Last Strike

Another Mistake

Elizabeth’s POV:

When I arrived at my apartment building, the security staff informed me that a package had been delivered to me earlier that day. I immediately recognized the box because it was one I had packed myself. It contained some of my father’s keepsakes.

I placed the box next to the bookshelf in the living room, knowing that I didn’t have the emotional strength to open it at that moment. Memories of sitting in my father’s house, packing up the box, flooded my mind. I didn’t need to open the box. I knew exactly what was in there. My heart ached for my dear, sweet father. I could really use his guidance right now.

Though I have a feeling I know what he would tell me if he were here. He’d look at me with those sad eyes and say, ‘You need to overlook the past and help Ashton because he’s clearly struggling.’ If only it were that simple.

As I sat on the couch, eating the Thai food I had delivered, my phone began to blow up with notifications. Sh*t. This can’t be anything good. I reached for my phone and started scrolling. What do I see? The newest trending topic: Playboy Ashton Tate Spotted Enjoying A Lap Dance While Celebrating Today’s Win With Team.

One headline after another, most with videos attached, were plastered across social media. All the effort we put into this morning’s press conference was now wasted. The tiny flicker of hope I had for him redeeming himself had now been snuffed out.

I warned him. He chose not to listen.

Malcolm’s name flashed across my screen.

Malcolm: [Lizzy, I’m so sorry! I tried to stop him, but he wouldn't listen. Can you come get him out of here?]

Elizabeth: [No.]

Malcolm: [Lizzy, please! If I manage to get him to leave, can I take him to your apartment? There’s already a horde of paparazzi waiting outside the club.]

Elizabeth: [Again, no. As he said, he’s a grown man. He chose to do this. Let the stripper take him home.]

Malcolm didn’t attempt to plead with me after that. He knew from the past that when I said no, I meant it. Ashton had dug his own grave tonight, and I wasn’t about to rescue him from his poor decisions. He clearly needs to learn things the hard way.

I ran through my lengthy list of contacts until I found one for Charles Stanton, the team’s GM. Without giving it a second thought, I pressed the call button. He answered on the first ring, which didn’t surprise me, given the current situation. He wasted no time, not even giving me a chance to say hello.

“Elizabeth, please tell me you have a game plan for how to handle Ashton’s behavior.”

“Well, Charles, if you want to keep him, my suggestion is to bench him for a minimum of three games, or you could cut your losses now and trade him.”

The sound of him sighing resonated through the phone. He probably wasn’t expecting such an abrupt response, but I refused to sugarcoat my answers.

“Elizabeth, I know you’ll be honest with me. Do you believe Ashton can turn his life around, or better yet, do you believe you’re capable of helping him?”

“Those are two very different questions, but I’ll answer both of them honestly. Yes, I’m capable of helping him. As for him turning his life around, that’s entirely up to Ashton. Can he turn his life around? Absolutely. Does he want to? I don’t know the answer to that. You’ll have to ask him.”

After Charles assured me that he’d take my advice on benching Ashton, we said our goodbyes. If Ashton is anything like he once was, being benched might be the wake-up call that he’s been desperately needing.

******

Ashton’s POV:

“Malcolm, what the hell are you doing? I was having fun!”

My best friend had a death grip on my arm as he dragged me towards the back exit of the club. His words were clipped and his tone harsh, “Well, if you didn’t insist on always thinking with your lower brain, you would understand that you’ve managed to land yourself in trouble once again.”

I had no idea what he was implying. I’ve been seen at clubs numerous times before, and it’s never been an issue. I hadn’t been in a fight or dropped my pants in front of a police officer. When did enjoying a lap dance become a scandal? It’s not like I’m married.

Malcolm looked around nervously, as if we were about to be ambushed. “Just stay here and stay quiet until our ride arrives. We need to get back to my place without any more drama.”

I lean back against the exterior wall of the building, fishing for my phone from out of my pocket. The screen lights up with a long list of notifications, many of which are text messages from my agent, Landon.

I read through his messages, and my head begins to throb more forcefully with each new text. I had been so engrossed in having fun at the club that I had missed his messages warning me to leave. Multiple videos, photos, and even memes were going viral all across social media. Apparently, I can no longer have any fun in my life. Am I supposed to become some sort of saint now?

As I continued to scroll through the notifications, it dawned on me that I hadn’t received any communication from Liz — not a text, not an angry voicemail. It was radio silence on her end. I didn’t need to be a genius to know that wasn’t a good sign.

