Page 38 of Thrown for a Loop
“Pardon me,” Bess jumps in. “Anothersounds like we’re in here every week. And Chase didn’tslamthat fan, no matter how the video is captioned.”
The manager yanks a chair out for himself. “Do the semantics matter? A hundred thousand people watched him shove a fan to the floor of a bar. We’re lucky there was no arrest.”
“There was no arrest for areason,” I hear myself argue.
Everyone turns to stare at me, and there’s a silence that seems to last a year but is probably only a few seconds long.
“Let’s dig into that a little bit,” Sailor says. “Why don’t you tell us what happened last night, in your own words.”
I take a deep breath. Then I turn to Chase. “First, I want to apologize if I complicated your life last night. I’m so sorry.”
His response is to lean back in his chair and study me again. Then he gives me a slow nod.
A big orange fireball.That’s what he’d called me just before everything went to shit. How prescient.
I turn my attention back to Sharp and Sailor. “The video on the internet doesn’t tell the whole story. Not even close. Whoever filmed it snipped off the part where the fan is the first to get, uh, physical. And he was swinging atme. I’d stepped in front of Chase to argue with the guy, and he didn’t like it. He was about to put hishands on me, so…” I take a deep breath. “Chase acted defensively, pushing him away before he could knock me around.”
“Interesting,” Nolan Sharp growls. “Is that your recollection, too?” He turns to Chase.
Chase’s blue eyes turn fiery. “Sure, I guess,” he says roughly. “It happened fast, and I’d had a lot to drink.”
“Uh-huh.” The GM glowers. “But what’s this fan’s side of the story going to be? If he decides to reach out to the press, it’s his word against hers.”
“Whose video was it?” Bess asks, voicing a question that’s on my mind, too.
“Nobody is sure,” Sailor says. “It popped up on Xitter, on an account made this morning. Any theories, Zoe?”
“No idea.” I shake my head. “I didn’t notice anyone filming, but the drunk fan had friends with him. And those guys had been harassing Chase all night. That’s what the bartender said. I wasn’t there for that part.”
“And why was that?” Steve Sailor asks. “Take us through how you managed to arrive just at the wrong moment?”
My heart shimmies, and my gaze zaps right over to Chase, who must be wondering the same thing. But this new Chase—the silent, angry one—doesn’t give me any clue to what he’s thinking. His gaze is pitched somewhere over my shoulder.
I clear my throat. “Late last night, the bartender called me. He said Chase was, um, having a bad night at the bar and wasn’t ready to go home, but it was almost closing time, and he didn’t know what to do.”
“The bartender calledyou,” the GM says slowly. “And why wasthat?”
Why indeed.I choose my words carefully. “The bartender had myphone number handy. I’d been there earlier to watch the Trenton game, and we’d struck up a conversation.”
“And then you gave him your phone number?” Steve clarifies.
My face heats, because I know what they’re all thinking. “I did,” I say in a clear voice, daring him to ask me to repeat myself. “He seemed like a good guy. And I guess he is, because he really went to bat for your player. He explained to the police that Chase had been taking abuse all night and that the fan was the instigator.”
Eric Tremaine, ever the nice guy, jumps in to save me. “So this bartender called you—as a coworker of Chase’s. That was a stand-up thing to do.”
“Right,” I say crisply. “He said, ‘You’re the only person I know who works for the Legends, and Mr. Merritt is here alone.’”
“And drunk off his ass,” the GM says with a snort, turning his glare back to Chase. “Do you really think that’s any better? Maybe you didn’t punch the guy, you were just too shit-faced to go home. Way to represent the organization.”
Bess leans forward in her chair. “Once again, sir, if you benched every player who ever had a little too much to drink, you wouldn’t have a team. And if Mr. Merritt made a habit of this, we’d need a different kind of meeting, right? One where you’d intervene for your player’s health and welfare. But unless I’m mistaken, Chase hasn’t made a habit of postgame drunken violence?”
Across the table from her, Tremaine shakes his head. “I’m not happy about last night’s events, but I can’t say it’s a pattern.”
“His bad attitude is, though,” the manager growls, turning to Chase. “You’ll be fined five thousand dollars—”
Bess interrupts him again, because she obviously has a death wish. “There’s no need to fine him—his sponsors are all thinking of jumping ship. He stands to lose seven figures of income already.”
A bomb goes off inside my head when I hear this.Seven figures?Because of one video? Because ofme? Oh God. I’ve really fucked up this time.
