Chapter 42
Chapter Forty-Two
~DANNY~
The last few days have been a little crazy.
There have been so many articles written about the kiss that some bloggers saw me give Mac outside of the diner.
It’s kind of become our place, and Sal waits on us.
I like it there. Or at least I did, until it became the place where my name got splashed all over the papers.
I wait for my father to give me a call, but that doesn’t happen.
Instead, he has someone call me—his publicist, Jessica.
“Hello, Jessica,” I say, recognizing her number on my caller ID from all the other times she’s had to call me for my father. “What do I owe the pleasure?”
“Your dad asked that I check in and see if you were doing alright. There has been some press, and he’s worried about you,” she explains.
“Is he worried about me or his name?” I ask her snidely.
She sighs into the phone. “I just need to know if you need anything. I’m told you dropped your firm, so you have no one to help you. He wanted to make sure I helped you if it came to that.”
I nod, even though she can’t see it. I’m trying to find the right words here because I know it’s not her fault. I know my father, the great Garret Taylor, is just making sure this blowback won’t hit him too hard. It’s not really about me.
“Tell Garret that I’m fine. I won’t speak to anyone. I know the drill. And I think most of the heat will be on her.”
“Are you still planning on going to her games?” she asks.
I scoff into the phone. “I want to support her. She’s had a rough day. The players are even starting to turn on her.”
“Don’t you think the media will be waiting for you there?” She says the words like I should know this. And maybe I should have, growing up around my dad.
“I’m sure they will, but I won’t talk. And I don’t want you coming to the game with me. The last thing she needs is to see me sitting with you. We don’t need any more misunderstandings.”
“I wasn’t planning on coming with you, Danny. But I could get one of my male associates to go along with me.” She explains it to me like I’m five.
I shake my head. “I’ll be fine. But thanks for calling.” I know she only did because my dad asked her to, but I don’t want to be rude to her. She’s just doing her job.
Jessica wasn’t wrong, though. When I reach the stadium, I see it's a madhouse of fans and reporters. As I’m about to exit my car, August calls me.
“What’s up, man?” I ask him in a way of greeting.
“Well, the article kinda worked because we have a freaking sea of reporters here. There are also more fans as a result,” he says with a chuckle.
“But?” I ask him. I can hear it in his tone. There’s something he’s not saying.
“My dad doesn’t want you in the box tonight. He thinks it would be better if you stayed in the regular seats. So, I got you one down by the team bench that only has three in that row.”
“Thanks. I could have gotten one, but I appreciate you thinking of me.”
He chuckles. “Oh, you’re going to wish I did a bit more than that when you see what a fucking circus it is here. But seriously, I would bring you up here if I could. Dad just thought…”
“I get it. Thanks, though, for what you did.”
We hang up and I look at the stadium, seeing what a circus it looks like on the outside and knowing that I have to go to will call for my ticket. Maybe I should have taken Jessica up on her offer to have someone sitting with me who knew the ins and outs of dealing with the media.
“Hey, bro.” Nick comes out of nowhere and pats me on the shoulder. “I’m going to sit with you today,” he says with a grin. “I thought maybe you could use a friend.”
“Hey, thanks. But you don’t have to do that. Doesn’t your press pass get you seated in any open seat?”
“Yeah, and that’s why I can sit with you,” he tells me, clapping me on the back. “Now let’s get your ticket and get you inside to your girl. Have you talked to her about all this?”
I shake my head. “No, it’s game day. She’s usually pretty quiet on those days.
Not much texting or calling. I give her space, and we connect after the game.
She said it keeps her in the zone. She had a rough time at the team dinner yesterday.
They weren’t exactly happy with all press she’s getting about me. ”
“Yeah, I can see that.”
“You can?” I look over at him, confused.
“Can you blame them? They want positive attention, and this isn’t exactly positive. It’s taking away from the game. That’s where they should want the attention, but instead it’s on her and her personal life.”
I nod, getting it now. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”
“It’s going to be okay. As long as she doesn’t end this, right?”
“I asked her about that, but that’s not what she’s thinking, thankfully.” It’s my turn at the will call window. “Danny Taylor. I’m here to pick up a ticket,” I tell the teller.
“Here you go,” she says, handing me my ticket and moving on to the next customer behind me.
“You're damn right, I checked that. I wanted to make sure that she isn’t leaving me.” I tell him, adding to our previous conversation. Even though Nick hasn’t responded to anything I said.
We’re getting ready to head into the stadium, so I hold my finger over my lips to silence Nick, and he just laughs at me.
“Danny, Danny, can you stop and talk to us for a moment?” a woman yells as I walk past her.
