by K. A. Berg
“I haven’t heard from him since he picked me up from my session here two weeks ago. I found out he left town, and he isn’t due back for a while.” That same stupid feeling from the other night rises up in my chest again.
“What happened after your session?” Dr. Paterson asks.
“He overheard my conversation with Jason and was upset I forgave Jason but not him. He asked how I could do that so easily.”
“What did you tell him?” She returns to making notes.
The scribbling of the pen on the paper is driving me crazier than usual today.
“I told him the truth.”
Dr. Paterson looks up from her pad, giving me a reprieve from the nerve-wracking sound. “Which is?” she asks.
“I didn’t love Jason the way I love Tanner, and Jason didn’t leave me high and dry while pregnant. I left him.” I try to ignore her stare because I know I’ve just made a crucial step by saying that out loud, and I suspect she’s about to broach a topic I’m not going to enjoy.
“But Tanner came back. He didn’t leave you high and dry,” she says, proving my hunch correct.
“It didn’t matter at that point,” I insist, repeating the same words I’ve been saying for weeks but without screaming like a crazy person.
“Why not?” she asks, probing further.
“Because the damage was already done,” I huff out, trying to focus on anything but her face so I don’t have to see the damn expression she gets whenever we talk about Tanner. It looks like sympathy, and I don’t think it’s sympathy for me.
Dr. Paterson uncrosses her legs and rests her forearms on her knees, leaning in as though she’s going to tell me a secret. “It seems as though you’re feeling more than you’d care to admit. I can’t help you if you don’t talk about it,” she says.
“I can’t trust him.” I sigh, unsure as to why I hadn’t wanted to tell her when I’ve already told Tanner as much.
“Why can’t you trust him?”
“I can’t trust him to be there for me. Last time I needed him, he bailed.”
“Did he?” she questions, cocking her head to the side like a quizzical child. The pose is almost condescending.
“Yes. He ran the minute I told him I was pregnant,” I remind her.
“Was that the last time you needed him?”
I grit my teeth. “Yes,” I say, trying to keep my anger at the level of mild irritation.
“You didn’t need him after the accident?”
“No, I could’ve managed without him.” As long as I had Quinn, I would’ve been just fine.
“Could you have?” she asks, leveling me with a gaze.
We’re back to her being a brick wall, I see.
“Yes,” I say again.
Dr. Paterson sits up straight in her chair, clearly not willing to back down until I acknowledge her point. “Ashley, do you honestly think you would be where you are right now without Tanner’s help?” she asks.
A series of images flashes through my mind: Tanner scolding the doctor for shining the light in my eyes when I woke in the hospital, Tanner scooping me off the floor after I fell on my first day without Quinn, Tanner bursting through my bedroom door after my breakdown.
“I don’t know. Probably. There wouldn’t have been an accident if he’d been there in the beginning.”
“Ashley, you can’t keep holding on to that theory. It’s just that: a theory. I want you to think about the facts instead— the fact that today you’ve been more affected talking about Tanner leaving than you have been about any other topic, the fact that you referred to your love for Tanner in the present tense.” She gives me a sad smile, as though she’s waiting for a light to click on in my head.
I said “love” instead of “loved.” Big deal.
“I want to talk about one more point before we end: how did you feel when he said goodbye?” Dr. Paterson asks.
“I don’t know,” I say. “I couldn’t really form any coherent thoughts after everything he’d said, but I hadn’t thought he meant goodbye forever.”
“But this what you wanted, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“What do you think it means that you aren’t happy about him finally honoring your wishes?” She asks.
“I don’t know.” I honestly have no idea why I’m not happy, and I have no idea what not knowing means.
“I want you to think about what has happened instead of what may have happened. You don’t know for sure what the outcome would’ve been if Tanner had been by your side from the beginning. Fate is fate, Ashley.”
Fate is a bitch, a bitch who isn’t my friend.
Chapter Thirty
Tanner
“You look much better, man,” Alex says, returning to the table with a new round of beers.
I take a long swig of my beer, glancing around the club. “It was nice to get away for a little while. I haven’t focused on just myself for months. It was nice to be free.”
“How’d you do with the training schedule Max laid out for you?” Max is one of the new trainers the team has brought on for the new season. He’s different from most of the trainers I’ve worked with. His philosophy on getting back into the training mindset after a long break—such as for athletes like myself who haven’t focused on anything other than helping rehabilitate an ex-girlfriend who hates his guts for months on end—is to isolate oneself from outside influences as much as possible. When I’d decided it was time to break away from Ashley, I began working with him in the hopes of getting back into shape and building a better mindset.
Before I could really get down to training though, there were a few kids’ camps I’d agreed to participate in for Mathis, but as soon as I’d finished those up, Max had set me up at a resort in Oahu. The complex had sort of reminded me of one of those monasteries monks live in. It was quiet, serene, and had everything you would need to rebuild yourself physically and mentally. The scenery alone was a sight to behold—just what you’d picture a Hawaiian getaway to look like. It was off the beaten path in a town on the North shore that had a name I couldn’t pronounce properly, not yet a huge tourist attraction, and there was a beautiful lookout spot not too far from the resort. Everything was green and lush on one side with a great coastal view on the other.
