The Player by Camille Leone

off season, the one who walks around throwing up gang symbols. I knew Romero would be trouble-”
    “Strangely enough, Romero’s not one of ‘em,” Darren said. “He actually stepped in and confronted Virgil and his boys when they were saying some pretty nasty things to the assistant trainer. So when the story goes public, we’re gonna be fielding a lot of ‘where was the leadership on the team?’ kind of questions.”
    “And a whole lotta what were you and I doing when all this was going on,” Kyle added.
    Darren nodded in agreement. “Yep, pretty much. But you’ve got nothing to worry about, not with that franchise tag on ya.”
    Kyle grunted.  They were currently third in their division, and if enough of his squad were caught up in this mess the suspensions could deplete the team. Which meant they could forget about making the play-offs. “Well, looks like I’ll be keeping a low profile.”
    “You need to tell Harlow what’s about to happen before the shit hits the fan.”
    “Why? She’s got nothing to do with the team’s business.”
    “Kyle, haven’t you been listening?” Darren cursed and almost spun completely around on his stool. “Aw man, it’s the shit that went down in here that starts off the whole Time’s article. Then it goes into the culture of violence, the sexist and racial taunts, and how the club tolerates it.”
    “But we don’t tolerate it-”
    “Uh, actually, we do.”
    Kyle jabbed his finger into the wood along the bar to emphasize his point. “When Virgil pulled his Neanderthal act in here, we stopped it. When he talked shit about Harlow in the locker room, we kicked his ass.”
    “But that’s as far as it went. And that’s why the article’s saying we’ve been covering for that lunatic. But they’ve got witnesses and other instances of him behaving like a sexist lunatic. And they’ve got Harlow’s restraining order-”
    “Which proves my point. If we were covering this up, don’t you think I could’ve asked Harlow not to go through with filing that?”
    “But you wouldn’t go that. Would you?” Harlow asked, now back at their end of the bar. “Sorry to butt in, but you guys were getting loud. So I came over to tell you that you might wanna lower your voices. This place isn’t that big.”
    “They’re gonna read about it anyway,” Kyle told her, motioning with his glass for another drink.
    “Darren, you sure I can’t get you anything? It’s on the house,” she said, caressing a bottle of Gray Goose if she were a game show model offering it as the grand prize.
    With a somber shake of his head Darren said no. He gave Kyle another pat on his back before heading out. When Harlow poured a refill for Kyle, he asked her to stay put. “How much did you hear?”
    “Just about the restraining order,” she said. “Is it causing problems?”
    “Looks like Virgil’s antics are public knowledge now. Darren just told me about a New York Times article that’s about the blow. Figures it would happen just when we’re finally winning.” He took a big gulp of his drink. “Hey, I don’t come here to dwell on the team. I’m here to watch that fantastic ass of yours.” Just as she leaned across the bar to give him a kiss, his phone rang. With one hand caressing the nape of her neck and the other holding up his phone, Kyle did a side eye glance at the screen. “Aw Jeez, I hope there’s nothing else about to come out-”
    That was her clue to dislodge her lips from his. As she slowly headed for the center of the bar, her mind focused on a not so savory time period in her past. Suddenly the bar was gone, and there she was, standing in the middle of a police station getting bailed out and called out by Ozzy.“What the hell is wrong with yuh, Harlow? Did you do it to hurt me?”
    At twenty-seven and still fuming over how they’d separated, she couldn’t stop crying. “Where’s Reina? Is she alright?”
    “She’s fine,” he snapped, ordering one of his