“Malcolm, have you heard from Liz tonight?”

He'd never had much of a poker face, and I knew from the look on his face that he had heard from her. “How bad is it? Just tell me.”

“Well, let me be blunt. I won’t be shocked if you’re suddenly out of a job tomorrow.”

I huff out a forced breath and slam the bottom of my shoe against the wall behind me. “Damn, dude, that’s harsh!”

Malcolm steps in front of me, our faces now just inches apart. He stares into my eyes with an intensity that I haven’t seen from him in years. “It might be harsh, but it’s the truth. I called Lizzy and asked her to come intervene on your behalf, and she refused.”

My blood felt like it was boiling. A feeling of rage washed over me, and I screamed into his face, “I don’t f*cking need her!”

His eyes twitched. His resolve began to c***k, and he threw his hands up in exasperated surrender. His entire body heaved as he let out a long sigh. Headlights at the end of the alley flashed on and off. Malcolm said, “That’s our ride. We need to get out of here. Unless you don’t need my help either.”

Great. Now I could add Malcolm’s name to the ever-growing list of people who are apparently mad at me. If life continues to go this way, I may not have a single friend left.

I muttered, “Sorry,” and followed him to the black sedan that was waiting for us at the end of the alley. As I slid into the backseat, my phone flashed with an incoming call. The name read Charles Stanton. My heart felt as if it had leaped into my throat. I knew, without even having answered, that this wasn’t going to be an enjoyable phone call.

I inhaled a deep breath, my whole body growing tense as I accepted the call. “Hello, Mr. Stanton, why are you calling at this hour?”

Malcolm shoots me a concerned look when he hears me answer my phone.

There’s a sternness in Stanton’s voice that always signals trouble, and I’m hearing it now as he informs me, “Ashton, I’ve instructed Jacob to bench you for the next three games and possibly longer if needed. Honestly, if it weren’t for Elizabeth’s belief that you could turn things around, we’d be cutting you loose rather than just a suspension.”

He continued to speak, but my mind had latched onto him, telling me that I was being benched for at least three games. Everything else was background noise. Did Liz honestly tell him that I could turn things around, and what exactly would that entail? I was afraid to find out, given that she has to be angry about what just happened tonight.

The city was a blur of lights and buildings through the backseat window. From the moment I hung up with Stanton, Malcolm began firing questions at me about the conversation. I explained what he had said about my three-game suspension and that if it weren’t for Elizabeth, they’d have cut me loose already.

Malcolm gave me one of his patented ‘I told you so’ looks that he’s been using on me for years now. “Do you finally believe me that you need to do whatever Lizzy tells you to do?”

I grimaced as I roughly rubbed my jawline. “I don’t understand why everyone thinks she’s so damn amazing! If they knew the real her, maybe they’d see her the way I do. Then, they wouldn’t be so quick to trust her.”

Malcolm slowly shook his head. He hesitated for a moment before telling me, “Please enlighten me on the real her.”

I snapped at him, “Dude, you already know! You were there. She’s a liar and a w***e! We were together for almost four years, and she chose to destroy our relationship by getting in bed with Vincent of all people — my biggest rival.”

The air in the car suddenly felt thick with tension. I hated discussing my past with Elizabeth. All these years later, it still made me angry. No matter how many times I would tell myself that it didn’t matter, deep down, her betrayal still bothered me. The fact that everyone else treated her as if she could walk on water only made me angrier.

Malcolm silently listened as I ranted about Elizabeth and our history. He studied me as I glared at the headrest of the seat in front of me, as it owed me money. I could feel his eyes bearing down on me, and then he spoke, “Ash, you’re like a brother to me, but I’m going to say this again in hopes that you’ll finally hear me. You are a dumba*s for believing Vincent. There was never any proof that Lizzy was involved with him, but for whatever reason, you chose to believe him over your girlfriend of almost four years. I’m stating again, for what feels like the millionth time over all these years, that I still don’t believe Lizzy cheated on you.”

Not this damn conversation again. For whatever reason, Malcolm has always believed in Liz’s innocence, which frustrates me to no end. Her cruel betrayal left me broken, but for whatever reason, Malcolm has always chosen to side with her.

“I’m not having this argument again, Mal. Just be my best friend and help me get through this disaster. I have a feeling she’s about to make my life a living hell."