Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
Hunter
After the quick trip home to Oneonta for Thanksgiving Day and then the win in Miami, I felt better, more like myself. Almost. There was still that gap, the sense of something missing, and I knew it was more than the mixed feelings about my father causing my disquiet.
Because every time I closed my eyes, I saw Cat, bravely trying not to cry as I closed the taxi door on her and she drove away from the restaurant.
I wished it was as easy as closing a door to rid myself of the longing I still felt.
But this longing was not the kind to easily toss aside, not the kind I was used to, made of lust and laughs.
This went deeper. It touched places I didn’t want to go, hit me where I was made, at my essence.
I couldn’t shake her from my head, but I had to. Sooner than later.
“Hey, where’s your head at, bro?” Wyatt had taken to calling me bro now, but I refused to follow suit. I already had more than enough real brothers.
“Thinking about Sunday. Next up, Chicago.”
“You mean the next domino to fall.” He grinned.
The game was two days away. Practice had been more rough-and-tumble today than usual and I rose, wrapped in my towel, to find an empty whirlpool.
Wyatt followed me. He’d hovered a lot since the Jason scene went down in front of his family. I think his mom was worried and insisted he watch me. As if I were about to explode or something.
“Looking forward to tonight’s escape from football?” he asked.
I laughed as I lowered my aching body into the hot, swirling water.
“Who are you trying to kid? You love this shit. You’d probably sleep at the stadium if they’d let you.”
He chuckled and didn’t argue. “You know I did sleep here one night my rookie year.” Shaking his head, he said, “But that’s a long story for another day.”
I wasn’t about to ask.
“Let’s talk about you. Is Cat going to the Children’s Hospital Christmas—”
“You’re such an asshole,” I said without real heat. “No, she’s not.” I clamped my mouth shut and gave him a warning sign not to press it: my middle finger.
An evil speculative look passed over his face, but he sank into his whirlpool and left me alone with my thoughts.
Which were now on Cat and how she wouldn’t be there tonight.
How I hadn’t seen her, had barely exchanged a text or two this week.
Shutting my eyes, I bit down on the well of need rising in me.
To see her, hear her voice and the tease of her laughter, feel her warmth.
Damn me to hell. What had I ever done to deserve this f—cking torture?
I rode to the Children’s Hospital with Wyatt on the condition that we wouldn’t stay late.
Ten p.m. curfew, imposed by me. He was too agreeable for me not to be suspicious, but we arrived at the appointed hour, five p.m., in time to mingle with the inpatients.
If I’d been feeling sorry for myself earlier, the idea that my life was in any way hard disappeared the instant I met the first boy who had only one arm, one leg, and a giant heart to match his grin.
A hundred signed footballs, jerseys, and laughs later, I was disappointed to leave the children. But I knew I’d be back. I wanted to put in more time here as much for my own inspiration as to give them whatever I had left after football and my family back home in Oneonta.
As a bunch of us took the elevator to the atrium for the party portion of the evening, I thought about telling Cat, to let her know about my decision to go all in with the Children’s Hospital.
I was certain she’d approve. Toying with the phone in my jacket pocket, I held back from texting her right now.
Mainly because I didn’t want to explain anything to these guys, who’d give me shit about it.
But also because I knew texting Cat tonight would be a dangerous self-indulgence I couldn’t afford.
The reception hall was decorated in red, black, and white, and filled up with high-roller donors. In spite of the number of people, we made a spectacle when we walked in to cheers and claps. This was clearly a football crowd.
Indulging in one Glenlivet on the rocks, I felt the time slide by with one woman after another at my side, inviting me to dance and offering everything from a drink to a trip to the other side of the moon.
A year ago, I would have enjoyed the attention more, might have even been interested in one or two of the ladies.
But tonight, I felt like only half of me was there.
The other half of me, the vital part, was with Cat. I was so f—cking pathetic.
Wyatt, who’d given me an encouraging thumbs-up more than once when I found myself on the dance floor, joined me at the end of the bar after a couple of hours.
“You look ready to leave,” he said.
“Good guess.” Checking my watch, I realized it was 10:15. “Only fifteen late.”
“Let me have one more dance and I’ll meet you at the elevators.” He bounced back to the dance floor and I drained the melted ice from my glass. I got my coat and went to the elevator.
When I rounded the corner, I ran into a woman—or rather she accosted me, grabbing onto my lapels.
“Whoa, whoa, what’s going on?” My automatic response was to look for a threat and put a protective arm around her. I saw another woman twenty feet away, but no one else, so I extricated myself from her grasp.
“Hunter, you have no idea,” she sobbed. I suspected she was drunk, the way she swayed. When she swayed into me and crashed to the floor, I helped her up.
“Miss, do you need me to call someone?”
“No, don’t call anyone.” She looked panicked. I knew something was wrong, but I had no idea what as I held onto her arms, but not as tightly as she clamped onto mine, leaning into me like she’d fall again if she didn’t.
