“I’m not going to let anything happen to her. But as soon as people find out who she is, you might have to help me keep her safe. They will follow her and see where she lives.”

“We live in a secure building,” he says.

“Doesn’t matter. You know people can just push a bunch of buttons and someone will buzz them through.”

“What are you suggesting?” he asks.

“I’m not sure yet. We’ll just have to see what happens and how far the press is willing to go.”

“You’d better be willing to do whatever it takes to keep her safe.”

“It’s part of the contract,” I remind him. “It’ll be taken care of. How about you go out with us next time? See for yourself how things are.”

“I think that can be arranged.”

“Can you find a date who won’t go bat-shit crazy around me?”

He laughs. “Not everyone worships you, you know.”

“Good. Find one of those for Saturday night. We’re going to the Knicks game.”

“We are?”

“How do courtside seats sound?” I ask.

“I’ll wait until you hang up before I go bat-shit crazy,” he says.

“Okay, see you then.”

I hang up the phone and wonder for the hundredth time, what the dynamic is between Aspen and Bass. They claim they’re not a couple. And based on the way Aspen acted the day we met, I’d tend to agree. But they seem to be more than friends. They seem a little like the way Caden and Murphy were before they realized they liked each other and started dating.

Maybe I shouldn’t have invited him. Maybe she won’t be convincing enough with him around. Then again, maybe Bass can end up being the reason for our breakup. I’ll have to ask Murphy about it. She seems to be the expert on this sort of thing.

One thing’s for sure, Aspen’s roommate is a big guy. And I don’t doubt for a second he’d make good on his threat if I let anything happen to her. I crawl into bed, exhausted, and fall asleep thinking about Bass Briggs kicking my ass to protect the woman he loves.

~ ~ ~

“What the fuck happened to you?” my father asks, taking a break from his six-pack to look at me.

I reach up and touch the tender skin around my eye as I make my way to the freezer to see if we have any frozen peas.

“I’d give you a shiner myself for being such a screw-up,” he says. “But I see someone else already took care of it. You couldn’t even win a schoolyard fight?”

“Who says I didn’t win?”

I could swear I see a hint of pride cross his face before he goes back to being his asshole self.

“Is this why the school tried to get in touch with me today?” he asks. “You get suspended again? You know if you get suspended again you’re off the team, right?”

“No. It wasn’t on school grounds. I’m not stupid. They can’t touch me.”

“Then why the hell did someone from the school leave me a voicemail?”

I shrug. “Beats me. Didn’t you listen to it?”

He shakes his head. “Figured you’d tell me whatever I need to know.”

“Well, I don’t know.”

He picks up his phone and taps around on it. I see a smile curve his lips. Then he chugs the rest of his beer. “Seems a scout is coming to Thursday’s game. They want permission to tape you, and since you’re not eighteen yet, I have to sign something.”

“A scout? But I’m only a sophomore.”

“Doesn’t matter how old you are, just how well you play. You’re on their radar now. You play your cards right and we’ll be set for life.”

“We?”

Maybe I shouldn’t have said it so sarcastically, because the ashtray he just threw at me barely missed my other eye.

“Yes, we!” he shouts. “Why the fuck do you think you are where you are? You think you would have gotten there if I hadn’t spent ten years driving your ass around to practices and games? You think all that money I shelled out during your travel ball years was so you could have fun? I made you the player you are today. You’ll do good not to forget it.”

I hold the frozen bag against my sore face. “I’m going to bed.”

“Aren’t you going to eat?” he asks.

I nod to the bags of greasy take-out food on the counter. “That crap is bad for me. I’d rather not eat.”

As I walk away, I’m hit in the back with one of said bags of food.

“You ungrateful shit,” he says. “Sit your ass down and eat the food I provide you.”

I pick up the bag and walk it over to the trashcan, dropping it inside.

My father stands up. He’s pissed. I can see his jaw twitching. He’s a big man, but not as big as he used to be. My mother’s dying broke him and now he drinks more than he eats. And in the past few years, I’ve gotten bigger and stronger than he is.

I walk over to him. “I’ve already won one fight today,” I say, not backing down from his threatening stare.

We participate in a stare down before he walks around me to get another beer. “Go the fuck to bed then. Get out of my sight. You really are worthless.”

