Daylight, page 21
Once we see the cop car in our mirrors, Alex pulls off. I still keep my eyes on the rearview, watching for the black SUV that I know has to have been stopped by now. My heart is racing, and I know Alex and I both have to be on the verge of emotional collapse.
The cop that stops us gets out and walks toward us, and just as I look up into the mirror—without any notice to say anything, just a mangled scream escaping me— the black SUV comes barreling toward us, going no less than fifty miles an hour, flying into our parked car.
Everything goes black, but not before I hear the deafening sound of metal on metal as our vehicles collide.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Alex’s Point of View
Two concussions, two broken ribs, a sprained wrist, and a six-hour interview with the cops and our lawyers later, Elle and I are finally on our way to the hotel for the night.
We’re having the apartment swept for microphones, cameras, and other devices that could’ve been planted over time, per the detective’s recommendation. Carrie drops us off and gets us checked into the hotel, the extra assistance not hurting given the state of our injuries.
Elle took the brunt of it since the SUV smashed into the passenger side the hardest. We both have concussions from the impact, but she also has a sprained wrist and two broken ribs from the collision and the deployment of the airbags.
Jordan West is going to jail for a long time. There are no questions about that. The lawyers are taking it into their hands now, but they expect to find all the evidence they need in our apartment to guarantee he never sees the outside of a jail cell for at least ten years, but likely longer.
It makes me sick to my stomach, knowing that he’s been inside our house, watching and listening to us. The legal team initially thought that he was tracking us through some sort of cellphone software, which is why they asked us to leave our phones behind this morning. Based on all of the new developments since then, it would be a miracle if they don’t find devices in our home.
They also found out that he was the one behind the picture of us getting on the elevator together back in California, linked through the metadata of the photos. He’s been following her around obsessively, and it truly makes me disgusted. They’re combing through his bank statements to see how often he follows her around when she travels for work. On more than one occasion she said there would be random knocks on her hotel room in the middle of the night, never back to back and always spaced far enough apart where she never thought anything of it. It happened to us when I stayed the night with her in San Francisco.
I don’t know how someone could have gotten away with this for so long, without either of us noticing.
I carry our backpacks up, and Elle falls into the bed without much second thought. I lock the door and put the extra latch over top of it, and then move a chair in front of it for safe measure. I’m not sure that it’ll actually do anything, but it makes me feel better.
I set our bags down on the coffee table, and take our new cellphones out of the box. My agent was able to run them down to the hospital we spent the day at. I need to call Coach Portwell, and then give Elle my undivided attention.
My concussion isn’t bad, I’ll be recovered in a week. I’ve been through this shit before, and I’ll do it again. I’m mostly worried about Elle.
“Jesus Christ, Alex. Are you guys alright?” Coach asks as soon as he answers. “I heard about what happened.”
“Hey, Coach. We’re a little banged up, but all in one piece,” I answer honestly.
“I’m so glad that you’re both alive, Alex. I talked to Manthaw. That was a scary situation,” he sighs.
“Yeah,” I agree. “It was.”
“We need to put a presser out. Some people have already kind of found out. You guys were spotted in the hospital. Seen with cops. You know, whatever. If you’re going to be on the injury report this week, we just need to know what you guys want the press to know,” he says.
“Uh, just say I was in a car accident and sustained minor injuries. My return will be a game-time decision. I’m assuming I’ll be good to go for next week, but the doctor wasn’t completely sold. I’ll need to see the team doc Monday. What actually happened or what didn’t happen isn’t anyone’s business. Just keep it short and to the point,” I say.
“Alright, alright.” He nods. “I understand, and totally get it. I just wasn’t sure what you guys had planned on, but I got it. I will have that written into our injury report.”
“Thank you, Coach,” I sigh.
“How’s Eleanor?” He asks.
I glance over at her, gazing off into the distance, curled up on the bed. I turn my body and lower my voice. “A concussion, two broken ribs, and a sprained wrist.”
“Christ,” he says.
“Yeah. Our house is being debugged for electronic devices used for stalking…microphones, cameras…I don’t even know what else. It’s just so sickening, Coach. I don’t know that we can go back,” I shudder at the thought.
“Well, you did buy the house you’re in now when you were a rookie. Maybe it’s time to upgrade. Your roster bonus just went through this last off-season. You don’t strike me as the kind of guy to blow it all in one place. I’m sure that the two of you could move somewhere else within the city limits. I love my place in Winnetka. Not saying you have to move to Winnetka. But, you know what I mean. Just getting out of the city will help you feel more normal,” he says thoughtfully.
I laugh softly. “Nah, I didn’t blow my roster bonus all in one place. Thanks, Coach. You’re right. Maybe we do need to do something like that,” I sigh. “I gotta go. I’ll still be in on Monday. I’m gonna try and make the most of our weekend off, despite…everything else. I’ll be in touch with the team docs. Talk to you soon.”
“Take it easy, Bradford,” he tells me before hanging up the phone.
What he says stays in the forefront of my mind. We can’t go back to the apartment. The sanctity of it is gone, we don’t have the peace of knowing that our home is the one place where we can be private anymore, that’s a luxury of the past.
