Page 25
Arden
Probably almost cheated on, definitely publicly humiliated, and absolutely fired all in less than five minutes.
Feels like a chick version of the Howe hat trick.
I don’t like it.
In fact?
I think it sucks short, mangled, duck dick.
“It’s ridiculous, Sam,” Florence Ramirez states to her current co-anchor. “The Dragons are out of control again and the league needs to do something about it.”
“Why?” I bitterly hiss at the T.V. from where I’m sprawled out on my couch. “They don’t do anything about you. ”
“Out of control feels like a bit of a stretch, Florence.”
“Thank you, Newbie!” soars free enthusiastically enough that Bear’s ears perk up.
“ Does it? ” She bitchily counters with a cocked head. “In the past two seasons, they’ve had very public incidents of drunk driving, substance abuse, gambling, and countless domestic disputes.”
Not fucking countless.
She just can’t count that high or her makeup melts from her brain overheating.
“Their continuously reckless behavior is an embarrassment to the league and contributing to our much bigger PR problem which isn’t what we need as an industry.” Her face snaps back to the camera as though looking directly at me. “I think the Dragons need to not only be fined but possibly relocated and sold .”
Growls simmer in my throat to the point Bear not only huffs for me to stop, he nudges at the remote for me to change the channel.
Probably a good call.
Nothing good ever comes from watching that Selena Nomez.
I flip to the main screen to choose my streaming choice yet am instantly saddened more by the recently finished stretch of films I see.
ForSakicsake…this is the problem with dating someone who has the exact same taste in entertainment as you.
You can’t just watch one of your favorites to take your mind off of them because chances are you’ve watched it together or banged during it, which is the last thing you want to be thinking about during a breakup.
Possible breakup?
A not not breakup?
Fuck. Me.
Whatever.
Scrolling past my typical choices and rewatches aimlessly continues until I finally reach a choice not tied to sports.
Or knights.
Or warriors.
Or anything that could possibly remind me of the pylon who looks like he can’t keep it in his pants.
The beginning of Romeo + Juliet begins and within the first four minutes, the man I know will never disappoint me, inches the remote across my sweatshirt covered chest to me once more.
“No,” I halfheartedly state to him, “I don’t need that.”
He pushes it a second time.
“Unlike the BS Florence was spewing I wanna hear this.”
His nose flicks the edge of it yet again causing it to flip over and hit me in the face. “ Fuck! ”
Rather than retort to my outburst, he simply adjusts his paws on my chest, relaxes his head between them and shuts his eyes, doing his best to drown out my movie pick.
Okay.
I lied.
Clearly my dog can and has been corrupted.
Luckily for me, the modern take on an annoying classic is done in a way that I can appreciate.
Guns for swords – although I prefer swords – is worthy of a stick tap much like the depiction of using gang violence to demonstrate what modern war between households could be.
And two lovers…from different worlds…not meant to be together but unable to resist the way the other makes them feel…hits me harder than expected.
And deeper.
It pulls tears up the back of my throat to linger on my eyelids, which is where they stay due to my refusal to let them off the bench.
Fuck that!
I shouldn’t be crying.
I have no reason to cry.
Star-crossed lovers apparently never get to be together.
Why would I expect to be an exception?
“Room on the couch for one more?” Dad cautiously inquires during his entrance that I missed but Bear didn’t given the way he’s in a guard stance beside the coffee table to better protect me. “I brought wings.”
A curious glance is thrown in his direction. “Kind?”
“Mango habanero.”
Sitting up is more of an automatic response than a thought through one.
I scoot over to give my dad the necessary room to set up shop and drape my “duck around and find out blanket” across my shoulders like an old lady shawl during high tea.
There’s an immediate glimpse at the action yet no comment.
Then again, what exactly is there to say about your depressed daughter sporting bedwear like an afternoon accessory.
Dad pops open the container, releasing the delicious fumes into the air, and I swiftly dive my hand inside to grab an overdue assist in sending the unshed tears to their dry stall.
My teeth have barely finished chomping down for a bite when he awkwardly begins, “So…uh…are we gonna talk about this?”
“What exactly? I ask between angry smacks. “Being fired from my dream job? Probably almost definitely being cheated on by my boyfriend – er ex-boyfriend – not not boyfriend? Having the whole thing filmed for literally thousands of people to witness thanks to my twat twin conspiring with my camera man co-worker who I punched in the gibs when he came clean about it in the parking lot?”
Me sassily ripping off another piece from the bone precedes the man beside me casually kicking a thumb towards the flat screen. “I meant the movie.”
