Be Mine

by Jen Frederick

  He pauses, and I decide to address this head-on. No sense in trying to avoid what I believe is the elephant in the room. “Is this about the locker?”

  Coach nods with relief and relaxes in his chair. “Yeah, it's about the locker. I didn't realize you were having a problem with where it was placed.”

  “I don't have a problem with it. It surprised me as much as anyone to see the equipment staff working it over. It would never have occurred to me that I could change it even if I wanted to and”—I hold up my hand to forestall his response because I wasn’t done—“I don't want to change it. I was happy where I was.”

  A brief moment of confusion passes over Coach’s face. “Seems to me there's some communication problem.”

  “Maybe so. I can't for the life of me figure out what brought it on. But that kind of shit is disruptive and I get that behavior can't be tolerated in the locker room. I'm not a prima donna. You know that,” I remind him, “from when you interviewed me back at the combine and at my pro day. No one has ever pegged me for having locker room issues. I've got my faults. I don't deny it. I'm hardheaded. Stubborn. I like doing things a certain way.” We share a brief chuckle because Coach has been on me to slide more instead of trying for more yards and risking injury. “But I've always been happy to hear suggestions and critiques of how to make my play better, how to make this a better team, and never demanded special treatment.”

  He nods in agreement but then stops when a new thought enters his mind. “Being the starting quarterback is a different animal,” he warns.

  “I was a third-round draft pick and the fourth quarterback chosen overall. I know that I'm fortunate to have a starting role even after winning last year. And I'm not doing anything to jeopardize it. I think I proved to you last year that I'm worth the start, and I continue to work my ass off for this team every day.”

  He squeezes his neck. “I hear you. But if you have problems in the future, come to me.”

  That’s my sign to go. I rise, give him a tight smile and walk out. The frustrating thing about that encounter is I don't know if he really believes me. Someone or something has planted a seed of doubt in his mind about my role as the leader in the locker room. Which fucking sucks.

  Halfway down the hall, I run into Garrett Williams, beat reporter for the Dallas Morning News. “Hey, Jackson, got a minute?”

  No. I really don’t, but I force myself to stop. Being nice to the press is good for business. “Sure, what’s up?”

  His face is somber, but his eyes are lit up like Cassidy’s at Christmas time. I don’t have to be a mind reader to figure out that Williams thinks he’s sniffed out a juicy locker room scandal. “Heard there were some equipment problems in the locker room today.”

  “Not that I know of,” I reply with forced joviality. “But it’s training camp. We’re all working out our kinks.”

  “Like where certain players’ lockers are assigned?”

  “Now, Williams, don’t make us sound like a bunch of middle schoolers. You know we’ve evolved to at least junior high.”

  “So the rumors that you’re getting demanding are all untrue?”

  I don’t let the easy smile off my face. “Don’t have a clue what you’re talking about, man. Love the team. Grateful for the opportunity to play in this town. It’s a real privilege, and if my locker was in the men’s room, I’d still be on my knees every night thanking God for this chance to play the greatest game in the world.” I slap Williams on the back and move on down the hall.

  Chip appears out of the blue. “Hey man, how did it go in there?”

  With Williams or Coach Ross? “Fine.” I’m not pretending for Chip.

  “You can talk to me if you need to blow off a little steam,” he invites.

  I give him a cool look. There's no way I'm sharing confidences with him.

  “It's all good.” I slap my hand on the door, but before I can exit, he grabs my arm.

  “Hey, about your friend Charlotte—”

  I shrug out of his grip. “If you're asking if she’s single, she's not.”

  He furrows his brow in confusion. “I didn't think you two were together.”

  “We’re not. She's like my sister. In fact, she will be my sister someday. You see my brother, the Navy SEAL, views Charlotte as his girl. And I have to tell you that Nate knows a hundred ways to kill a man and ninety-nine of them are undetectable.” The grin that crosses my face at the thought of Nate working ol’ Chip over is a genuine one. “What was it that you wanted to know about her?”

  Chip pales a little under his tan. “I thought I might have a business opportunity to share with her.”

  Sure you did, asshole. “Next time you have some film for me to look at, I’ll watch it here,” I inform him.

  “Why?” His eyes narrow. “Did someone say something?”

  “Nope. I just like keeping my private life separate from the locker room.”

  A nasty smile spreads across his face. “That’s good to hear.”

  I dismiss it and return to the locker room where everything is in order. My locker is still in the corner. There are a number of my teammates milling around. I make the rounds, complimenting each player on their play today. I chat up the rookies, listen to the ribbing of the veterans, and then discuss the timing issue with my receivers. Since everything seems back to normal, I chalk all of it up to a miscommunication and shove it in the back of my head.

  There are only two things I need to concentrate on—my game and the figuring out the next time Lainey and I are going to make love.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Lainey

  I spread my fingers across the tickets that Nick sent for the upcoming game. I want to go but sitting in these seats without Charlie would be a statement. I’ve been kicking the Chip issue down the road, thinking that because I haven’t heard from him, I’m safe. But I know that’s not it. He’s a snake in the weeds.

  I need to contact him and find out exactly what he wants from me. The door to Stacks opens and a trainer from the Mustangs comes in.

