by Jaime Maddox
Damn. There was no doorbell. Should she honk the car horn at six in the morning or just pound on the door? She dialed again. No answer. She honked and saw the curtain move behind the window of Alex’s apartment. Then the garage door opened, and Alex appeared like an apparition out of the garage into the morning, backlit by a dim bulb on the ceiling.
She stood still, with her arms folded across her chest, wearing just sweats and a hoodie on this chilly morning. She seemed to be waiting.
Brit summoned her courage and got out of the car.
“Hi,” she said.
“What’s up?” Alex’s tone was cool.
Brit tried to ignore it but was instantly on edge. “Can we talk?”
Brit walked closer, close enough to see Alex’s stony expression.
“What’s left to say?”
“Please, Alex. This is our future on the line. Don’t you think it’s worth a few minutes of your time?”
Alex nodded and turned, and Brit followed her through the garage and up the stairs to her apartment, as she’d done countless times before. On those occasions, they’d been building a friendship, and a relationship. It seemed so different now. The wonder and joy were gone, replaced by anger and confusion and fear.
“I was just about to make my coffee. Would you like a cup?”
“That would be great.”
Brit sat on the couch as Alex disappeared into the kitchen, and as she heard the familiar sounds of the Keurig brewing and coffee being stirred, she stared into the creamy brown leather couch, thinking of the scenes it had witnessed. Coaches’ meetings, movies, passionate lovemaking. Tickling and cuddling, reading and talking. In the six months since her first visit to Alex’s place, they’d said and done so many things together. They’d fallen in love. She loved Alex with all her heart, and she needed to make things right.
“I’m sorry I threw you out last night,” Brit said as Alex handed her the coffee.
Alex sat, putting a noticeable distance between them on the couch. Her sigh was audible. “Don’t be sorry. You were right.”
“I was?” Brit was shocked.
Alex gave her a crooked half smile. “Yes, I was wrong to keep this from you, and I understand your anger. I’m sorry I hurt you, and I’m sorry I let you down.”
Brit sniffled and smiled back. “I’m so relieved, Alex. I knew you’d do the right thing.”
Alex shook her head and gave her that sad smile again. “That’s where you’re wrong, Brit. I’m sorry I hurt you, but it doesn’t mean I’m doing anything differently. I can’t turn Kelsey in. I can’t ruin her life for one stupid mistake.”
“But…”
“No buts, Brit. Do you trust me?”
“I…” Brit said, looking at Alex. It seemed like she didn’t know Alex anymore. Perhaps she’d never known her at all. What was truly in Alex’s heart? Was she really the woman who’d given up flings and doing things the easy way, or was that just an experiment? Alex seemed to have a knack of getting her way, and this was just another example. She cast integrity aside in favor of convenience.
Brit didn’t know if she trusted Alex. She needed something from Alex, some concession, a willingness to right this wrong. Yet Alex seemed determined to stay on her crooked course. “I’m not sure. I need you to do the right thing, Alex. I need you to show me what kind of person you really are.”
Alex sighed. “I understand, Brit. I need to get ready. I’ll see you at school, okay?”
Brit shook her head. “So this is it? It’s over?”
Alex shrugged. “It could never work for us, Brit. We’re too different. It’s best if we just walk away now before we’re in too deep.”
“Alex, I’m already in deep. I love you! You love me! This is worth fighting for!”
“Not when we have to fight each other.”
Chapter Thirty-two
Bouncing
Brit stood as the official blew her whistle to indicate a time-out. The starting five jogged over and sat as the bench players gathered behind them, watching Alex diagram a defensive play. They’d won the league championship and were in the state playoffs. The first game had been an easy win, but now they were down by five in the final minute of the second game.
Brit tried to stay focused, but it was difficult. Alex had stopped talking to her, stopped seeking her advice about which play to run and which player to substitute. And with Kelsey on the bench with her sprained ankle, they had a lot to debate. The worried look on Alex’s face crushed Brit, and she wanted to whisper something kind or encouraging, but she couldn’t. Alex no longer wanted to hear those things from her.
They’d trailed the whole game. From the opening tip the opponents had controlled the tempo, slowing things down and taking them out of their rhythm. At first, Brit hadn’t worried. But now, with only a minute left on the clock, she was concerned. If the Falcons didn’t foul, the other team would eat the clock and win. If they fouled, the opponents would have an opportunity to make free throws and increase the lead. The play Alex drew on her dry-erase board indicated they should go for the steal on the inbounds pass and foul if they came up empty. They’d settle for a two-point basket but take a three if they had one.
Their execution was flawless, and Sidney stole the inbounds pass, passed it long, and they scored a layup. Down three, they ran the same defense and stole the ball again, tossed it out beyond the arc, and hit an open three.
Just like that, the game was tied. Thirty seconds left to get another defensive stop and score. No problem.
The opposition called their final time-out.
Brit noticed the opposing coach talking to the official as the players huddled, and she nodded amicably as the coach gestured with her hands. That isn’t good, Brit thought. The coach thought she’d seen a foul, and the ref was likely to be watching closely as they inbounded the ball yet again.