I sit down on the edge of the bed next to Elle and comb her hair behind her ears. She grabs my hand and clasps it in her own, holding it tightly against her side. The look of hollowness has not left her eyes, it has only grown since the short drive from the hospital to the hotel. My heart physically aches at the sight of it.
“Are you feeling okay? Can I get you any pain meds?” I ask softly, stroking her cheek with my free hand.
“No, I’m okay,” she shakes her head, her voice gravelly. “I just want to go to sleep. Turn off the noise in my head for a few hours.”
I nod in understanding, shrugging off the light jacket I had on and shedding it to the floor. Crawling into bed next to Elle, I am extra gentle with my movements in an attempt not to hurt her ribs or her wrist. Neither of us are allowed to watch any TV with our matching concussions, so I turn on music on my phone and put it on the nightstand so we aren’t sitting in a silent hotel room.
She nestles herself in my arms, assuring me that the position is comfortable for her.
“I just don’t know how I didn’t see it,” she whispers.
“You’re going to drive yourself crazy going down that line of thought. You’re safe now, Elle. I promise.” I rub circles on her back, hoping my words reach her.
“His wife fell right into my lap. She friended me on Facebook. There were pictures of him on her page, for Christ’s Sake! I didn’t even think to look!” Her voice breaks, and I feel moisture accumulate on my shirt.
“You had no reason to think she was married to him. That shouldn’t have been a concern you had. You did nothing wrong, sweetheart. He’s out of your life. Gone for good. We are going to put this behind us, Elle.”
She goes silent, so I just hold her, combing my hands through her hair and silently thanking every higher power that I do and don’t believe in that we made it out mostly unscathed, and with our lives.
I wake with a searing pain in my head, and a phone blaring on the nightstand. Elle still sleeps next to me, soft snores coming from her. I quickly snatch the phone, answering it without looking at the caller I.D. just to get it to stop ringing.
“Hello?” I answer, groggily.
“Alex, we’ve had a bit of a break in the case. It really fuckin’ complicating things, though,” Carrie’s voice comes through the receiver.
“What do you mean, a break in the case? You have Jordan in custody!” I whisper-shout.
“Yes, I know. But when he took the pictures of you two on the beach, he wasn’t the one who sold them directly to the magazines. West, obviously knowing intimate knowledge about Elle and her work life, emailed one to Peter Koury saying there was more where that came from if he paid him one-thousand dollars. I think he could’ve set any price and Koury would’ve bought the pictures. Regardless, we have proof that Koury was the buyer and sold them to the magazine outlets.”
“What a fucking idiot,” I scoff. “Please tell me it’s being taken care of?” I ask, my head throbbing.
“It is. Local law enforcement is paying him a visit, and I’ve been on the phone with the commissioner who finds his act reprehensible. He’s pulling together the oversight committee to fire Koury first thing in the morning.”
I pull away the phone from my ear to check the time. I groan when I see it’s only three o’clock in the morning. Some things can’t wait, and I’m glad she called, but man. Two concussions and you think that could wait until we’ve both had a full night of rest?
“Alright. That’s all. I wanted you to hear it from me, first. I tried Elle, her phone must be off,” Carrie says.
“If you can, don’t ring her if you don’t have to. Not right now. Unless it’s urgent, go through my agent. We both need some time after what happened,” I sigh, hoping she understands.
“Oh, of course. Totally. Sorry for calling so early, take care, Alex.”
“Thank you, Carrie, for letting me know. We’ll talk later,” I sigh, hanging up the phone.
I toss it back to the nightstand, falling against the pillow. I close my eyes, pressing my palms to my eyes to help release some of the pressure that’s built up in my head. With not one, but two threats eliminated from our lives, I should feel better about what’s to come, but I feel the opposite. Thinking about the fallout makes my already spinning head feel like it’s being used as a bowling ball.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Elle’s Point of View
After taking an extended leave of absence for the rest of the season, I’ve found myself with a lot of free time. It’s been three weeks since Alex and I were minding our own business on the highway before we were crashed into by my deranged ex-boyfriend turned stalker. We move into our new house this week, and I have never been more ready to put something behind us than I am to finally close this chapter.
I thought that I’d been done with all of this back in college when I’d broken up with him. I left him because I knew that staying with him would only result in more heartbreak and hurt, and I didn’t want that for myself. He was so good at the manipulation game, that’s why it took me two years to leave him despite the abuse.
It’s ironic, in a bitter, twisted way. The last fight we got into, which finally prompted me to leave him, was caused by him bumping into me and causing me to go down a flight of stairs. I broke two ribs that day, just like I did in the car accident.
I’ve been going to therapy twice a week, it’s proved to be pretty good for my state of mind, all things considered. Quinn is coming down to help us move, and my grandma came to visit last week. The support we’ve had to fall back on from the people around us has been nothing short of incredible.
We bought a house in Winnetka, just like Coach Portwell suggested. It’s forty minutes out from the stadium and feels like it’s out on its own. The commute is about the same as where our previous house was, but it feels more rural even though we’re still in the suburbs. Not wanting to be in the city, but still needing to be close, this was a good option. The seclusion offers a welcome sense of security, and we did everything through Alex’s business managers— nothing is in our name— not on the surface, anyway. No one who doesn’t need to know our new address doesn’t.