  “Elaina Valdez, right?” The man asks.

  “That’s me.” I reach for the envelope. I already have the tickets so I wonder what this is? A parking pass? I tear open one end and shake out a folded piece of paper.

  You got a thing for quarterbacks, don’t you? Nice show last night.

  I’m so glad I’m standing next to the bar because my knees buckle. The text comes only seconds later as if Chip’s watching me.

  Meet me in thirty minutes or your new man will get the shock of his life.

  I rip off my apron and shove it at the delivery man. “I have an errand to run.” Turning to the bartender, I say, “If anyone calls for me, I’m unavailable for the rest of the day.”

  The bar Chip selected is so dirty and so ramshackle I'm surprised the city of Dallas allows it to have a liquor license. There are four people inside. Two are sitting at the bar and one is serving drinks. Chip is the fourth and he sits in the corner, his cowboy hat pulled low. He's the only Texan I know who looks awkward in a cowboy hat. Even city boys look like they were born in them.

  I hitch my purse more securely to my side and make my way to Chip’s table. As I approach, he kicks a chair out for me.

  I ignore it and remain standing. “What do you want?”

  “No, ‘Hello Chip, how you doing?’ I’m so hurt, but then expecting someone like you to have manners would be like waiting for a dog to eat with a fork.”

  He throws a small rectangular piece of paper onto the table and gestures for me to pick it up.

  Peter Tanner, Esq.

  “What's this?”

  “Turn it over,” he says.

  Numbly, I do as he says. The back reads “Specializing in family law.”

  I set the card down carefully and slide it over in front of him.

  “So?” I arch my eyebrow, trying to appear unaffected, but it’s all a lie. I’m terrified. My stomach is in full revolt and my heart is pounding so fa
st and so hard, it might burst.

  “I just wanted to see what a professional thought of my chance of winning a custodial battle.” He pulls out his phone and lays it next to the card. “I recorded him. You want to hear?”

  Of course not. I don’t want to hear anything a lawyer has to say—especially one who specializes in family law. “Go ahead,” I say stiffly, hoping it’s a bluff.

  When he presses play, I realize it’s all too real.

  “The mother’s past can be important if you can prove she is continuing her negative behavior.”

  “What kind of negative behavior?” asks Chip’s smooth voice.

  The lawyer’s voice sounds old and moneyed and knowledgeable. I hide my hands under the table and grip them together, fingernails digging into tender skin.

  “If you found evidence that she is using drugs or that she has a drinking problem or that she is exposing her daughter to an unhealthy lifestyle, those are all things that could go toward proving she is unfit.”

  “What if she’s sleeping around?”

  “Is she leaving the child alone? Or is she bringing unsavory people near the child?”

  “It could be all of those things,” Chip suggests.

  “My recommendation is that you hire a private investigator. Have the investigator follow her for a period of time and see what he produces.”

  “And if the PI comes up empty?”

  “There are still ways you can argue to the court that the child is better off with you.” The lawyer pauses. “Although, you do have the five years of abandonment you'll have to overcome.”

  “I just discovered the kid,” Chip claims. My jaw drops open in outrage over the explicit lie. “Had I known about her before, obviously I would not have ever left her in the care of a woman who is unstable and unsafe.”

  He lies so easily. Objectively it’s impressive, but it makes me sick and angry.

  The lawyer’s voice changes from cautious to mildly excited. “The fact that she lied about the parentage of her child, keeping your daughter from you is an entirely different story. The court would frown greatly upon that. A family law judge will want to award custody to the individual who is going to encourage both parties to participate fully in the raising of this child, and the fact that she's prevented that from happening will reflect poorly on her. What does the birth certificate say?”

  “Father unknown.”

  My teeth grind together. He’d demanded that I keep his name off the document.

  “That’s good. Very good. I’d still recommend a PI.”

  Chip replies, “Oh, I will. I'm covering all my bases.”

  Chip reaches over and taps on the screen, ending the recording. He folds his perfectly manicured fingers in front of him.

  “Two years ago, I told you that it’s bad luck having you around the Mustangs. Nothing’s changed. Just because I quit, doesn’t mean that you get to come back.”

  “I’ll pay back the money.”

  “Bitch, it’s not about the money. It’s about me seeing your ugly face around here.”

  My cheeks burn with hate and embarrassment.

  “Nick’s a young quarterback, but I hear he’s got behavioral issues. I guess the one Super Bowl win has turned him into a diva. It’d be too bad if a promising player like him lost control of the locker room. Maybe the team would have to end up trading him, especially if there’s someone around who can do the job just as well.

  I squint at him. “Are you saying you would unretire? You can do that?”

  “I can do what I want.”

  “His performance reflects on you,” I remind him coldly, but I can’t keep the quaver out of my voice. By the smirk on Chip’s face, I know he caught it. “If you help Nick win, you’ll move up the ladder quicker.”

  “I’ll worry about my job,” he replies smugly.

  “What do you want?”

  “I want you to leave. Go back to Ashton and don't show your face around here. In exchange, I'll do everything I can to make young Nick's experience as smooth and easy as possible, and I won’t hassle Charlie in any way, shape, or form.”