The facilities lacked for nothing. They had this amazing state-of-the-art gym with floor-to-ceiling windows along one wall, providing a beautiful view of the beach. There were several different pools scattered throughout the complex as well—one for swimming laps, a really cold one that was better than an ice bath for soaking sore muscles, a hot tub for relaxation… Another pool even had exercise equipment set up in the water for training. There were mediation rooms, yoga classes, and even running trails down on the beach. Anything you could think of related to shutting off and relaxing, they had it.
“Max is definitely onto something with the way he does things,” I say. “It’s almost like strength and conditioning rehab. I plan on going back again. It was definitely beneficial.”
“I’m glad, Tag. You definitely needed some serious downtime,” he says before bringing his bottle to his lips. It hits me that Alex has been such a great support system to me over the last few months, and I realize now how important it is to have good people around you.
“It was an experience I needed. Being there put me in a mindset to really look at my life and see a clear picture. Honestly, I can feel a difference. I feel lighter and ready to have my life revolve around me again. I’m ready to find something to be happy about.” I smile at him, feeling like a new man.
He clinks his beer bottle against mine in a toast. “Well, like I said before, you look great. I can see the difference. I’m happy for you, man.”
“I’m glad to be home though,” I say. “Listen, I don’t know if I’ve told you this, and if I have, I haven’t said it enough. Thank you for being here for me through all of this. I know it wasn’t easy for you, always being in the middle. I appreciate you staying by my side eve
n when you were pissed at me.”
“I never would’ve been anywhere else. We’re family. Family sticks together. Now let’s get drunk and enjoy the night like old times.
I look around the club again. Nothing appeals to me about it, but I’m working toward reclaiming my independence, and some guys from the team had wanted to meet up this weekend to hang out, so here I am.
An hour later, I’m still not feeling the club scene, but I am enjoying the company of my friends. I find myself laughing heartily, which I haven’t done in a long while. It feels a bit foreign to me.
“Hey, handsome,” a sugary voice says from beside me.
I look left to see a beautiful blonde looking up at me with a bright smile.
“Hello,” I reply, giving her a smile of my own.
“Feel like dancing?” she asks, placing her hand on my shoulder and slowly running it down my arm.
My first instinct is to say no, but I should be trying to get back out there. What can one dance hurt?
“Sure. Why not?” I finish the remainder of my beer and leave the empty bottle on the table as I grab her hand to lead her out to the dance floor.
She presses against me as we maneuver through the sea of bodies writhing to the music. When we find an opening, I swing her around in front of me and pull her toward me. Pushing my reservations out of my mind, I concentrate on enjoying the warm, willing body molded to mine. I close my eyes and try to get lost in the music. There’s no fighting, no blaming, no nasty comments. When I open my eyes, my subconscious fights back. The blonde hair is all wrong. The barely there clothing isn’t right either. The nice but very large, fake tits pressed into my chest feel hard and unnatural.
“You know, I’ve seen your picture all over. I told myself if I ever ran into you, I would do whatever I could to spend the night with you,” the scantily clad girl purrs into my ear. As if the physical differences between her and Ashley hadn’t been enough, those words just sealed the deal. Why do I need to keep reminding myself sluts are a dime a dozen? I guess the only things I can count on to go right are my career and reputation.
“I’m not sleeping with you, sweetheart,” I say, pushing her back. “I’m used to your kind, and I don’t fall for shit lines like yours. You’re a beautiful woman. Do yourself a favor and learn some self-respect. Groupies and gold-diggers are everywhere. Be better than them.”
I walk away, leaving her wide-eyed and open-mouthed in the middle of the dance floor. What woman in her right mind tells a man she’ll do whatever it takes to spend the night in his bed? It might be appealing to some guys but not to me. For a minute, I had almost tricked myself into thinking maybe things had changed. Not in my world. Everyone wants something from me—except for the one person I want to share everything with.
I’m not just pissed at myself for thinking things had changed. I’m also pissed Ashley’s still invading my mind. What does a guy have to do to move on with his life? Fuck if I know, but I’m done with this place. I’d rather go home and throw a few back with Alex in peace.
“What happened to the blonde?” Alex asks when I’ve finally made my way back to the table.
“I left her slutty ass on the dance floor,” I say.
He shakes his head and chuckles. “What’d she do?”
“Told me she’d do whatever it took to wake up in my bed tomorrow. Want to head back to my place and hit the good scotch I’ve got saved?” I ask, nodding toward the door.
“Sounds good to me.”
I wake feeling dazed and annoyed at the blaring of my cell phone, which is ringing loudly from somewhere in the vicinity of my sofa. My head is pounding, and I don’t remember passing out in the den last night.
“Dude, find your phone and shut it the fuck up before I break it into a million pieces,” Alex grumbles from under a throw pillow on the other couch.
“I’m trying. I don’t even know where the hell I am right now. Give me a fucking minute.”
