Chapter 4
Carter
She took the thesis.
I come back from practice to find my apartment exactly as I left it except the manuscript is gone and the coffee mug is washed and left in the sink.
Lennox Hayes washed my dishes.
It's such a small thing. Unnecessary. But it suggests she's not just a journalist extracting information. She's a person who respects spaces she's been welcomed into.
I shouldn't find that charming, but I do anyway.
My phone buzzes. Tyler.
Tyler: Heard the journalist was at your place. You hooking up with the enemy?
Me: Interview. Professional. And stop calling her the enemy.
Tyler: She wrote a hit piece about us. What else would you call her?
Me: Doing her job.
Tyler: You're going soft, Cap.
I don't respond, just drop my bag and collapse on the couch where Lennox was sitting a few hours ago.
The apartment still smells faintly like her perfume. Something subtle and probably inexpensive but somehow memorable.
I need to stop noticing things like that.
My phone rings. Maya.
"Hey."
"Did you get my messages?" She sounds stressed. More than usual.
"Yeah, sorry. Practice ran long. What's up?"
"Dad called. He wants me to visit him in Minneapolis this weekend." Silence. "I don't want to go."
My jaw tightens. "Then don't."
"He says it's important. That we need to 'have a conversation about my future.'" The way she says it, I can hear the air quotes. "I think he's going to try to make me quit therapy again."
Our father doesn't believe in therapy. He thinks it's a weakness. That mental health is something you just push through with discipline and hard work.
It nearly killed Maya last year.
"You're eighteen. He can't make you do anything."
"But he pays for school and if he decides I'm 'not taking my future seriously'—" Another air quote. "—he'll cut me off. Then I can't afford the private school, can't afford therapy, can't afford anything."
"I'll pay for it."
"Carter, you can't afford—"
"I'll figure it out. But you're not going back there if you don't want to and you're definitely not quitting therapy because Dad's an asshole." I pace to the window. "Come here instead. This weekend. Stay with me. We'll figure out the Dad situation together."
"Really?"
"Really. I'll pick you up Friday after your last class. We can get dinner, hang out, you can come to my game Saturday."
She's quiet for a moment. "Okay. Yeah. That sounds good."
"Good. Text me your flight details."
"I'm driving. It's only four hours."
"Maya—"
"I need independence, Carter. I need to know I can do things without everyone hovering." Her voice softens. "But thank you. For letting me come. For always letting me come."
"You're my sister. You can always come."
After we hang up, I stare at my phone, anxiety building in my chest.
Maya's visit is good. I want to see her, make sure she's okay, be there for her, but it also means she'll be here during the Lennox interviews. During practices she might observe. During a time when I'm supposed to be making the journalist's life difficult.
And Maya has a sixth sense for when I'm being an asshole.
She's also been asking questions about whether I'm becoming like our father. The last thing I need is for her to see me bullying someone. Well not bullying, because I’m not doing that, but not making someone's job easy.
I need to recalibrate. Find a balance between not making this easy for Lennox and not being cruel in front of my sister.
Fuck.
***
Friday afternoon, I pick Maya up from the road. She texted when she was thirty minutes out, and I meet her in the apartment parking lot.
When she pulls up in her beat-up Honda, the car our mom left her before she died I feel that familiar protective surge.
She gets out, and I barely recognize her. She's taller, thinner, her dark blonde hair longer than last time. Still wearing all black, her teenage rebellion phase that's lasted three years, but she's smiling.
"Hey, big brother."
I pull her into a hug. "Hey, yourself. How was the drive?"
"Long. Boring. Podcast-filled." She grabs her overnight bag from the backseat. "Your apartment better have good snacks."
"I bought those weird veggie chips you like."
"Then you're forgiven for everything."
We head upstairs, and I try to see my place through her eyes. It's cleaner than usual, I panicked-cleaned yesterday, but still obviously a college guy's apartment.
"It's very... you," Maya says diplomatically. "Boring but organized."
"I'm not boring."
"You alphabetize your psychology textbooks."
"That's efficient, not boring."
She rolls her eyes but she's smiling. "So. Tell me about the journalist situation. Your texts have been vague."
I give her the rundown while making us sandwiches. The article, the forced interview series, the tension.
"Have you been awful to her?" Maya asks, stealing a chip.
"Define awful."
"Carter."
"I've been... difficult. Not awful. I scheduled practices during her work hours. Made her come to my apartment for an interview. Gave her complicated answers instead of sound bites."
