Page 126 of Elevator Pitch

“You’ve crossed the line this time,” someone states, and Valdez turns his head in the direction of Bolan Adler.

“Fuck you, and your fake wife.”

A shift occurs again. Men rustling to catch Adler before he gets to Valdez. Valdez getting pinned back by others.

And just as this happens, photos are snapped, capturing the chaos in the Anchor locker room.

And within hours, headlines read:

Chicago Anchors. A sinking ship.

Rumors of inappropriate behavior and nefarious superstitions.

+ + +

After a lengthy call with the front office, and a detailed discussion with the general manager of the Anchors, Romero Valdez is put on a second suspension for his insubordination. He’s also put on the books for a trade when the mid-season gap opens. He doesn’t represent the ideals we hold for this Chicago team, and his previous behavior toward Ford, documented complaints from Bolan, and now this verbal altercation with me witnessed by the team are grounds for termination of his contract.

I’m relieved but saddened. I failed him as a coach and failed my team as their leader.

Their top dog. Their alpha male.

When I finally call Vee, it’s after midnight. “I think you should go home.”

With the headline what it is, I don’t want Vee’s name to suddenly be linked with the suspicion of “a superstition whisperer” as the news reports have coined her. Ironic, as she called herself the same thing a time or two. I don’t believe for a second Vee sold her own story to some tabloid. Even if she loves a good story, she’s into the fictional kind, not the sensational ones. And I want to protect her.

“You don’t want me here for you?” Her voice is quiet and small when she questions me. I hear her hurt and know that it’s because she feels I’m pushing her away when I’m trying to protect her.

Her life will implode if the media gets ahold of her. Glorify her or rip her apart, the media is a double-edged sword, and I don’t want that kind of press for Vee. Plus, I’m reminded from our lunch, she is a success in her own right. She has a following and fans, and what would this kind of press do to her? Her career? Her success? Her personally.

Selfishly, I want her here, but I don’t want her dragged through even more muck, spouted by Valdez, because he’s a vengeful dick. As I’m convinced Vee would never use me, or us, to elevate herself, I’m still curious how Valdez knew about Vee as only a select few know our truth.

Whipping off my ball cap, I scratch my head. I’ve been wearing the cap almost all day. I’m still partially in my uniform. I need a shower. I’m exhausted, and I just want to hold Vee. But I can’t.

“I just think it’s best if you go home. Lay low.”

“I didn’t know I was lying high.” Her snarky reply stings as I pace in my hotel room like a caged animal.

I pause, glancing toward the window and walking toward it. The drapes are still open. The city lights glow in the distance. I press my head against the cool glass as if I can see Vee across the vast space.

“Our secret is about to be revealed, Vee.” My voice is low and rough. “I don’t want the shit that can come with a media surge flung at you.”

The phone is quiet a second, and I close my eyes, trying to envision Vee. Maybe she’s sitting on the edge of her hotel bed, in the same spot I took her last night. Vee and I have had sex in a lot of locations and positions, but it hits me that we haven’t actually made love. Slow and controlled. Taking our time.

I need more time.

And everything feels like it’s spinning out of control. This feeling I had entering Philly. Almost like a premonition that returning here, something bad would happen.

“I see.” Vee says eventually, but her tone suggests otherwise. She sounds subdued, almost resigned. Not understanding I don’t have a choice but to send her home.

“Look, it’s been a rough day. Let me help you book a ticket.”

“I can book my own ticket, Ross. Thanks.” Her tone shifts, sharp and tight.

A heavy pause fills the phone again before she says, “Good luck to the Anchors, Coach.”

She hangs up as I’m trying to say, “Please, don’t be like that.”

I hate that Vee’s reaction is eerily similar to Patty before she passed. Bitter. Angry. Hurt.