I walk down the hall and slam my door. “Yeah, well, I learned from the best, you asshole,” I say to myself.

Then I sit on my bed and wonder if the reason he didn’t fight me was because he knew he wouldn’t win, or because he might hurt my chances on Thursday night.

I wake with a start, relieved he can no longer control me. I wake up happy that he got what was coming to him.

I wake up grateful that he’s dead.

Chapter Fourteen

Aspen

I sit and stare at the covers of the tabloids sitting on my coffee table. I’m not sure why I don’t throw them away. All they are doing is causing me anxiety.

I knew it was going to happen. They warned me. It was part of the deal. But that doesn’t keep me from dreading it happening again. And once the press finds out who I am, it will only get worse.

I need to get over it. I’m used to being looked at when I’m up on stage and all eyes are on me. But I know I’m just kidding myself. When I perform, people are awed. They are inspired by my music. They applaud me for my talent. Being on stage with Sawyer is entirely different. People, women mostly, will want to tear me down. Find my flaws. Insult me.

I pick up the magazines and rip them into pieces, refusing to let them eat away at me anymore. I turn on the television to see if I can catch the end of the second game in Sawyer’s double-header today. Bass took a buddy of his to the game, the first of many I’m sure he’ll see. I’m not supposed to go to any games yet. Not until our relationship is more established.

Sawyer must have done something good, because the announcers are talking about him. Then the cameras pan the stadium and show women holding up signs declaring their love for him. ‘Marry me, #55,’ one of them says. Another reads, ‘I want to have #55 of your babies.’ My jaw drops when I see the one that proclaims, ‘I’ll do #69 with #55.’

I can’t believe they showed that one on TV. I can’t believe some girls are stupid enough to think he might notice them because of their signs. But then I realize who they’re talking about and maybe he does. Maybe that’s how he picks out his nightly conquests, from the signs they hold up.

Suddenly, I have a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach. It should be disgust. But, oddly, it feels a bit like … jealousy. I shake my head at myself and turn off the television. I walk back into my room and sit at my keyboard. I need an escape, but I don’t have enough time to go to school and practice on a real piano. I only have a few hours before our double date tonight – the one that will have us plastered across every magazine and tabloid because of where we’re going.

Bass is beyond excited. First, he went to the Hawks game this afternoon and then tonight we’re going to see the Knicks. I’m not sure what is so exciting about basketball, about watching grown men run around and sweat. I mean, at least in baseball, the guys look good in their uniforms.

I sigh, thinking of just how good Sawyer looks in his. But then I remember all the women who want to strip him out of his uniform and how willing he is to let them do it. In fact, he’s so willing that his team wants to kick him off and he had to hire someone to make him look respectable. He’s the definition of a playboy. I’ll bet if I Googled the term, his face would show up.

I let my fingers wander across the keyboard, composing a tune that makes me forget about tabloid magazines, rabid fans, and the number fifty-five.

Before I know it, Bass walks into my bedroom, reminding me we have to get ready for our double date. I hadn’t even realized how long I was playing and now my fingers are painfully sore. I take a pill to ease the muscle tension and then hop in the shower.

“Who did you find to bring tonight?” I ask Bass, walking out into the kitchen as I towel-dry my hair.

“Do you remember Brooke?” he asks.

“Brooke from school? Cello-playing Brooke?”

“That’s the one. Do you ever see her around?” he asks.

“Sometimes. But we don’t really talk.”

“You should. She’s nice. We’ve kept in touch since I left school and I’ve always gotten the idea she wouldn’t mind if I asked her out.”

“Then why wait until now?” I ask.

He shrugs. “Been too busy I guess.”

“Remember, we can’t say anything in front of her. This is a real date as far as she knows.”

“I’m perfectly aware of it, and I think that will make this all the more fun.”

“Fun?” I ask.

“Yeah. The three of us have a secret that she can’t know. Everything you guys do will be like an inside joke.”

I give him a nasty look “This is no joke, Bass. We can’t screw this up.”

“I know that. It’s one of the reasons I asked Brooke and not some random girl. I think we could trust her if one of us slipped up. Tonight will be like a rehearsal to see how the next six months will go.” He studies me thoughtfully. “But honestly Penny, I think of the three of us, you are the most likely to screw up.”