“Danny, has your father reached out to you about all this?”
I shake my head at that one. If they only knew my father, they would know he certainly wouldn’t reach out to me.
“Can you tell us why you’re here? Are you still here to watch her play even though she dumped you?”
I want to look at them and shout really, but I don’t.
I know better than to engage or react to what they’re saying.
Most of the time, they’re yelling something to get a reaction out of you, and that’s what they print up or put on the news.
I learned that a long time ago. I wish I could say it hadn’t been the hard way that reacting isn’t what you should do.
Once we’re through the crowd, Nick turns to me. “That was a lot of fucking fun.”
“They’ll tire eventually,” I tell him.
“How long does that usually take?”
“Not sure. It could be a few weeks, or it could be once a bigger story comes along. We can only hope someone screws up worse than I did.”
“So, you admit that you screwed up?” Nick asks me with a laugh. Like he’s caught me in something.
“No, not really what I meant. I would like to think it could have been different if we would have waited until the article was done and then went public, but we screwed up. August saw her.” My voice trails off because he knows the rest. There’s nothing new to say.
“I think he figured it out before that,” he says with a shrug. “I think that moment in the bar just confirmed it all for him.”
Once we’re in the stadium, I can see the team is down the field, warming up. I see my girl, my number 17, standing there waiting for a ball to be served in her direction. I stop and watch her. She’s so beautiful with a look of determination on her face.
“Yeah, waiting for a while would have never worked,” Nick says, patting me on the shoulder. “Look at the way you’re staring at her right now. You’re so in love with her.”
“Yeah, I think I am,” I tell him.
“Have you told her that?”
“Not yet, but I will.”
As we make our way to the seat August saved for me, people stare at me.
I do my best to ignore them, but they point me out to their friends or family members who are here to watch the game with them.
Again, I don’t react. Even when one of them so obviously takes a picture, I just keep on moving to find my seat.
There aren’t too many fans around us, but it’s still early, so the stadium could fill up a bit more.
And it probably will. Especially if the media circus outside is any indication.
I look up at the box, and August just nods in my direction. My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out.
August: Hey, man. Enjoy the game. It’s going to be okay.
I turn back and put my phone back into my pocket, hoping I can get through this game without incident and so can she.
And for the most part, she does. There are only a few fans who call things at her when she’s at the edge of the field.
Most of it is positive and sometimes it’s about her and me.
They call out, “Your boyfriend is here,” but she doesn’t react.
Someone either taught her not to or she figured it out on her own.
But my girl can handle herself. She’s doing a good job of holding her composure and not showing them that they’re pushing her buttons.
The game goes well. The girls hold them for the longest time, but Gotham gets one in. From my spot in the stands, I can see her expressions better than in the box, and at times, I hear what she’s calling out to the players. Mac is doing a great job today.
“She’s such a natural-born leader,” I tell Nick, mesmerized as I watch her. She just told them to get on their horses and go.
I smile and yell, “Let’s go, Blaze! You’ve got this! On your horse, Mac!” That cheer earns me a few glances from fans, and someone takes my picture, but I don’t give a shit. They can’t stop me from cheering for my girl.
The game ends with the Blaze losing by one point. Mac had a few open shots, but she kept passing. Only one of those passes worked out in her favor. The other wasn’t something Kelsey could get in, but she tried. It just didn’t find the back of the net.
Once the game wraps up, I wait by the rail, hoping Mac will come over the way she used to. And she does. Mac climbs the railing, coming up so that we’re standing face-to-face.
Nick looks at her and says, “Good game, Mac. I’m going to give you two some privacy.”
She grins widely at him and turns back to me. “Hello, you.”
“Great game, baby.” I lean in and give her a chaste kiss. I want to do more than that, but I want to have some respect for her and not give the papers a show.
“Thank you.”
“You didn’t shoot,” I tell her. Her face falters and I make a mental note to talk to her about that later and not mention it right after the game. “Are we headed to the bar tonight?”
She shakes her head. “No, I think we’ll hang at my house if that works for you.”
I nod. “Whatever you want.”
“I’m gonna go. I’ve given them enough pictures, and I have to get back to the team.”
I hug her tightly. “I’ll see you later, Mac Attack,” I tease.
She just winks and jumps down.
I head to the locker room entrance, where I found her before. A few reporters are hanging around. I want to make sure I can get her out of here without a lot of fuss, but she never comes out.
“She’s not here anymore,” Hendrix tells me when she comes out. “I’m not sure when, but she left already.”
I nod in understanding. I know exactly where to find her.