  “And if I don't?”

  “If you don't, then I ruin your life, along with Nick’s and Charlie's. And you know I can. Because I've already started it.” He’s so confident. I want to punch him in his smug face.

  “Nick and Charlie have money. You can’t ruin them.”

  “The things Nick wants can't be bought with money. As for Charlotte, my guess is she’d be pretty miserable if Nick fails and if it comes out that her best friend practically sold herself.”

  I was seventeen! I scream inside. And you took advantage of me. I didn't know those other people would be there. I didn't know— I cut off that train of thought. There is no point in belaboring what I didn't know and what I did. I got myself into this position so many years ago and now I'm paying for it. But I'm the only one who has to pay for it. Not my daughter, not Nick, not Charlotte.

  “What assurance do I have you’ll follow through?”

  Chip leans back with the all the confidence and good humor of a victor. “You'll just have to trust me, won't you?”

  I stand up. “Someday, Chip, you're gonna get yours.”

  An ugly sneer covers his face. “I got mine. I'm just making sure everyone else is as miserable as I am.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Lainey

  “May I help you?” says the cheery lady at the counter. Her long brown hair is swept up in a tight bun at the top of her head, but even the unattractive style doesn’t diminish the girl’s prettiness. I wonder how many of the players hit on her.

  “I’m checking in.” I lay my driver’s license and credit card on the counter.

  “Under Elaina Valdez?” she chirps. At my nod, she asks, “Do you want me to replace the credit card already attached to the file?”

  “Yes, please.” This whole trip is more than I can afford, but it feels weird and wrong to be here on Nick’s dollar, especially since this is goodbye.

  I might’ve stayed and fought if it was just me, but I’m not that selfish. After I read the sports blog that reported strife in the locker room, I knew I had to leave. But I’m going to have one last hurrah with Nick. One last beautiful moment. I deserve it.

  It's half past eight before Nick arrives. When the knock sounds against the door, I'm sitting on the down cushions of the couch, watching, but not really registering, the news. It's an unusually cold winter here on the West Coast. Or so says the meteorologist. It might rain tomorrow. It will definitely be chilly. I rub my hands briskly over my arms to chase away the sudden prickle of goosebumps.

  It's strange to be set up in a hotel room by a man. Even when I fooled around with Chip back when I was a stupid teenager, this sort of thing didn't happen. We'd make out in his car or he'd get a cheap hotel room in a part of town where he didn't think he'd be recognized.

  The room Nick reserved for me is nearly on the top floor, and it has two rooms. The bedroom is separated from the living room by a wall that has two doorways, one on either side. There aren't any doors, so the half-wall provides only an illusion of privacy. But I'm not here to hide in the bedroom. I'm here to have sex with Nick. That's why I flew three and a half hours. That's also why my palms are sweaty and my knees are a tad wobbly by the time I twist the latch.

  "Hey," I say softly, as I open the door.

  He gives me a tired smile. There are tight lines around his eyes, and a tenseness in his shoulders that he gets when he's stressed out. One hand is braced on either side of the doorframe as if he's not sure if he should come in. His own uncertainty actually works wonders on my self-confidence.

  “Get in here.” I grab the middle of his crisp white shirt and drag him inside. "Did you have a team dinner?" I ask, as I push him onto the couch. He's suited up, looking impossibly gorgeous in a dark blue, custom-tailored jacket and pants. His tie is nowhere to be found.

  He settles in without argument, spreading his arms wide across the b
ack of the couch. "I had an interview and figured I should dress up for it."

  "You look…unhappy. Did the interview go poorly?"

  At first, I can see he wants to protest and deny that anything is bothering him, but I give him The Look. The one I pin on Cassidy when she's naughty. He caves, just as Cassidy does; although, I think he gives in because he's exhausted. He closes his eyes and leans his head back against the edge of the couch. “I’ve had better. Any vodka in the minibar?”

  I walk over and flip it open. “Choices are Absolut and Belvedere.”

  “I don't care. You pick.”

  I twist off the top of one tiny bottle and pour it in a glass, topping it off with two ice cubes I fish out of my water glass with a fork.

  “Bad day at work, honey?” I joke lightly, as I place the glass in his hand. He doesn't even open his eyes as he drains the glass.

  “I'll take the second bottle," he says.

  “Coming right up.”

  “I should apologize for making you fetch and carry for me, but I'm enjoying it too much,” he says, as I return to the minibar to mix up the last bottle of vodka. This time when I hand him the glass, he pulls me down onto his lap. "Thank you, baby.”

  “I don't mind.” I tuck my head against his shoulder and make circles with my finger across his broad chest. "Want to talk about it?"

  "We should be naked by now," he says, instead of answering my question. Or maybe that is the answer. "But instead, I'm drinking minibar liquor, and you're wondering why the hell you flew all the way out here."

  "Talk to me, Nick. I'm your friend, right?"

  He heaves a long sigh and then drops a kiss on my head before speaking. "Just bullshit. Reporters want to create drama to get those clicks, so they’re cooking up some story about me being a diva. It’ll blow over." The ice cubes clink as he lifts the glass to his mouth.