“I’ll suck you off right here, in front of everyone,” she said, not bothered by the fact, everyone within ten yards could hear her. “Please, Beck. Don’t make me beg… unless...”
The girl had no idea what I liked, but I had a feeling she’d die trying to figure it out.
“Sorry, baby. I really have to go,” I tried again.
She flashed her big, baby blues at me. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say there was hatred in them. Why would this girl hate me? What did I do to her? When I didn’t respond, she said, “Well, fuck you then. That’s probably why you like black whores anyway. You can’t handle good, white American women.” She spat her drunken words at me, but they landed her in a mess none of us saw coming. Eighty percent of my teammates were black. None of them appreciated what she said.
Soon, fists were flying, drinks were toppling over and cameras were flashing. It all happened so fast, I didn’t have time to react beyond ducking and dodging debris. That’s when I realized I had to get the hell out of there.
“What the fuck?” I yelled as I pushed past a crowd of onlookers. Before I hit the elevators, police and media were all over the hotel. I knew the promise I’d made to Isla was broken. Another scandal was about to mess up my life.
“Beck, can you tell us what happened in there?” A reporter asked.
I shielded my face from the harsh glare of the cameras. “No comment.”
“Is it true you punched a woman?” She asked.
“What? What the hell are you talking about? I never touched anyone!” I screamed.
As the angry words left my mouth, two police officers made a beeline for me.
I froze in place. This was it. I was fucked.
“Mr. Alexander, can we speak to you for a second?” One asked.
What was I supposed to say? No? Of course, I had to cooperate. How else would I make them understand I had nothing to with what happened?
“Look,” I put my hands up, “I didn’t touch anyone. I was sitting in the bar, having a few drinks, then, this horny bit--” I paused before I stuck my foot in my mouth. “This woman came up to us and started talking to us. She was drunk and acting like…”
“Like what?” The officer asked, practically salivating at the opportunity to arrest a superstar.
“Why don’t you come down to the station and tell us all about it?” It sounded like a question, but I knew I didn’t have a choice in the matter.
More cameras were on us now. Every local television station and rag magazine show was present. It would only be a matter of time before Isla heard. And within a few minutes, she and my child would walk out of my life forever.
“Am I under arrest?” I asked, my voice shaking.
“Should we arrest you?” The officer asked.
I looked into the lounge. My teammates were surrounded by police officers and media. The mood had changed. Everyone sobered up really quick. We knew we were in for a media firestorm. If it came back one of us hit the woman, their career was over.
“Can I call my attorneys?”
“Sure, whatever you need. Now, let’s go have a talk. Get away from all these cameras.”
The cameras were the least of my problems. My main concern was how Isla was going to take the news. The last thing I wanted was to lose her. Not now. Not ever.
I followed the officers to their vehicle. The media followed behind us, capturing every horrible moment. As we walked past an ambulance, I noticed blondie sitting in it, her face bloody, but it didn’t stop her from spouting off at me.
“Screw you, Beck! You’re fucked now!” She screamed.
She was right. Everyone there knew it. I was screwed.
Chapter Fifteen – Isla
Who would have thought, less than twelve hours after Beck flew out of town, I’d be the one knelt down, hugging a toilet seat for dear life? Thank God my mother was in town because I was in no condition to handle this part of my pregnancy on my own. I was a hot mess and this was only the beginning.
“Someone wants you bad. Your cell phone is ringing off the hook, baby girl,” my mother returned to the bathroom with a change of clothes for me and a cup filled with some concoction, she swore would ease my nausea.
“I’m so sick,” I groaned. “How long does this part last?”
She refrained from saying I told you so, but I could tell by her tone, what she was thinking. “It lasts as long as it needs to, but let me tell you, that’s nothing compared to when you have to push a ten-pound bundle of joy out of your va-jay-jay. Now, that’s going to hurt like the dickens, child,” she warned me.
“Thanks, mama. You’re so helpful,” I groaned, hearing the ring tone I had set for phone calls from work. “Damn, what do they want? The team is out of town.”
