Page 53 of A Shot at Love
She smiles a little, too, then glances at her smartwatch. “Don’t you want to head home?”
“What?” I ask confusedly. If she’s referring to the game, it was at 2 PM and is long over.
“Aren’t you going to watch your boyfriend’s show?” I had been driving longer than I imagined if it was nearing 7 PM, whenOur World Through Sportsairs on HBO. She shows me her watch, “It’s almost six fifteen.”
I wave a hand. “I don’t watch every episode.” At least, I don’t want to watch this one. I don’t want to analyze every move Daniel makes, if he misses me, if he’s still angry with me, if he’s already moving on.
She looks at me like I have two heads. “Seems a little weird, considering the episode is about you.”
“What?” I practically shout, fumbling a pass from her. I try to tone it down and take a deep breath. “Our piece isn’t even close to being finished. It’s supposed to air like a month from now.” He would have had to rush the entire thing, which is not Daniel’s style. I can’t imagine him putting his production team through that.
She shrugs like any teenager would. “Maybe he rearranged things. He put it all over his socials. The Arrows’ piece is definitely on tonight.”
I’m already backing off the court, heading to my car. “Thank you, Jordan!” I shout at her, waving earnestly.
Just as I’m shutting the car door, I hear her shout back, “I better see you playing in Wednesday’s playoff game, Annie Larger!”
20
The drive back to the motel is a blur, but I’m feeling something for the first time in days. There’s a little spark skittering across my skin, raising my hair, marking me with urgency. Why would Daniel push the piece? He can’t be responding to the scandal; he wouldn’t have the time to totally restructure the piece. What could he even say? While Daniel might believe in me, he has no proof. He doesn’t even have me.
Of course my motel TV doesn’t have HBO, but I manage to rig my TV with the help of an HDMI cord from Wendy and my laptop. It’s a silly exercise anyway, considering the TV only has a few inches on my laptop screen. I wait with strangely bated breath for Daniel’s show to begin.
When I first see him on the screen, I can’t believe how serious he looks. He tends to walk the line between important social justice topics and inspirational stories. Normally, if he’s serious, it only takes a moment before he’s joking or smiling or throwing it gamely to Iris behind the camera. Daniel’s delivery is part of what makes his show great. Today, he looks like an executioner. An assassin. A doctor about to give a grave diagnosis.
I wait for him to introduce himself, start the speech he prepared in my apartment that fateful night. I canalmost feel his phantom hands on my hips, him reaching up to brush a hair out of my eyes. Daniel and Jadea were trying to make my decisions for me and that hurt. Like they didn’t trust me to handle my own life, like the way I process things is so wrong. That my entire personality iswrong.
But, also, weren’t they right? I haven’t exactly been brave. I haven’t exactly processed much of anything, up until now. At what point do you accept yourself as you are?
With that thought already lingering guiltily in my mind, I’m even more surprised when Daniel begins.
He’s looking dead at the camera, no movie-star smile, no starry eyes. A small part of me thinks he’s about to profess his love for me across the HBO airwaves, but I realize that would be a useless action. No one will take me seriously if my Emmy-award winning, extremely powerful boyfriend just sits there talking about how much he loves me.
So, why push the piece forward and air it tonight? Just because the team is getting so much press right now?
I freeze when he begins with, “I know what many of you expect out of this episode, and I intend to use those expectations to my benefit. The majority of tonight’s audience thinks that I will defend my girlfriend, Annie Larger, in the wake of the WNBA’s worst scandal. Potentially one of the worst sports scandals in history. The rest of you, who aren’t in the loop, might beexpecting an inspirational piece about the WNBA’s most exciting team, the St. Louis Arrows.”
He leans forward a bit. The camera is pulling him. The screen is doing the same to me; I almost lean off the edge of the bed. “I’m here to disappoint both groups.” Daniel does smile a bit, but it looks razor-edged. There’s some of the old Daniel in his expression, addicted to track and competition. Addicted to winning.