Quinn gets in tonight, and tomorrow Alex and a few of the guys have so generously decided to dedicate their Tuesday off to do the heavy lifting of the move. We could’ve hired someone, but Alex was hesitant about hiring a crew of people we don’t know given the circumstances.
The team wives and girlfriends have taken me under their wing, coming off of the bye the last two games have been at home. I planned on staying at our hotel by myself, but Alex encouraged me to tag along with Jess, Cannon’s wife, and meet some of the other WAGs, as they call themselves. I did and ended up having a really nice time. They all knew me, and I know most of their husbands, having interviewed them for the last three years. I told them that I was just on leave because of the incident, but didn’t have the heart to admit that I likely wasn’t going to come back until next season.
I’ve always wanted to make the effort to introduce myself, but I have never been at games with them before. It’s different being on this side of it, watching as a spectator with other women in my position. I’d go as far as saying I enjoyed it, the change of scenery was a welcome distraction from everything else.
It’s scary, not knowing what our future is going to look like. I’m riddled with this constant anxiety of not knowing, the uncertainty of what comes next keeping me awake at night. Carrie told me that the network will hold my job as long as I want it. I’ll come back, I know I will. Right now, I just need some time to focus on myself. It feels like I’ve been to hell and back in the last six months. For now, I just want to pretend I’m living a normal, suburban life. Just for a little bit. In a few months, I’ll jump back in.
“Hey, sunshine. When does Quinn need to be picked up?” Alex asks, coming up behind me and wrapping his arms around me, pulling me from my thoughts.
“She said she was renting a car, she has something going on in Cincinnati Sunday night?” I shrug. “She didn’t specify. Said she was just going to drive herself.”
“Gotcha,” he nods, sitting down next to me. “I just finished boxing up all of my shit in our bedroom. That’s everything that was in there. We’re officially done, other than what we have to save until tomorrow,” he says, a giant grin on his face.
“We did it, Alex.” I smile, extending my hand out for a high-five. He slaps it, entwining his fingers with mine after making contact. He brings my knuckles to his lips, softly placing kisses on each one.
I swing my legs over his lap, mostly for comfort, but also so I’m closer to him. He rests his free hand across my lap, pulling me in closer. “We made it through.” He rests his head against my shoulder, closing his eyes.
I nod my head to nothing in particular, just a general acknowledgment to his statement. My faith in us never faltered, but it certainly was rough. The pictures, the stalker, it’s all been some of the lowest points of my life. Generally, I can always find a silver lining in anything. There was a point throughout all of this where I felt like I was going to just give up.
I didn’t, though. No matter how badly I wanted to, I didn’t let Jordan or Peter Koury win. While they are both prepping for their arraignments, I’m coming out on the other side.
I feel a tightness in my chest and a scratchiness settle in my throat. Knowing what we had to go through to come out on this side of it, with physical and emotional wounds to show for it.
The emotion overtakes me, relief washing over me in a way it hadn’t previously. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath and let everything I’m feeling settle. The tides have turned, and after we’ve moved out of here, we can officially put the bulk of it behind us.
My phone rings on the table next to us, and Alex hands it over to me. It’s Quinn calling. “Hey, Q,” I answer. “How was your flight?”
“It was good. I’m just waiting for my luggage. I wanted to let you know I landed and I’ll be there shortly.”
“Okay. If you want to stop somewhere for food… we wouldn’t be opposed. All we have is string cheese, one package of Oreos, and a twelve-pack of White Claws.”
“You guys stress me out,” I can practically hear the shake of her head following the statement, and it makes me laugh. “I’ll find somewhere to stop on my way.”
“You’re the best. I’ll send you some money for food.”
“Sounds good, see you in a bit,” she says. I hang up and let Alex know Quinn is coming in with takeout within the hour. He could’ve probably gathered that, but I still relay the message anyway.
We remain in our current position on the couch, not bothering to move from our borderline human pretzel. He grabs a strand of my hair and starts twirling the edges, his eyes filled with something I can’t discern.
“Did you change your shampoos?” He asks absentmindedly.
I laugh. “No, Alex. Same shampoo as long as you’ve known me.”
“Huh,” he muses, still twirling my hair. “It feels softer.”
“I do not know what to tell you,” I shake my head, laughing. I wrap my arm around his neck, pulling him into my embrace. “I love you,” I say softly, nuzzled into his neck.
“I love you too, sunshine.” He snakes out of my hold to place a kiss atop my head. “Now, let’s get off the couch and crack open a drink before Quinn gets here with real food.”
“I like that idea,” I laugh, crawling off the couch and going toward the kitchen. In the fridge sits one package of string cheese, half of a cucumber, and the White Claws. I grab one for Alex and myself, and take it to him.
We crack it open, smiles wide on each our faces.
“Cheers,” I smile, clinking my can to his.
“Cheers, baby,” He nods, wrapping an arm around my shoulder.
