THE DAYTON FOOTBALL TEAM, in all its glory, is a cesspool of misogynistic jackasses. Heartbreakingly enough, this includes my boyfriend—well, ex- boyfriend now. My heart shatters all over again at the thought.
There’s a bitter sort of humor in the situation. All that time I spent wringing my hands, worrying that West could end things between us this summer. As though our relationship had any hope of surviving the long haul.
What a joke.
How could it have possibly withstood the lies? All this time, West has been bending the truth to suit his needs—to protect himself, his precious team, and their revolting little game. He chose to safeguard them over honesty with me.
I mean, who in their right mind invents a game like that? Trading girls around like pieces of meat? The audacity of it all makes me sick to my stomach. Fuck the football team. And most importantly, fuck West.
The banquet invitation wasn’t ever about wanting the company of a friend or worrying about jersey chasers. It was a carefully calculated move. And I only got swept up into it all because I’m Shannon’s roommate.
I was simply a pawn to West—a matter of convenience to win the prize he really wanted. But then he caught feelings, and that screwed over his game plan.
I just wish he had mustered the courage to come clean with me earlier. Of course, I would have been livid. Let’s not sugarcoat that. But I could have moved on, given enough time.
West wanted to be with Shannon before we got together. My roommate. My best friend. That’s a bitter pill to swallow, but back then, he and I were strangers. Honesty from the start could have smoothed things over, made me come to terms with his past choice. But now, it’s too little, too late.
He was given the chance to come clean, to reveal the truth of his own accord. Instead, he procrastinated, leaving it until I was on my knees begging for honesty. He waited until he had no other choice. And that sort of cowardice, it’s not something I can easily forgive.
West lost my trust tonight, and with it, he lost me.
So here I am, parked alone at a high stool in the middle of Lucky’s, a charming little bar nestled near campus. It’s usually a buzzing hive for student athletes, but tonight, the banquet has conveniently cleared the place out.
Seems like no one else cares to drink alone, no one but me. Because God knows, I need the dull numbing effect that comes with a stiff drink. I grimly swallow another shot, the gin burning a trail down my throat.
Stumbling slightly, I pay my tab and manage to call myself an Uber. If I drink any more, I’m going to start crying, and I’m not sure my fragile heart can handle any more emotional damage tonight.
Once I’m home, I clumsily unlock my front door, stumbling over an unruly pile of shoes in the darkness of the entryway. The noise seems to echo, far louder than I would like. A moment later, Shannon, her silhouette lit by the hallway light, appears.
She’s weary, her hair messy, and wrapped in a silky robe. Her sleep- dazed eyes land on me, and for a moment, there’s a painful silence between us.
“Jade, hi,” she says, her face flushing a soft pink.
“Oh, you’re home,” I mumble. My voice sounds small, shaky in the quiet of our apartment. “I’m sorry, did I wake you?”
“No, you didn’t,” she assures me, eyes wide. “I heard you and West left the banquet early. I . . . I thought you were spending the night at his place.”
A shaky breath escapes me as my eyes well up with tears. “Yeah, well, we broke up instead.”
“What?” she gasps, her expression a mix of shock and worry. “What happened?”
“God, Shan. He . . .” My voice trails off, faltering as a sudden noise interrupts me from the hallway. My brow furrows. “Wait, is there someone
here? In your room?”
She blushes deeply, the red creeping up her cheeks as she admits, “Um, yeah,” in a low voice. “Yes, someone’s here.”
“Oh, please don’t tell me you’re hooking up with Cam. Because—” “No, it’s not Cam,” she interrupts me, her voice hurried, gaze shifting
nervously toward the living room.
I follow the direction of her stare, my eyes landing on a small duffel nestled against our worn-out couch. A large, familiar grey luggage tag sporting a bright purple lily sits on the front of it, almost taunting me.
“Shan,” I whisper, my heart pounding wildly in my chest. “Why is my brother’s bag here?”
She seems to shrink back, her eyes wide with panic. “Look,” she stammers, her words tumbling out in a rush. “I promise you . . . we didn’t mean for this to happen.”
The room spins around me. “Oh, you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” I mutter, disbelief lacing my words.