The elevator bell dinged then and I saw Wyatt walking my way, his coat over his arm and a puzzled look on his face. The woman saw him too and she seemed to pull herself together then.
“I’m fine. I need to go.” She fled in the opposite direction of Wyatt, running—not walking—with no problem at all, toward the other woman.
“What the hell was that all about?”
We got into the waiting elevator. “I have no idea. I think she was drunk—or maybe on drugs.”
“She didn’t seem your type. A little old for you. Unless you’re now into the mature type, maybe an overcompensation for—”
“Don’t say another f—cking word.” He was about to reference Cat being only twenty-one, but I wanted no part of another conversation about Cat with him. Ever.
The next day began like a normal day. I got up at the crack of dawn and rode with Wyatt to the stadium for reps before practice.
As usual. But at noon, when we broke for lunch, I noticed a mob of media on the sidelines like we were in the Super Bowl.
Wyatt strode straight into the fray like a gladiator feeding himself to the lions to save the rest of us.
I took advantage and headed for the tunnel, but my way was blocked.
The mob of media spotted me and moved with me, unusually anxious for my reaction—to what I wasn’t sure—but I reminded them I wasn’t talking to the media, I wasn’t cleared yet to represent the team in interviews.
“This has nothing to do with the team, Quintanna. What’s your response to the accusations against you of sexual assault?”
Boom.
Massive confusion clogged my ability to speak.
I couldn’t process the words, make them connect to reality or anything resembling actual events.
When I was about to tell the reporter to f—ck himself, someone came running from the tunnel, pushing through the mob that had surrounded me like a swarm of killer ants.
It was Cat.
“Back off, back away.” She swatted and shoved as she spoke and when she reached me she took hold of my arm in an iron grip.
Half out of breath, she faced the reporters and the microphones and the cameras and said, “Mr. Quintanna has no comment. The Militia organization will release a statement after we’ve had a chance to assess the situation.
” She didn’t look at me, but dragged me through the crowd, blocking better than half the tight ends in the league as we headed back to the tunnel.
I heard Coach yelling at the media, telling them to get out of there, closing down the practice to the press for the duration. That’s when it hit me: the accusation by the reporter was real. Some f—cking nut had accused me of sexual assault—to the press.
I pulled myself from Cat’s grip, more concerned about the facts than the press now that we were headed to the stairs. She was taking me to her office.
“What the hell is going on, Cat?” I kept my voice under control.
“A woman filed a criminal and civil complaint against you for sexual assault. Right after she released a phone video on Instagram and Twitter.”
I stopped, heart pounding, in the stairwell and took her by the arms. “A video?”
She nodded, the ponytail she sported bouncing up and down. Her eyes were wide open. I squeezed my eyes shut, not wanting to see what she thought, not wanting to know if she believed the accusation.
She shook my shoulders and yelled, “Hunter, I know it’s not true! I don’t care what’s on the video. It’s an obvious setup.”
I looked at her, the gold specks in her eyes sparkling. She was fierce. I felt her energy, her strength, the absolute conviction in her voice.
“Let’s get to my office and talk.”
I followed her up the stairs and across the hall and shut the door behind me.
“Let me see it,” I said.
She went to the open laptop on her desk and turned it around.
I recognized the woman from the reception last night, the one at the elevator.
The clip showed me lifting her from the floor and then it showed her with her dress torn and yelling for help and someone—the person with the phone—running toward her.
“It was edited.” My voice was flat because I knew it would hardly matter in the forum of public opinion. People would believe the worst if you gave them a chance. And this was strike two against me.
“I know. I’m working on getting—”
“What the hell can you do, Cat?”
“My job, Hunter. I’ve already started a social media campaign to disparage the video and point out where it was clearly edited.
I have our technical people working on it now.
I haven’t gotten very far on getting everything into place yet because I wanted to get to you at lunch break before the media did.
I’ve been working as fast as I can, but it feels like I’m trying to outrun a tidal wave right now. ”
“No shit.” I swiped my hand through my hair and turned to the window. The field was empty. Coach had shut everything down. He’d be coming for me any minute and I wondered if he’d know where to find me. I was sunk.
“Your dad is going to can me, Cat.”
“No he won’t. Look—you sit tight. I’m going to talk to him. I have a few more calls to make. Don’t go anywhere.”
I sank into a chair and watched her walk out the door, leaving me behind. Damn. Tomorrow was game day against one of our main rivals. We were away at Buffalo and my whole family was going to be at the game.
Except now I was fairly certain I wouldn’t be playing.
Dressed in my practice uniform, no pads, I didn’t have my phone with me.
Grabbing the desk phone, I dialed my mother.
I wasn’t sure if she’d heard the news yet, but I wasn’t about to wait.
She should hear the truth of what happened from me first.