. They want to follow you step-by-step through the process. The initial meeting, the measurements, the various fittings.”

  “That’s a really great idea, but my dress is already done and hanging in my closet. I suppose we could just fake the shots.”

  “Um… here’s the thing…” Shelly’s obviously uncomfortable, which means she knows I’m going to hate whatever she’s about to say.

  “Oh, Jesus, just spit it out already. It’s not like you’re telling her there’s no Santa Claus,” Scott snaps. “You’re DIY dress won’t cut it for the new wedding plans. It was fine when you were actually a designer for a label and you were doing an über-private ceremony, but you’re not anymore. You’re having a very public ceremony with lots of attention. There’s going to be a parade, for Christ’s sake.”

  “Oh, no,” I interrupt. “I have not agreed to the trolley car parade yet. I think it’s obnoxious.”

  He flicks his hand at me. “Whatever. Parade or not, we are building this up to be the wedding of the century. American royalty. All eyes, camera phones, websites, and magazines will be focused on you. You must be in a dress worthy of that attention. I’m sure whatever creation you threw together is real spiffy, but it won’t cut the mustard. You need a big dress, by a big name, and Vogue is going to capture every moment of it.”

  I scoff. “Who knew a sports agent cared so much about wedding dresses?”

  He clicks his tongue. “I care about image, babe. And you need to portray the right one.”

  Never in my life has anyone, other than my parents, lectured me about image. He acts as though I want to wear something I stitched together after taking a sewing class at the local fabric store. I look at Shelly for some backup, but judging by the look on her face, I’m not going to get it.

  “You’re the publicist. What do you think?” I ask.

  She nervously taps her fingers on the table. “I have to agree. You need to look show-stopping. This needs to be the dress to top all other dresses. The dress little girls see and think, ‘That’s what my dress is going to look like when I get married.’ Your dress was perfect for a beach wedding, but not for this.” She looks down. “You’re having a sophisticated wedding. You need a sophisticated dress.”

  Flabbergasted doesn’t begin to describe how I feel. I know my dress isn’t a marvel of fashion ingenuity, but I love it. While it doesn’t look like Barbie’s dream wedding dress, it’s elegant and gorgeous. I never even considered that the location change would affect it. I open my mouth to fight back, then Charlie’s words echo in my mind. Your wedding isn’t about you. Chase needs this.

  Whatever. It’s just a dress. It doesn’t matter what I’m wearing when I marry Chase, just that I marry him.

  “Fine,” I say. “We’ll need to move quickly if we’re going to have the dress done in time. I’ll pick a designer by the end of the week. You can coordinate the rest.” I look at my watch. “Looks like we need to wrap this up. I need to get to Levi to pick up Chase.”

  “We can get someone to do that for you,” Scott says, reaching for his phone.

  “I know. But I also need to get out of this conversation before I change my mind.”

  Shelly shoves her laptop into her bag. “Scott, let’s go, and don’t say another word.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Arianna

  Chase is wound tighter than a spring. He feels better and his headaches are decreasing in frequency and severity, but they still happen. He has followed the doctors’ orders to the letter, which makes it all the more frustrating that he’s not one hundred percent yet. Out of desperation, he’s trying anything he can find that’s good for the brain: flax seed, fish oil, B-12, vitamin E. He’s even grinding up sage and sprinkling it on everything he eats.

  By Sunday morning, the doctors are still split. The team doctor feels Chase has returned to baseline and meets the criteria to play this afternoon. Dr. Adler is hesitant. She signs off for him to play because he technically meets the qualifications, but she warns that she would give Chase more time. Second-concussion syndrome can be deadly. Ultimately, the team leaves it up to Chase.

  We leave the doctor’s office, and instead of heading toward the car, I point across the street at Golden Gate Park. “Let’s walk.”

  He takes my hand, and we cross the street. “What should I do?”

  How the hell am I supposed to answer that? As an athlete, we’re taught to suck it up and play through the pain. Most people would think this should be a no-brainer—don’t take risks with your brain—but most people haven’t competed at this level. The decision isn’t as clear-cut as it may seem.

  His decision impacts thousands of people. If he doesn’t play and they lose, the season is over. The team loses ticket sales, ad revenue, etc. His teammates lose the opportunity to reach bonuses. But they can afford the financial hit. It’s the janitors, concession stand workers, and ticket takers making minimum wage who won’t work again until August. The restaurants and parking lots will lose revenue, hurting the attendants, bartenders, and servers the hardest. The town is already so fickle about him that losing the first game of the playoffs because he refused to play after going undefeated will make him that much more hated. The pressure is monumental and it’s impossible to understand it without living it.