Fueled by frustration, I stomp down the hallway and throw open her bedroom door. There he is—Mica, my half-naked brother, standing in the center of her room. His jeans hang low on his hips, his belt undone as he hastily pulls a shirt over his head, desperately trying to regain some sense of decency.
“Ace, what the fuck are you doing here?” I demand, my voice echoing off the walls.
“Lil, I, uh—” He glances up, and shame flickers in his eyes. “I came to surprise you.”
My laughter is bitter and mirthless. “Well, color me surprised,” I say, voice steady despite the turmoil raging inside me. “I told you not to mess with Shan, and you promised you wouldn’t.”
“I know, Lil,” he says, his voice quiet, filled with regret. “I’m sorry, it was a mistake.”
I cast a glance at Shannon. She’s cowering behind the doorway now, her eyes fixated on the floor, unwilling or perhaps unable to meet my gaze.
I turn back to Mica, seething. “You need to get the hell out of our apartment.”
“Can we talk about this like adults?”
“Get the fuck out!” I shout, my anger giving way to strength.
“Really, Lil?” He shakes his head, disappointment lacing his tone. “Because there are only two of us who pay rent here. And neither of them is you.”
The words strike me right in the center of my chest. If it’s possible for a heart to shatter into three distinct pieces, I swear that mine just did.
“Fuck you,” I manage to spit out.
“Wait . . . shit.” He sighs, rubbing at his temples. “I’m sorry, that didn’t
—”
“You know what? You’re right,” I cut in, my voice devoid of emotion.
“I should leave so you two can fuck in peace.”
I push past Shannon’s doorway, my footsteps echoing through the otherwise silent apartment as I head in the direction of my bedroom.
“Jade, I’m so sorry,” Shannon calls after me, her voice filled with regret. “He’s right, it was just a careless mistake. It won’t happen again.”
They both follow me to my room, their apologies failing to make an impact as I kneel beside my dresser, haphazardly shoving my belongings into a duffel bag. There’s no way I can stay here tonight . . . not after everything that’s happened.
“Look, sis, I’m sorry,” Mica insists again, desperation seeping in. “Just please stay.”
“I really can’t be here right now,” I choke out, clumsily making my way back to the living room.
“Where are you going, then?” Mica asks, running a ragged hand through his hair. “To West’s?”
“It’s none of your business where I’m going,” I snap back, my patience worn thin. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
I shove past them one last time, my grip tightening around the handle of my duffel bag as I step out into the cool night air. The door slams shut behind me, effectively cutting off any further attempts at apologies.
I’m officially out of patience, out of shits to give.
Once I reach the edge of our parking lot, I pull out my phone to call a cab. As the screen lights up, illuminating the darkened street, I blink my bleary, tear-soaked eyes and scroll through my contact list.
Where the hell am I going to stay tonight?
I dial Maya’s number first. As soon as her laughter rings in my ear, competing against the loud bass of nightclub music, I know she’s not
available. Despite her chirpy invitation for me to join the party, that’s not where I need to be at this moment.
Sophie, on the other hand, doesn’t even pick up. A few Instagram posts later, I find out she’s skipped town for the weekend, and a pang of loneliness echoes through me.
That only leaves me with a few other colleagues from the newspaper. Even as the thought crosses my mind, I wince. They aren’t really close friends, just coworkers. The last thing I want is to share this heartbreak, this disgrace, with them.
The cab driver’s voice interrupts my spiraling thoughts. “Do you have a destination?” he asks, looking at me through the rearview mirror.
I think for a moment, then blurt out the first place that comes to mind. “Can you take me on campus? To the Hayworth Building?”
It’s a little past midnight when I finally stumble into the newsroom, fumbling with my all-access pass as my hands tremble.
Inside, I’m greeted by a dark figure looming by the entrance. “God! You scared me,” I gasp, clutching my chest. “What are you even doing here so late?”
Garrett, ever the diligent worker, merely shrugs. “I’m finishing up some editing for our next issue.”
“In the middle of the night on a Saturday?”
“I work best at night,” he grumbles, “Not that it’s any of your business.
Why are you here?”
I bristle at his question. “Is that any of your business?”
His eyes flicker down to my tear-streaked face. “You’re crying in my newsroom, Jade,” he points out bluntly. “I think you’ve made it my business.”