Shame unforgivingly seeps into my complexion forcing me to hide with more food.
Dad nonchalantly dips a fry in blue cheese and shrugs. “But we can talk about the other shit instead.”
“We don’t have to.”
“But we can. ”
“We shouldn’t.”
“Maybe we should. ”
Dad’s counter successfully sends my stare to his.
“ Mi pequena rebelde… ” the end of the fry gets abandoned inside the container near the wings, “I know that we typically treat you more like our little mijo than mija but that doesn’t mean you can’t express your feelings. It doesn’t mean we can’t talk about non-sports shit.”
Unhappy grumbles are attached to reaching for another wing.
“Were you actually fired?”
“Yes.”
“Like actually, actually fired?”
“Pretty sure.”
“Did she say those words?”
“She didn’t exactly say any words to me.” I bury my sadness in another bite. “Just about me.”
“Which were?”
“I should go. I should get in my car. I should not come to the office for an undisclosed amount of time.” Faster chewing is engaged. “All the normally equals fired bullshit.” Swallowing swiftly occurs so I can coherently proclaim, “Sorry if that little scene tanked the store’s launch stats. It wasn’t my intention. You know I would never-”
“ Plan a publicity stunt like that?” He angles himself against the cushions as Bear protectively rests his head in my lap. “No. That’s your sister’s department.”
It’s impossible not to glare.
“And I’ve never been more convinced than I am now that she had had this planned for quite some time.”
My scowl deepens.
“Publicity stunts tend to gather more media attention – especially in this day and age – more attention means more customers, more customers means more sales, more sales means higher stats, which is exactly what we had thanks to your Sports Opera.”
Gagging and throwing the bone are done simultaneously. “You have got to be shitting me.”
He casually shakes his head on a small grin. “One of the highest opening weeks in the past decade.”
Fuck, I hate her.
I hate her so much.
How is it she managed to turn my pain into profit?!
What kinda fucked up sorcery is that shit?!
“She prevails and I get fired,” I sarcastically sneer. “Well…isn’t that just kick you in the taint during your MVP acceptance speech fantastic?”
“You don’t know you got fired.”
“ Dad. ”
“But if you did-”
“I totally did!”
“Then you will be pleased to know at dinner last night with Thunder-”
“Your old college frat bro?”
“That would be the one.” His hands fold politely in his lap. “You came up.”
“Not feelin’ like this is a stick tap moment.”
“Remember how he works for STN in their featured programs department?”
“Yeah.”
“They want you for a slot.”
Nearly choking on my chicken can’t be helped. “ Wh-” One cough becomes two more. “ What? ” Bear nudges my leg in question prompting me to reassure, “I’m fine. Promise.”
He angles his head to one side.
“Swear that Grandpaw isn’t trying to kill me.”
My dog huffs and slowly lowers his head back to my lap.
“But is he fucking with me right now?” my head rolls back to him. “Because that’s the last shit I need.”
“Nope.” Dad maintains a serious expression. “He’s admired your work for quite some time, and your bitch fit-”
“ Goditwassuchabitchfit .”
“-actually landed quite well with out of league viewers. That clip has garnered over a million views – and counting-”
“ Ohmygod ,” gets muffled behind more meat.
“ Plus , it sent an unexpected surge of traffic to the leagues website, social media pages, and the Dragons sales page.”
“No…”
“People like drama.”
“I don’t like drama!”
“ Consumers like drama,” Dad corrects in a snarky tone and reaches for the remainder of his fry. “Helps them connect to what they’re consuming better. According to Thunder, STN believes you could play a key role in transitioning part time fans to full time ones by exposing the harsh reality of the sport by mixing the mini docu shit you did with Frosky with the raw outbursts you had at LMC. Like a sports reality T.V. thing.” He chunks in the tiny bit. “Someone from his office should be calling Monday to set up an interview.”
Disbelief drops onto my shoulders buckling me slightly forward.
Seriously?
Is my network dream about to come true?!
“Speaking of calling,” he waits until he has my full attention again, “has the not not boyfriend?”
I guiltily nod.
“Texted?”
Repeating the action is instant.
“Come by?”
“Only the night of. He’s been on the roadskie ever since.”
“And you didn’t answer?”
“I deadbolted the door.”
You know in spite of Bear’s unhappy barking.
“And you haven’t answered the others either?”
“Why the fuck would I answer?” seeps free in a displeased murmur. “What the fuck am I supposed to say?”
“What do you wanna say?”