  Five years ago, I would have said he has clearance to play, so what is there to debate? But I was young and thought we were invincible. I wasn’t thinking about nasty deposits of tau proteins that cause brain deterioration and how they would impact my future children and grandchildren. I wasn’t thinking about how painful it would be if when we’re old and gray, Chase can’t remember who I am.

  My eyes meet his, and I remember how much he’s been through this year, how hard he’s fought, the guilt he was saddled with for someone else’s crimes. I think of the little boy playing catch with Daddy a million years ago, Daddy promising him he’s meant for greatness.

  I honestly don’t know what to tell him. I want to be selfish and tell him to sit it out, but how do I tell him to sit down on his dream?

  We walk down 7th and cross Lincoln and make our way into the park by the hall of flowers.

  “Ari?” he asks again. “What should I do?”

&nbs
p; The wind picks up. I pull my scarf out from under my lapels and wrap it around my neck. “Only you know how you feel. Do you feel ready?”

  “I think I feel better, but what Adler said really shook me. Do I really feel better, or do I just want to play so badly that my perception isn’t reliable?”

  I stop walking and tug on his hand, forcing him to turn toward me. “I’m not worried about that. You’ve known your limits every step of the way. I trust your judgment. You know the risks, and you’re the only one who will have to live with the consequences, so only you can make this decision.”

  He nods, then puts his arm around my shoulders, and we keep walking. He doesn’t say anything as we continue through the park and go down to the playground and carousel. I notice his eyes following the kids as they run around, their parents chasing them.

  “What would Aiden say?” he asks as we circle back toward the center of the park.

  I know the answer without having to give it much thought. “He’d tell you to play. ‘You don’t give up the chance at making history because you have a headache. If you’re able to walk onto the field, you play your ass off as though it’s your last game.’”

  He softly chuckles. “He probably would have slapped me upside the head and asked why the hell I’m walking around a park when I have a game to play.”

  “Yup, he sure would have.”

  I can’t help but smile when I picture how Daddy would have handled the situation. He probably would have flirted with Dr. Adler until she was so smitten she would have been on the sidelines cheering for Chase in today’s game. Talk about someone who used his wiles to get what he wanted!

  The blustery wind whips around, stinging my cheeks. I pull my jacket tighter, and Chase holds me a little closer.

  “What are you going to do?” I ask.

  He shrugs. “They call it a game-time decision for a reason. I don’t think I’ll know for sure until I get out there.”

  ******

  “What do you think he’s going to do?” Charlie asks as we sit in Jeb’s box, waiting for the team to take the field.

  “I honestly have no idea.”

  She looks at me as though she doesn’t believe me, but it’s the God’s honest truth. When I left him earlier, he gave me no indication which way he was leaning.

  She looks over her shoulder at Jeb. “Will Coach call you and tell you when he makes a decision?”

  Shaking his head, he presses his lips together. “Probably not. I want them focused on the game, not pacifying me.”

  “I think he plays,” Pat says as he pours hot mustard on his bratwurst. “I flat-out told him not to. If he’s not cleared to drive, he shouldn’t be playing, but I think he plays.”

  Putting her beer on the table, Katie shakes her head. “I can’t believe the doctors gave him a pass. The headache he had the other day was so painful. How can he be healed if he’s still hurting that much?”

  “It could have been a stress headache rather than a symptom the concussion hasn’t healed,” Spencer says. “When I talked to him yesterday, he sounded like he was ready to snap. There’s way too much on his shoulders right now.”

  “Which is why he shouldn’t even consider playing,” Charlie says. “There is no way his brain can heal under these conditions. I don’t care how much ginkgo biloba he’s been taking.”

  A few moments later, the team runs out of the locker room. Chase heads to the sidelines and throws with Jamal. I can’t tell who is warming up whom.

  The coin toss goes to Arizona, and they decide to receive, which means we have to wait until the Niners get the ball to find out if Chase is playing. He and Jamal are huddled up on the bench, looking at the playbook. It’s impossible to tell who’s going in.

  Arizona’s drive is slow, creeping down the field a few yards at a time. Each first down makes us crazy. Finally, they fail to convert on the third down and punt the ball. All eyes focus on the Niners’ sideline waiting to see who takes the field. Chase and Jamal are talking to Dean during the punt return. Jenkins runs the ball back to the Niners’ forty-nine-yard line, then the game pauses for a TV time-out.

  Chase leans in closer to Jamal—it looks like a pep talk. I slowly sit down as I wait for Jamal to take the field. The refs blow the whistle, announcing the end of the time-out. Chase pats Jamal on the back, then Jamal returns to the bench and Chase takes the field.

  “What!” Charlie shouts. “What the hell does he think he’s doing?”

  “His job,” Spencer replies. “He gets paid millions of dollars to play. Just like everyone else, sometimes he has to go to work when he’s not one hundred percent. But that’s part of the job. He’ll be okay.”