Whoever is on the end of the incessant ringing had better be fucking dying. I shouldn’t joke about that though.
I manage to detangle myself from the mess of throw pillows and blankets and get up to follow the shrill ringing of my phone. I find it on the kitchen counter. Naturally, it stops ringing as soon as I get my hands on it. I pick it up to see notifications for twenty missed calls and thirteen text messages. Is the world fucking ending? The majority of the calls are from Davis, but training camp doesn’t start until next week, so I don’t know what the hell could be so fucking important.
I don’t get to check a single message before the phone starts ringing again.
“DUDE! Shut it the fuck up,” Alex yells.
“Hello?” I say as I answer.
“Tanner, where the hell have you been? Please tell me it isn’t true.” He rushes through his words all in one breath, sounding as if the world is about to end.
“What the hell are you talking about?” I ask confused. It’s too early for this shit, and I’m way to hungover for guessing games.
“Are you under a fucking a rock? Turn on SportsCenter, NFL Network… hell, check your fucking Twitter, man. You’re trending. You’re pretty much the number one googled person right now! Please tell me it isn’t true. I’m a damn good agent, but I’m not a fucking magician.”
“What the fuck? I only got back from Hawaii two days ago. I haven’t done shit, Davis. Not here or there,” I tell him as I head back to the couch to search for the remote.
Davis babbles on and on, but I don’t hear a word he says once I see the headline being run on ESPN.
“According to a source close to Garrison, he broke off relations with his girlfriend after finding out she was pregnant,” the anchorman says. “It was after a shift at her second job as a waitress at a local sports bar, she was hit by a drunk driver, which resulted in the death of the couple’s unborn son. As we already know, this happened the night Garrison and the Jets won the Super Bowl. The same source has stated Garrison’s ex had picked up the second job because Garrison had refused to have any involvement with or provide any financial support to the baby, claiming he didn’t know whether or not the child was his. It was later confirmed the child was, in fact, Garrison’s. Does anyone else see the irony in this situation? Garrison is the face of The Tony Mathis Foundation, a charitable non-profit supporting underprivileged children.”
I gasp. “What the fuck?” Where the hell did this story come from? There are only a few people who know any of the information being reported, and I don’t think any of them would’ve done this.
“TANNER!” Davis yells from the other end of the line.
I’d forgotten I was still holding the phone to my ear.
“Yeah?” I ask as I stand in front of the TV, staring.
“How legit is this story?” he asks, the worry evident in his voice.
I sigh. “It’s pretty accurate,” I admit dejectedly. “There’s no point in refuting it. I doubt Ashley put this out there, but if she decides to back this up when she’s undoubtedly tracked down, I won’t lie.”
“I don’t know if I’ll be able to do anything about this without trying to spin it as a lie,” he says.
“It is what it is at this point, Davis.” I hang up.
There’s no point in arguing with him, and he knows me well enough to leave me be for now, but he does text me another important piece of information that hasn’t been flashed across the TV screen yet.
Davis: Mathis is meeting later today to discuss cutting you from the foundation.
One mistake has now officially cost me everything I care about. One mistake has cost me my son, my girl, and now my reputation. What else is left?
“Tag, where the hell did this come from?”
I look up from my phone to find Alex staring at the TV in utter disbelief just as I had been.
“I have no idea,” I say, shaking my head. I scroll through my texts to see who else has been trying to get ahold of me since this news hit. Most of the messages are from Davis, but
a few aren’t—one from mom, one from my dad, and a couple from my sisters. The one who stands out the most though is from Melissa.
Melissa: I told you I always win. Have a nice life, Tanner.
“Crazy fucking bitch,” I say through gritted teeth as I turn to Alex and hold up my phone for him to see. I’d taken her threat as a bluff, and weeks have passed since I kicked her ass to the curb. This is what I get for not giving the bitch enough credit, but I hadn’t thought there was a thing she could do to me. I never saw this coming.
“You’ve got to be kidding me. I can’t believe her. She knows how much your reputation means to you. She couldn’t get her way with Ashley, so she went to the fucking press. What are you going to do?” he asks, seeming just as stunned by this turn of events as I am.
“There’s nothing I can do, Alex. It’s true. Who knows if Ashley’s going to jump on this bandwagon or not? If she does, she can more than prove it’s all true and that I did unintentionally kill my own son.”
“You know that’s not true,” he says angrily.
“But it is. Just ask Ashley. She’ll tell you all about it.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Ashley
Today has been an emotional roller coaster, to say the least. Only now do I fully understand how Tanner must have felt when he realized he’d made the mistake of leaving me. I would sell my soul to fix all of this for him, and I’m angry at myself for being so stubborn for all these months. Unfortunately, after the news had broken, it still took Quinn slapping the shit out of me for me to realize what I had to do. Quinn’s words still haunt me even hours later as I drive to Melissa’s.
“How can you just sit back and let this happen to him, Ashley? What the fuck is wrong with you?” Quinn had yelled while we watched Tanner’s life implode on the morning news.
“He did this himself. It isn’t my fault,” I said. That was when she got in my face and slapped me—literally bitch-slapped me.