"So petty revenge?"
"Strategic difficulty."
"Uh huh." She studies me too carefully. "Do you like her?"
"What? No. She wrote a hit piece about me."
"That's not an answer."
"I barely know her."
"Also not an answer."
I set down my sandwich. "She's frustrating. Stubborn. Sees everything through this lens of 'athletes bad, culture toxic.' But she's also... smart. Actually cares about the issues even if I think she's wrong about the specifics."
"So you respect her."
"I guess."
"And you're attracted to her."
"I didn't say that."
"You didn't have to. You get this look." Maya grins. "The same look you had sophomore year when you were into that girl from your stats class. What was her name? Emma?"
"This is not the same as Emma."
"Because Emma was nice and this girl wrote mean things about you?"
"Because Emma was available and interested and this is literally a professional adversary."
"Professional adversary." Maya laughs. "That's what you're calling her? Not 'journalist' or 'pain in my ass' but 'professional adversary'?"
"Can we talk about something else?"
"Fine. But for the record? I think you should ask her out."
"That's possibly the worst advice you've ever given me."
"Or the best. Guess we'll find out."
Now this conversation has not gone the way I thought it would. Not even five minutes here and she's already throwing her option about things to me. I mean she hasn’t even met the girl, but for some crazy reason she thinks I like her.
No, I don't like her.
***
Saturday morning, Lennox is scheduled to observe practice again. I warned her Maya would be there, professional courtesy, nothing more and she'd responded with a simple:. Understood. I'll maintain appropriate boundaries.
When I arrive at the rink with Maya at 5:45 AM, Lennox is already in the bleachers.
She's wearing the same puffy jacket, her hair in that messy ponytail, and she's got her notebook open. When she sees us, she waves politely but doesn't approach.
"That's her?" Maya whispers.
"Yeah."
"She's cute."
"Maya—"
"What? She is. In that 'I haven't slept in days but I'm still functional' way that's very college chic."
"Please stop." I almost beg her.
"Fine. I'll just sit here and observe. Take notes. Maybe do some journalism of my own."
"You're seventeen."
"And? I have eyes. And opinions." She walks away from me, before I can say anything to her.
Practice starts, and I try to focus on drills instead of the fact that both Lennox and my sister are watching.
It's distracting.
Halfway through, during a water break, Maya leans over the boards and I hear.
"Hey! You're the journalist, right?"
Lennox looks up, surprised. "Uh, yes. Lennox Hayes."
"Maya Lynch. Carter's sister." She gestures to the bleachers. "Mind if I sit with you? It's boring sitting alone."
Oh no.
"Maya—" I start.
"I'm being friendly, Carter. Relax." She's already climbing into the bleachers before I can stop her.
I watch helplessly as my sister sits next to the journalist who's currently making my life difficult and strikes up a conversation.
This is a disaster.
Tyler skates up beside me. "Your sister's talking to Hayes."
"I'm aware."
"Should we... intervene?"
"How? I can't exactly stop my sister from being social." I glance over to them, wondering if we can intervene.
"Fair point." He watches them. "Think she's trying to get intel? Sister to girlfriend to journalist?"
"One, Lennox is not my girlfriend. Two, Maya's just being Maya. She's friendly with everyone."
"Even people actively trying to destroy your reputation?"
"She wrote one critical article. That's not destruction." My brain hurts, I’m trying to make all this right with Maya talking to Lennox, trying to get Lennox to mess up somewhere, by not helping her, and studying on top of that.
"You're defending her now?"
"I'm being accurate. There's a difference."
Tyler looks at me like I've grown a second head. "You're acting weird, Cap."
"I'm being professional."
"You're being something." He skates away, and I'm left trying to focus on practice while periodically glancing at the bleachers where Maya and Lennox are now laughing about something.
What are they talking about? Is Maya embarrassing me? Sharing childhood stories? Asking inappropriate questions?
This is going to be a long practice, because I can’t focus on anything.
When practice finally ends, I skate over to the boards.
"Maya. Time to go." I shout, my tone coming out a lot harsher than I wanted it to be.
"Just a minute. Lennox was telling me about her soccer injury. Did you know she tore her ACL during a championship game?" I didn't know that. Lennox mentioned losing her scholarship but not the specifics.
"That must have been hard," I say, looking at Lennox.
She shrugs. "It was a long time ago."
"Still. Ending your athletic career like that... I can't imagine." I say, not sure if this is a conversation we should be having or not. I don’t need to know everything about her.