“It’s worked twice,” Alex said. “Let’s run it again.”
Brit was concerned about the coach’s conversation with the official and spoke up. “The coach just complained to the official about something. Maybe we should switch it up. If we hold them for thirty seconds, we can win in overtime. Momentum is on our side.”
Alex barely looked her way. “No. Let’s stick with this. It’s working.”
Brit’s heart was in her throat as the teams took their positions. The official handed the ball to the opposing center, who passed it to the point guard. The whistle blew immediately. A foul was called on Sidney.
After a time-out by Alex, the opposing point guard calmly sank the first shot. She missed the second, but it didn’t matter. Brit’s team was down with twenty-eight seconds to play.
Now Alex called a time-out to outline the offensive options. Their eyes met over the heads of the seated players, and Brit could see the anxiety she was trying so hard to conceal. After all their team had accomplished over the season, their future came down to this one play. If her team scored, they’d likely win. If not, their season was over.
“What do you think, Coach?” Alex asked.
“I think you’re right.” Alex had designed a play for Melissa, the freshman guard. She’d been overlooked in the scouting reports and the defense was underplaying her. She’d likely be open. It was risky, to put your future in the hands of an unproven player, but they knew Melissa had the ability.
“Okay, it’s settled then.”
They inbounded the ball under the opponent’s basket and took eight seconds to get the ball across the half-court line. They only had twenty seconds left to score. The guards passed the ball on the perimeter, running the play Alex had given them. Brit followed the defense, and there it was, the opening they’d hoped for. Melissa stood unguarded in the corner, her hands up in anticipation of the pass. The point guard threw it, and out of nowhere, the opposing guard picked it off. Before the defense could react, she was at the top of the key, with a host of defenders trailing her. One managed to catch her just as the layup floated off her fingers. It fell through the net
, and she made the foul shot that followed, and twelve seconds later, it was all over. They lost by four, and even though they all knew they should have been happy just to make it to the playoffs, none of them were.
On the bus ride home, Brit thought it was an appropriate end to the season. Kelsey had carried them early on, and she’d cheated and broken every code of ethics a student and athlete has. She was on the bench, crippled by her ankle as her team lost. Alex, too, had made the wrong call at the end, and it cost them.
Where had their cheating gotten them?
Brit stared at Alex in the seat across from her, willing Alex to meet her gaze. Alex, though, was busy with her phone and paid Brit no attention.
And that was probably a good thing. Because, really, what could Alex say? The moment that final horn blew, the season ended, and the chance for Alex to do the right thing was gone as well. Now, she didn’t have an opportunity to come clean. She couldn’t very well suspend a player when there was nothing to suspend her from. Alex would have to live with herself and her decision. So would Brit.
They only ran into each other in school by design. Without the daily practices that drew them both to the gym, and the games that put them together on the bus and in the locker room, they wouldn’t have an opportunity to see each other. No chance to talk.
And that realization brought Brit back to her original thought. What would they say, anyway?
Chapter Thirty-three
Place Your Bets
The first Saturday in May was warm, and Alex adjusted the wig she’d pulled out of her Halloween basket. It had only been on her head a few minutes, and already she was sweating. Damn. Long, with dreadlocks, it was intended to go with a hippie costume. Hoping to cool off, she pulled the mane into a ponytail and then topped it with a tie-dyed fishing cap and surveyed the results in the mirror. Not bad.
A car’s horn alerted her to her ride’s arrival, and she quickly made her way down the stairs and out of the garage, wiping sweaty palms on her pants before opening the car door. This would be the performance of her lifetime, and it had to be good. The first step—her physical transformation—seemed to have gone well. She’d borrowed the baggy sweatshirt, jeans and work boots from her father. Along with the wig and cap, she appeared just as she’d hoped to—like a thirty-five-year-old male hippie.
“Nice ride,” she said, and appraised the interior of the powerful Porsche Wes drove.
“Thanks, dear.”
His falsetto made Alex laugh. Along with the female voice, he was wearing makeup and a long beaded skirt. He’d let his hair grow in the past months, and he wore it in a feminine style. His toenails were polished bright red and Alex gasped in shock. “What did you do to your feet?”
“Pedicure,” he said calmly, as if it was something he did every day.
“Well, you’re certainly taking your role seriously.” Since Alex was much taller than Wes, the gender switch made sense. It also helped their disguises. If the events of the day were caught on video, both were concerned about concealing their identities.
“The car can’t be traced?” she asked.
“Yep. It can be traced right back to Greg Merck. I thought borrowing one of his cars was safer than borrowing one from someone else. If this goes well, Merck won’t be in a position to ask too many questions.”
“Hopefully we’ll return it in one piece. Are you nervous?”
“Nah. I think our plan’s solid.”
Alex wished she shared his confidence. She and Wes had been planning this day since basketball had ended in the middle of March. It had been easy to meet with him, to come and go unencumbered, because she no longer had Brit in her life to answer to. And that was good, wasn’t it? Alex remembered the days and nights she’d spent with Brit, feeling loved and like she belonged. She didn’t think she’d ever let herself get so cozy again. Because, when it had ended, it really sucked.