My mouth immediately flies open to respond yet nothing escapes.
Because the truth is I don’t know what I want to say any more than what I should say?
Sorry, I got you traded?
Sorry, I got myself fired?
Sorry, we’re the laughingstock of the league?
And why do I need to say sorry?!
He was the one who couldn’t resist the porn style photoshoot with me in the next room!
He’s the one who can’t seem to keep his oh so silky mitts to himself!
Awkward silence easily floats onward, only ceasing when Dad reaches for another fry. “You really punch the camera dude in the face?”
“Right in the fucking gibs,” I gloat and suck a bit of sauce off my finger.
“He lose any?”
“Don’t know.”
“He need a med assist?”
“ Don’t care. ”
He dips the potato in the dressing while nodding. “And your sister?”
“I would’ve punched her in the gibs, but you threatened to take away my inheritance if I beat her again, so I refrained.”
Light chortles precede him politely nodding. “Appreciate it.”
“I mean…you really fucking should.” Abandoning the latest bone for a napkin from the plastic bag occurs between sentences. “She creates the worst shit show in my personal history and doesn’t get hit in the face. Pretty sure you should nominate me for Sainthood or at the very least a Mark Messier award because it takes true leadership not to smack a broadskie for that level of fuckery.”
More laughter comes from the houseguest between chews. “I don’t think they give those trophies to non- players.”
“Maybe they should.”
“And maybe you should ask yourself what it is about Audrey that really bugs the shit out of you.”
“That’s easy.” I let my back hit the edge of the couch. “ Her. ”
“What about her?”
“Everything. Anything. ”
Dad’s head falls slightly to one side, nonverbally requesting more information.
“I hate that she wears so much goddamn makeup. And that her outfits are always so tiny. And show so much skin. And she always looks so fucking perfect in photos. And so perfect in crowds. And at dinner. And parties…and events…and…” the ugly truth struggles to glide out of me, “like she belongs in spaces and places I don’t. Like she belongs with someone like Frosky. And behaves like it. And can play the role I know I can never play. I hate that… she is what the world expects to see with him. And I hate that she goes out of her way to fucking remind me of that.”
“You know what’s funny?” His fingertips brush together to remove the seasoning from them, an action that summons Bear to lick up the crumbs. “You and your sister are more alike than either of you realize.”
“Ugh,” rolls off my tongue as my head lolls backwards, “don’t say that. I don’t wanna pukeskies.”
“ You think you’re not pretty enough or flirty enough or mannered enough or manipulative enough to be in places you wanna be while she thinks she’s not strong enough or smart enough or secure enough or clever enough to be in the places she’s convinced herself she wants to be.” An almost downtrodden headshake leaves him. “Neither of you seem to understand how to appreciate your own strengths without seeing what it is you have convinced yourself you lack. And as your father ? Me rompe el corazón .” Dad’s fingers drop to pet the top of Bear’s head. “However, this is not about what breaks my heart or my failures as a parent or even about the increasingly extensive therapy we will be pushing your sister into exploring, but about you. ” He continues to stroke my dog’s thick fur while a lump of tears begins to matt itself in my throat. “ So what… if the world expects to see something different than what it does? Since when has that ever mattered to you?”
“Since I fell for the one dude who needs me to be someone I’m not,” is choked out just above a whisper.
“Does he need that, or do you think he needs that?”
“I-”
“Has he ever asked you to be anything other than you ?”
“No but-”
“ Not buts, Arden. ” The tone is firmer than anticipated. “Don’t punish someone for something they haven’t done because you pre-emptively think they will. That’s like benching a player for an entire season because you think he might get a penalty in one game.”
My lips press firmly together in a pouty fashion.
“And double fuck whatever is the so-called status quo, mi pequena rebelde . LMC was built and has thrived in spite of that.” Bear less than cleverly inches his hand over to retrieve him a fry. “Plus, the league is changing. Yeah, a little slower than a puckhead who should’ve retired long before forty, but it’s still happening.” He slips the treat into my dog’s mouth without care or concern of my potential scolding. “Remember, once upon a time, there were no female owners. No female coaches . No black coaches. No black head coaches. Very few Hispanic and Latino players . Even less Filipinos and those of Asian descent. Yet now? Now, those stats are evolving. Progressing. And the sold-out stadiums around the country are bringing all types of people together, boosting watch numbers, exceeding predictions, and showing that the sport can be for everyone if we let it, which proves that change can be good.” An undeniable fatherly stare is presented. “ All you have to do is let it. ”