I wish I was still drunk.
I hear the officers talking over me, but I only catch a few words here and there until I hear “The Troubadours’ rookie short stop.”
“Ah, fuck. The news is going to be all over this. Let’s hurry this along before we get more cameras on us.” Looking around as he starts to help me up, I see people gawking on the sidewalk with their phones aimed in our direction, likely filming my downfall. I lower my head, trying to hide, but my hat is turned backwards, offering no shield to my face.
“Can you uh—” What kind of idiot am I to think these cops will help me? But I have to try. “Excuse me, officer. Can you turn my hat around and lower it on my head?” I plead. He takes mercy on me and repositions my hat so I can try to hide my face.
“Chase Bennett, you are under arrest for drunk and disorderly, theft, and public intoxication. You have the right to remain silent…” He reads my Miranda rights while steering me to the back of the police car. Once I’m seated, he asks if I understand my rights, and I acknowledge him before he shuts me into the backseat. I turn away from the door to try and hide from the intrusive eyes outside the car. He calls in his report and starts the car, driving us to the station in silence. When we arrive, there are cameras already waiting.
“Good news travels fast, I see,” he huffs. I meet his eyes in the rearview mirror and don’t miss the disappointment reflected at me. There’s also compassion, which is fortified when he continues, “I’ll come around and grab ya. Try to keep you covered as much as possible while we go in.”
“Thank you,” I murmur, embarrassment setting in. A cloud of regret is quickly encroaching as well. I shouldn’t have gotten so wasted tonight. I shouldn’t have been out looking to get laid just to get Bree out of my mind. If I hadn’t, then I wouldn’t have run away from that girl or found another distraction in the form of a horse.
Now, Gabrielle is going to be so pissed at me.
That’s who she is. She’s Gabrielle. Not Bree. Not my girl. She’s nothing to me.
Except she is.
No, she’s not. That’s what we agreed on not even two days ago.
The work this will cause her is going to ruin everything that ever was between us and any hope I had to rekindle what we had on the island.
I can’t let her get to me. It’s not worth it.
Except it could be.
I really shouldn’t be thinking about her right now, but it’s easier than thinking of what’s going on around me.
I’m taken into the station.
Fingerprinted.
Photographed.
Booked.
And put in the tank while we wait for my lawyer to arrive.
Thank god Coach is in Atlanta for the All-Star Game and can’t show up at the station tonight. He’s going to fucking kill me.
Music City Troubadours’ rookie arrested in downtown Nashville.
The clicker scrolls across the bottom of the screen with a picture of Chase’s mugshot popping up beside the announcer’s head.
“What the fuck?!” I jump up from my relaxed position on the hotel sofa at the same time as my phone rings on the coffee table. My assistant’s name flashes on the screen.
“What?” Ivory and Taylor run into the room from the kitchen of our hotel suite in Atlanta. The boys went to do press while we hung back at the hotel until the Home Run Derby later today.
I point to the screen as I answer my phone. Taylor curses under her breath and grabs her phone as well. In this crisis, I’ll take as much help as she’s willing to offer.
“Yes, I just saw it on ESPN. How did I not know about this before the news broke, Beth?” I listen to the rundown of what happened from my assistant. “Put me through to the comms team.”
“They’re all in a meeting right now, Gabby. It’s crisis control mode so they’ve created a war room in the conference room down the hall,” Beth responds, hesitant to connect the call.
“I don’t care. There are numerous people on that team whoshould’ve called me and told me about this. Not you. Now put me through.”
“Yes, ma’am,” she says. While I’m waiting for the call to connect to the communications team, my phone beeps with an incoming call.