“Don’t swear at me, young lady,” my mother scolded. “Who are you talking about anyway? Who is it?”
“It’s work, mama. Can you answer it for me, please?” I asked her.
She walked over to answer the phone. “Isla can’t come to the phone right now. Her face is in the toilet. The baby is wreaking havoc on her stomach.”
“Mama!” I forced myself into an upright position. “Give me the phone.”
She brought the phone over to me and held it to my ear.
“This is Isla,” I said, but I was interrupted by Cole’s screeching.
“Where the hell are you? Do you know what’s going on? How could you let this shit happen?” Cole screamed in my ear.
His shouting wasn’t helping to ease my nausea. “Why are you yelling? What’s happened?”
I couldn’t understand him; he was talking so fast. From what I could tell, something had happened with the team. Some kind of skirmish between the players. “Was Beck involved?” I asked, crossing my fingers, he wasn’t.
“Get your ass in my office now!” He hung up the phone.
“What is he screaming about? Who was that, Isla? I hope it wasn’t Beck talking to you like that, because if it is, you better handle him right away. No one should scream at you,” my mother said, but I couldn’t focus on her. I had to find out what was going on.
“I need to call Beck,” I said as I dialed his number. “Answer. Please, answer.”
His phone went to voice mail. As much as I didn’t want to be one of those women who jumped to conclusions or made assumptions, knowing Beck and knowing the kind of reputation he had, I couldn’t help but wonder if he might have been with another woman. I tried his number again. This time leaving a voice mail, “Beck, it’s me. Call me. What’s going on?”
My mother asked, “Is something wrong? Did something happen to Beck?”
“I don’t know. He didn’t answer. I need to check online. Maybe there’s something online about the team.”
Sure enough, when I opened up my browser, there was a story about a bar brawl. It said Beck had gotten into an altercation with a woman. She was pressing charges against him and several of the other players.
My heart sank. “I have to go, Mama. I have to fly to Los Angeles right away,” I said, my voice shaking.
“What? Why?” She asked.
How could I tell her? The whole reason she was here was to meet Beck. I didn’t want her first meeting with him to be from the other side of a jail cell. “Mama, stay here, please. I’ll be back as soon as I can. I promise, everything is okay. I have some team business to attend to.”
It was too late. She’d turned the television on. Beck’s name and photo were splashed across the screen -- New York Liberties Quarterback Arrested for Assault.
“I’m going with you,” my mother said.
I couldn’t argue. I didn’t have the energy or the presence of mind to say otherwise. Something had gone terribly wrong in Los Angeles and I had to do my part by cleaning up the narrative before the team and, most importantly, Beck was ruined forever.
As I rushed to pack an overnight bag, my sick stomach did flip flops. I was sweating. My heart beat out of control. It was all I could do to keep myself in an
upright position. This was bad. Really bad.
I placed a phone call to Frank and he agreed to drive us to the airport. He wasn’t much for information. He hadn’t heard from Beck either, but he did receive a phone call from one of Beck’s attorneys asking about Beck’s trip and when he was to return.
“They didn’t tell you why?” I asked.
Frank said, “No, but it’s my understanding Mr. Alexander is in the LA County Jail.”
Those are the last words I remembered before I woke up in the emergency room, surrounded by nurses and doctors.
“Stay calm. You’re going to be okay. Can you tell me your name?” A nurse asked me.
I fought to sit up, but my arms went limp. I fell back on the bed. “I have to go. I have to get to Los Angeles,” I cried.
“No, you don’t. Not yet,” the nurse said. “Now, calm down and let us help you. What year is it?”
She was doing a mental assessment, but it wasn’t my mind that needed to be assessed. It was my heart. My heart was shredding underneath my skin. I needed to get out of there and get to Beck.
“Miss Johnson, let us help you. Think about the baby,” the nurse said.