  “Fuck his job!” Throwing her hands in the air, she turns to me. “How can you just sit there? He’s putting his life in danger! They know he has a concussion. Arizona’s going to go after him, and they won’t let up until his brain has been so damaged it’s nothing more than a lump of mashed potatoes between his ears.”

  “I couldn’t have said it better myself,” Katie chimes in.

  “Charlotte, you have to calm down,” Spencer says, his tone firmer than I would have expected.

  She stomps her foot. “I will not calm down! He was unconscious! The concussion was severe. He can’t be ready in less than two weeks! I can’t believe I’m the only one outraged here!”

  “I think we’re all worried,” Pat says, “but he’s on the field already. It’s done. He’s doing this regardless of how we feel. All we can do for him now is send as much positivity his way as we can.”

  “Your brother knows what he’s doing,” I reply. “He never would have taken the field if he didn’t feel ready.”

  “He has a brain injury! He isn’t capable of making that decision. I can’t believe they left it up to him!” She glares at me. “It’s your future he’s gambling with! Why didn’t you stop him?”

  “Because I trust him. Could he use a little more time? Maybe. But you could say that about every injury. He would only have taken the field if he didn’t need more time. I know it’s hard for you to understand—”

  “Oh no! Don’t give me that, ‘You’re not an athlete, you wouldn’t understand’ bullshit! This is pure science. Contrary to crap you jocks tell yourselves, athletes are not super human. His brain is not under some special protective cloud just because he’s a quarterback. He’s putting his life on the line! Just because he’s doing it in front of a sold-out crowd doesn’t make it okay!”

  “Babe, you need to relax. Please. I know you’re upset but—” Spencer tries to put his arm around her, but she pushes him away.

  I can’t remember ever seeing her this upset. Even last year when I was a mess and she was furious with me, she didn’t reach this level. Her cheeks are crimson. Her chest heaves with each infuriated breath she takes. Her eyes look feral. She’s positively nuclear. I shouldn’t be surprised—she and Chase have a bond like no other. As crazy as it sounds, they feel each other’s pain, so maybe she feels this on a completely different dimension than the rest of us.

  I hope I can help ease her mind. “I know he weighed every angle before making his decision. And it’s not just about football and the money. I know he thought about me and our future and the medical risks. He made his decision, and I trust and respect him enough to support it. It doesn’t mean I’m not worried. It doesn’t mean my heart won’t stop during every play. I’m sure I’m going to drive him crazy over the next week by testing him to make sure he’s okay. But this is who he is. Deep down inside, you know that.”

  “Deep down inside I think he’s a moron! Someone should get down on that field and haul his ass—”

  Spencer puts one hand on each of her shoulders. “If you can’t calm down, I’m taking you home. This isn’t good for the baby!”

  “Baby?” Katie, Pat, and I say at the same time.

  Shaking his head, Spencer looks down and sighs. “Fuck. Sorry, babe. It slipped out.”

  Biting her lip, Charlie turns to fac
e us. . “We just found out Friday, but we wanted to wait to say anything until after things with Chase settled down.”

  Katie runs to Charlie and gives her the biggest hug. “I thought you were going to wait before you started back up with the fertility meds.”

  “That was the plan. This was a total surprise,” she replies. “It’s really early, only eight weeks, so it’s too soon to get excited. Anything could happen.”

  A lump forms in my throat. I don’t want Charlie to have to experience that. We’d better do everything we can to help her protect this baby. Even if that means keeping her away from football.

  “Don’t you worry about that,” Katie says with a sob in her voice. “I can feel it. This baby is meant to be.”

  I jump up to squeeze her the second Katie lets go. “Congratulations. I’m so happy for you.”

  She nibbles her lip. “We’re totally in shock. I’m a little freaked out. Two kids in diapers! I don’t know how I’m going to do it.”

  “Ah, we’ll get Calder potty trained before this one comes,” Pat chimes in as he gives her a bear hug. “I was potty trained at a year, you know.”

  Katie snorts. “Only you and your mother believe that. And it seems to get younger and younger the older you get.”

  Charlie tugs on my arm. “Chase has to be okay. I need him to be. He has to be there for birthdays and graduations and weddings. He can’t take stupid risks like this. I don’t want him to end up like Junior Seau!”

  I pull her back to me. “Oh, honey, he’d never do that.”

  Junior Seau was one of the greatest linebackers to ever play the game and one of the nicest men I’ve ever met. He had countless concussions during his playing years, but that was before the NFL took them so seriously. When he started to notice a decline in his cognitive abilities, he killed himself so his family wouldn’t have to suffer as his brain deteriorated. He was only forty-three. It was a devastating tragedy.