They never talked. They were avoiding each other, taking different routes around the school to avoid confrontation. Brit hadn’t handed in her letter of resignation yet, but Alex had no doubt she’d be looking for a new assistant coach.
The combination of anger and frustration and sadness was unbearable, and it was only by concentrating on her plan that Alex was able to maintain her sanity. Just about everything wrong in her life could be traced back to Greg Merck, and while crucifying him wouldn’t change a thing, it would make her feel good. And, as Wes had long ago suggested, just maybe someone else’s life would be better because of her.
The Run for the Roses would be under way in just a few hours, and the race was the key to Alex’s plan. Bets on the Kentucky Derby were estimated to be in the range of a hundred million dollars, and it was the perfect opportunity for their sting. After months of planning, the day had come. They’d bring down Greg Merck or shoot themselves in the foot trying. Hopefully the foot and not the head.
They’d set things in motion way back then. They’d had fake IDs made, purchased an iPhone and a laptop, and created hundreds of files filled with real data detailing the illegal bets collected by P.J. and others like him on Greg’s behalf. They’d also included every exam Wes had hacked from school email addresses. The laptop was backed up onto a flash drive, which had been copied and mailed to the police. They’d receive theirs in a few days. So would the various news outlets they were hoping would force the police department’s hand in prosecuting Greg’s crimes. Since he’d bragged about his friends on the force, Alex and Wes were trying to make it hard to bury the evidence.
P.J. was oblivious to their plan. Wes didn’t think he’d be able to pull off the deception of working for Greg while plotting to send him to jail. And so Wes and Alex had done all the work themselves. P.J. would likely get arrested, but they hoped the pressure Greg had put on him would cause the courts to be lenient with him. Alex wished there was a way to spare P.J., but they were unable to think of a plan that wouldn’t implicate him in some way. At this point, the threat to P.J. from Greg was far worse than anything the justice system could offer.
“Let’s do this,” Wes said.
Alex’s biggest concern was her brother. He’d never admitted involvement in Greg’s activities, and she hoped her constant threats over the past months had scared Andrew straight. Just being disinherited by their parents could cost him millions, and in the end, Alex didn’t think Andrew had the balls to take a real risk. In this case, Alex was really happy her brother had been spared the burden of courage.
They pulled in front of the Dickson City police station and smiled at each other. “Break a leg,” she said. As they walked through the front door, they held hands, more for support than to give the appearance of being a couple.
“Our daughter is missing,” Alex said when the police officer asked if he could help them.
“She was at the mall with her friend,” Wes said in his high-pitched voice. “And some man forced her into a van.”
“It was a Merck Bakery van. He had a gun.”
“Please,” Wes begged. “You have to help her. She’s a diabetic.”
“And she has seizures,” Alex said.
“She’d never go with a stranger!”
The officer looked at them both, studying them, but then he shook his head sympathetically and offered a seat so he could take their information. They presented their fake driver’s licenses and gave a full description of their thirteen-year-old. “We’ll get right on this,” the officer said a moment later.
“Will you issue an Amber Alert?” Wes asked.
“Yes, of course,” he said.
“One more thing,” Alex asked, and handed him a piece of paper with a cell phone number and address written on it. “We used the computer to track her cell phone. It’s at this address. It’s the Merck Bakery up on the highway by the mall.”
“That’s good police work,” the officer said as he looked at the paper.
They watched as he disappeared into another room. Ten minutes passed, ten long, anxious, sweaty minutes, before Alex�
��s cell phone alerted her to a text. She read it and smiled at Wes. “An Amber Alert has been issued,” she said.
“I want you two to wait right here,” the officer said a minute later when he emerged from the back. “I’m heading up there now. We’ll have your daughter back in no time.”
“Just you?” Alex asked. “I mean, what if this guy’s dangerous? He kidnapped our baby. He has a gun.”
“So do I, and the dozen officers who’ll be there with me.”
They watched as he drove away, his lights flashing and siren squealing. “We’re going to get a coffee,” Alex said to the officer who remained on duty, and they walked quickly out the door.
“Where to?”
“Feel like a pastry?” she asked.
“I’d only throw it up. But let’s go see what’s happening.”
They couldn’t get any closer than a block away. The road was closed, barricaded by state police cars on either side of the Merck Bakery.
“Well, we did our part. Let’s hope they find the evidence,” Wes said.
“And use it. Now I suggest we get this car back before the police show up at the garage and find yours.”
“After getting this far, that would really suck.”
Alex removed her wig and ran her fingers through her damp curls. “Then get moving!”
An hour later, as she sat glued to her television, she smiled as she saw the first news reports. Then she turned off the television and hopped in her car. The television in the pro shop at the country club was turned to the news, and all of the workers stood mutely watching. No doubt they’d all bet with Greg. Some of the caddies had probably purchased exams from him, too.
Not anymore, Alex thought. Not anymore.
Her back felt so good she decided to join one of her mom’s friends for eighteen. And the cherry on top of her great day came in the grill room after their round, when Libby Gold announced that her husband was away for the weekend and casually suggested that Alex stop by for a nightcap.