I swipe at the fresh tears staining my cheeks, my face heating under his gaze. “It just—it seemed like a good spot to come and think,” I admit, sounding pathetic even to my own ears.
“Think about what?”
I rub my forehead. “If this is going to be an interrogation . . . then I’m just gonna leave.”
“No, it’s fine.” He shoots me a strange look, then, “Stay. I won’t ask you any more questions.”
“Good, then.”
“Good.” His footsteps are heavy, following a deliberate step-by-step pattern as he trails over to his desk and takes a seat. He pulls a notebook from a mismatched stack, rifling through papers and jotting down notes.
“So, do you like . . . live here or something?” I ask, desperately needing to keep the conversation going, distracting myself from the reality of the situation.
He rolls his eyes, but there’s a hint of amusement in his voice. “Oh, so you can ask me questions?”
“You’re not the one crying.”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “No, I don’t live here. But I do live nearby, just off University Ave.”
“Oh,” I say, not sure where I’m going with this conversation. It’s either small talk or a complete breakdown. I choose the former. “Those seem nice.”
“They are.”
“Do you—are you in a studio, or . . .” “No, I live in a one-bedroom.”
“Very cozy.”
He tosses the notebook onto his desk, giving me his full attention. “Jade, did you need somewhere to stay tonight?”
I hesitate, then sigh, a slight nod of my head serving as my confession. “If you’re offering.”
A corner of his lip quirks up in a half-smile. “I thought you hated me.” “Oh, God, am I really that obvious?”
His brow lifts as he poses the question, “So, you do hate me?”
“I don’t . . . hate you,” I stammer. “It’s just, I think you’re kind of a little bit . . . sexist. But maybe we should wait on this conversation.”
“I’m not gonna make you sleep on the streets just because you called me sexist.”
Crossing my arms, I give him a defiant look. “I wouldn’t be sleeping on the streets regardless.”
“Fine,” he says, an amused smirk playing on his lips. “Enlighten me anyway. Why do you think I’m sexist?”
“Uh, because you are,” I snap back, frustration coloring my words. “You continuously refuse to let me write about football, always passing those pieces to the male reporters under the guise of them having ‘more
experience.’ And Liam’s articles?” I let out a huff of disbelief. “They’re subpar at best.”
Rising from my chair, I pace the room. “And let’s not forget how you consistently assign me the most boring stories. You do realize no one wants to read about new cutlery or turnstiles or . . . bricks in red square, right? It’s ridiculous!”
He leans back in his chair, barely containing his grin. “Jade, I assign you those articles because you’re one of the best reporters we have.”
“That doesn’t even make sense,” I splutter, caught off guard by his counterargument.
“Those topics are assigned to the Daily by the university. We’re obliged to cover them. And I assign them to you because you have the knack for making even the most mundane interesting.”
My pacing slows as his words sink in. “Oh.” “Yeah, oh.”
“What about football, then? Why can’t I cover that?”
“Because weekly sports coverage isn’t that challenging,” he says dismissively. “Any generic reporter could write those articles.”
“That’s the issue.” I drag a weary hand down my face. “You just said any ‘generic reporter’ could write those pieces. Aren’t we, as women, just as capable of regurgitating stats as male reporters?”
“Yeah, you are.” “What?”
“I said, yes . . . you are,” he repeats, his gaze never leaving mine. “I didn’t realize it was this important to you.”
Frustration bubbles up inside me. “I’ve been practically begging to cover their games for years!”
“I know,” he says simply. “I thought it was more of a passing interest.” “Garrett, I love football,” I reiterate, gritting my teeth. “And I hate that
all our sports coverage is handled by men.” “Then, I guess we’ll have to fix it.”
“We?”
“Look, Jade.” He sighs heavily. “I’m in this room almost every night, working myself to the bone. Things can slip through the cracks. You see issues that I overlook. How about you help me fix them?”
His suggestion leaves me reeling. “Seriously?”
“Why not?” He shrugs, a devil-may-care attitude plastered on his face. “What do I have to lose?”
“Power, maybe?” I ask with a snort. “Control over your subordinates?” “You really think I’m the villain, don’t you?”
“Well, that depends. Are you going to let me sleep on the couch tonight, or is it the floor?”
“The floor,” he fires back, grinning wide. “Definitely the floor.”