I’d almost forgotten about the baby. I was so focused on other things; I’d let my child slip my mind. What kind of mother was I going to be, if I could forget I was carrying a child? I started to cry.
“Honey, mama’s here. Mama’s here.” She hugged me to her, rubbing my shoulders. “Beck called.”
“He did? What did he say? Why didn’t you get me?” I asked, scrambling to find my phone, but she had it in her pocket.
“I told him you passed out. You were in no condition to speak. He’s fine. They let him out on bail.” She eyed the medical staff. “I’ll tell you later. Focus on getting better.”
I was so relieved Beck was okay, but angry I’d missed the call. “How’s the baby?” I asked, hoping I’d not done anything to jeopardize its health.
“The baby is fine. You passed out. That’s all. Everything looks good. We’re going to take a listen right now. Have you heard your baby’s heartbeat before?” The nurse asked.
“No, not yet.”
They wheeled a Doppler in and prepped me. It only took a second to find my baby’s heart. “Here you go, Mom. Say hello to your baby,” the tech said.
My baby’s strong, rapid heartbeat filled the room with the most beautiful sound I’d ever heard. I wished Beck could have been there to hear it.
Within a couple of hours, I was on my way back home and feeling a lot better. I checked my phone over and over again, praying I hadn’t missed Beck’s call.
“You can call him when you get home,” my mother said, taking the phone out of my hand. “Let me see that thing. I want to find out what your football player was up to while he was in L.A.” She scrolled through my phone, looking for media coverage. Her loud gasp told me she’d found the story.
“What is it?” I leaned closer to her to get a look at the screen.
It read: New York Liberties Public Relations Manager Fired Following Team Melee in Los Angeles.
Fired? Who? Me?
I grabbed the phone and dialed Cole’s number. His secretary answered. “Is Cole available? This is Isla,” I said.
She laughed. “I don’t think now is a good time. You might want to let him cool down first.”
“Um, no, I want to speak to him now,” I said, holding my ground.
I waited for several minutes before he came to the phone. “This is Cole,” he spoke as if he had no idea who was on the line. I’m sure the secretary had informed him. He was playing it cool, like the jerk he was.
“Hi, Cole. It’s Isla,” I said, my nerves on edge.
“Isla, we’ve decided to terminate your contract. You may come pick up your things next week. I’ll have my secretary clean out your office.”
He said it so flippantly, I almost thought he was joking, but when he didn’t take his words back, I understood. “I’m fired?”
He gave me the politically correct term. “We’ve decided to terminate your contract.”
Now, I’d had about enough. “How are you going to fire me for something your players did? I wasn’t even there! I had nothing to do with what happened in L.A. In fact, I don’t know what happened there, so how are you going to punish me for something I have no knowledge of?”
“I’m saving you,” he answered. “You’re not cut out for this job. Find yourself a nice job. Something that doesn’t have so much responsibility.”
I wanted to reach through the phone and punch him in the mouth. Who did he think he was talking to?
“Now, if you’re done, I have work to get to. I have a team to manage,” Cole said.
“Yeah, well, you suck at your job, chauvinistic ass,” I said before disconnecting the call and falling into a fetal position to cry my eyes out. Why did I move here? I wasn’t built for this place.
My mother sat beside me, rubbing my back while I cried. I needed the physical contact. I needed to know I wasn’t alone.
“He fired me,” I said.
“Good, now you can focus on taking care of yourself and your baby. That job wasn’t good for you. Look at all the stress it put on you. You don’t need it,” my mother said.
“I shouldn’t have come here. Why didn’t I listen to you?” I cried harder.
“Sweetheart, we women do what we think is right. We use the tools we have. Moving here didn’t ruin you. Soon you’ll realize how much stronger this place has made you. Beck is a mess. Boy, is he a mess, but all animals can be trained. He needs the love of a good woman to set him right. But, he also needs a strong woman. Someone with a backbone. Now, I know the woman I raised is strong and feisty. She won’t take no stuff. Show him. Show him you mean business and help him be the kind of man he should be, not the one he pretends to be.” My mother always knew what to say to make me feel better.