“Tonight, I will be talking about the St. Louis Arrows’ minority owner, Trenton Smith.” A fissure of something, fear or excitement, slithers down my spine. I remember screaming and throwing my equipment at Trenton’s car. I remember him standing coldly as I begged him to tell the truth. I remember losing my good reputation and standing as an athlete because of a selfish half-brother who worries I’ll steal his toys.
Daniel continues, undeterred by what is basically everyone’s favorite shock-talk topic of the week. Not something he’d usually address on his show, which follows more of the60 Minutesformat than a weekly news report. “As many of you know, Annie Larger has essentially been blacklisted from the WNBA for alleged email communications between her and her father. She has not played in the Arrows' last two games of the season, with her agent releasing a statement about a withdrawal due to ‘personal reasons’.” Daniel levels a dry look at the camera. “I think we all know what personal reasons Annie is referring to. It could be because most of the sports world believes her to be a cheater, roster spot stealer, silver-spoon nepo baby. Itcould be because as soon as her teammates heard the news, they immediately broke out into a fight.”
It’s almost an out-of-body experience hearing Daniel talk about me this way. It’s twofold, his strategy. One, he has to keep it professional, or no one will give any merit to his opinions on me. Second, he hasn’t talked to me in days, and when we last spoke, we were fighting. He’s truly speculating on my thoughts and motives. And he’s not wrong.
Daniel continues, spreading his hands on his desk. “And I’m not here to do what everyone else is doing. Analyze Annie’s life, question her quiet personality, debate whether she’s helping or hurting her team by sitting out. In my mind, this has nothing to do with Annie. This has everything to do with a brilliant, egotistical man named Trenton Smith.”
My breath catches in my throat. Daniel is a shark, circling and circling. “Let’s set the stage, shall we? Trenton Smith is the only child of inherited wealth billionaires Jack and Tiffany Smith. After attending Dartmouth’s business school, Trenton begins working with his father on creating two new teams in their hometown of St. Louis: The NBA’s Archers and WNBA’s Arrows. For many years, he’s just a shadow to his father. Jack Smith is everything you could want in an owner; he’s intensely focused and extremely enthusiastic about his teams. He even gives some credit to the Arrows. We can’t say the same of his son, who had a small interview about the team when they were first founded nearly six years ago.”
Daniel waves his hand to a video clip, which takes over the screen. As Trenton leaves the inaugural team celebration, a local reporter shoves a mic in his face and asks, “How important do you think a team like the Arrows is for the youth of St. Louis?”
Trenton, just as polished as he is in the present, responds with derision, “It’s the St. LouisArchers.” The clip ends with Trenton rolling his eyes.
There are a few titters from Daniel’s live audience, and I almost pump my fist. “We had to dig around to find this clip, as no one has ever really cared what Trenton thinks,”—there are a few whistles at this bristling opinion from Daniel—“but his feelings here are clear. He doesn’t even remember that he owns the Arrows. That women’s sports evenexist.” He frowns at the camera. “Now, I can hear you saying: Daniel, this was early on, maybe he grew to become more involved with the team? In answer, I ask you to take a look at this. This picture is from last year.”
The image on the screen shows Trenton sitting with his mother and father in their VIP box at an Arrows game. Jack has jumped up, grinning. Tiffany is clapping animatedly, sporting a very cute and sparkly St. Louis Arrows shirt. And where’s Trenton? Sitting in a chair right beside them, reading a copy of Ayn Rand’sTheFountainhead.
Daniel’s studio audience full-on laughs at the image. I crack a smile, too. I remember my teammates sharing that picture in our group chat last year, memeifying it to holy hell. Daniel has a similar reaction. “This is a teamyou own, a team that made its way to the championship, and you’re reading a book at the game? And it’s Ayn Rand’sTheFountainhead?” More laughter and a smirk from Daniel. “It had to be for fucking show, honestly. It looks brand new.”