I sat up and kissed her on the cheek to thank her for showing me how to be a strong, confident black woman. “Now, I have a man to deal with,” I said, winking at her.
“You sure do. Where do you want to start?” She asked.
I closed my eyes, thinking about all that had happened to me over the last several months and about all I’d been through in the last several weeks. My mother was right. I came from strong, bold, feisty stock. I’d be doing my ancestors a disservice by not putting my big girl panties on and dealing with everything head on. What kind of fool would I be if I let some minor setbacks get me down?
“Are you okay, sweetheart?” My mother caressed my arm.
“I’m going to be okay. You can bet on that.” I grabbed her hand and squeezed it to reassure her, I was over the worst part and ready to sink my teeth into Beck -- and not in a good way, like he liked it. I was ready to set him straight or send him packing -- his choice -- because no one had time for any little boy games. This wasn’t a game. This was real life.
“Well, whatever you decide, I’m here for you, baby girl,” my mother informed me. It was such a sweet gesture, my eyes welled with tears. I loved her so much and was so thankful for everything she’d ever done for me -- everything she’d ever given me, but it was high time I took care of matters on my own. This was my situation. This was my life. If I didn’t do something to fix it, who would?
“Thank you, Mama, but I got this,” I winked at her. “I have to do this on my own. Beck and I need to have a heart to heart and when I say heart to heart, I mean, he’s going to sit his behind down and listen or I’m going to rip his heart right on out of his chest.”
Frank nearly choked on his tongue. He’d been driving silently while my mother and I spoke in the backseat.
“Sorry, Frank. Let’s pretend, you didn’t hear that,” I said, winking at him in the mirror.
“No need to apologize, Miss Johnson.” His cheeks flushed. “If I’m being honest, I also think you need to sit Mr. Alexander down and have a good talk.”
Now, he had my full attention. “Oh yeah, why do you thin
k that?” I asked, leaning forward so I wouldn’t miss a word.
His cheeks turned a deep shade of purple. “Mr. Alexander is a complicated man.”
Oh no, he wasn’t going to get off so easily. I didn’t do vague. I needed concrete evidence.
“And?” I urged him to elaborate.
Mama was like me. His remarks piqued her curiosity. “Do tell us, Frank,” she said, smiling at him. “Spill the good stuff. Spare no details. How do we straighten this knuckle-headed man out and make him do right by my daughter?”
She didn’t pull any punches.
“Mama,” I tried, but she gave me a look only a mother -- only a black mother -- could give a child. I shut my mouth really quick.
Frank continued. “Mr. Alexander loves you. He has a hard time showing it, but he loves you,” he said, looking in my direction. “He’s also lost. The feelings scare him, so he reverts back to behavior that is… is… well…”
“Unsavory,” my mother said in her best pulpit preacher voice. “The boy is unsavory. He needs Jesus or something because he’s not getting anywhere the way he’s going. Not anywhere but jail, apparently.”
“Mr. Alexander has a lot of people pulling him in different directions. I’m sure, with your help and patience, he’d find the right path, but you’re going to have to put in some work,” Frank explained.
Great; all I needed was more work to do!
“How much work are we talking about? Ballpark, here?” I asked, making light of what we all understood was going to be a heavy job. “I don’t know if I’m up for that kind of commitment.”
My mother’s neck snapped so fast, I thought her head would fall off. “What do you mean you’re not ready for commitment? It’s a little too late; don’t you think?”
Yeah, it’s way too late to turn back now.
“Where do I even begin?” I asked no one in particular.
Frank turned to look me in the eyes. “You start at the beginning. I’ve known Mr. Alexander for a long time. He’s had a few rough spots, but deep down, he’s a good man -- a really good man -- with an insatiable appetite for something, but I’m not quite sure if he’s satisfying that need with all his antics or making things worse for himself.”
Bedding the Bad Boy (Bad Boys of Football Book 1) Page 12
