More than the Game by Jenni Bara

8

Newsweek Cover—March 2012:

Republican Presidential frontrunner Ed Campbell’s campaign got into hot water this week when his daughter, Olympic gold medalist Elizabeth Campbell, released intimate photos from a photoshoot with her on-again off-again boyfriend. This killer blow came just in time to ruin the family-values candidate’s chances for delegates on Super Tuesday.

Starz Cover April—2012:

Intervention: Campbell’s parents beg her to stop the partying after she quits gymnastics cold turkey! Inside the gold medalist’s fall from grace: alcohol, drugs, and random sex tapes.

Entertainment Weekly—April 2012:

Corey Matthews says he is not the victim, admits to consenting to release of sexy photos with Elizabeth Campbell Plus: Elizabeth disappears into rehab

It stunned Marc silent, and Beth couldn’t look at him. Corey always took flak in the locker room about the photos, and she knew all his teammates had seen them. They were easy to Google, as was every awful untrue article written about her. But Beth hadn’t fully realized Marc had seen the photos until Corey’s comment about Marc having seen her less than dressed. She fiddled with her ring. She hated being Elizabeth Campbell.

“Could you please say something?” Beth demanded. She should be used to this; it had happened ten years ago. It shouldn’t wig her out when someone realized it was her, but it did. Most people didn’t associate Beth Evans, widowed single mom, with Olympic gymnast Elizabeth Campbell—and clearly, Marc hadn’t either.

“Ah,” he stumbled, and his hand rubbed gently on her upper back. “I’m not sure of the right response. I can’t lie and say I’ve never seen them. But I know how spin works, so why don’t you tell me what actually happened?”

“Corey must have told you,” Beth said quickly.

“Well, until today, the most Corey and I have ever said to each other was pretty much ‘fu—fudge off.’” Marc glanced down and scratched the back of his neck.

“Yeah, he doesn’t like you.”

“Teammates are usually like family, but Corey and I never quite got there,” he admitted, but avoided her gaze.

Corey hadn’t said anything good about Marc since his trade to the Metros three years ago, but he never would explain why. And in the last year, Corey’s dislike of Marc had grown—which was strange, since they didn’t see each other anymore.

“Even not knowing you all that well, you don’t seem like the type of person who would let someone photograph you during sex,” Marc ventured before she could question him further.

“I never would allow that,” Beth sighed.

“So… Corey didn’t tell you?”

“No; he wouldn’t do something like that, either.”

His face said he didn’t believe her. The press’s story at the time had been completely inaccurate, but her father banned her from speaking up so it wasn’t surprising Marc had doubts.

“Corey and I started dating before we both went to the Olympics. I won the gold for the gymnastic all-around and became America’s golden girl. Especially considering the story behind my coach. She died of cancer the month before the Olympics.” He looked blank, which told her he hadn’t known. “I lived with her for years before she got sick. She was more of a mom to me than my mother ever was. My dad used to tout how hard it was to be away from me all the time to the media, but he would play the ‘I’m letting her live her dream’ card.” Marc nodded, and she continued. “Corey pitched the gold medal-winning game for America’s baseball team, which—along with having baseball star Orlando Matthews as a father—made Corey America’s golden boy. The media went crazy when they realized we were dating. At first, it was cool, but that was short-lived, and soon cameras took over my life. And I had more important things to worry about than my media presence.”

“Like your sponsors and appearing on Disney television?” Marc asked, smiling.

If those had been her most significant problems, she would have felt lucky. But she didn’t have time right now to explain the details of all the drama of her life.

“We were in Corey’s dorm room; it wasn’t like our first time or anything. Oh—you’ve seen the pictures…” Her cheeks turned red and her stomach sank. She hated this. She dropped her face into her hands. Marc’s comforting arm came around and pulled her into his warm embrace. She leaned right into the steady strength, grateful for it.

“Look, I’m not one to judge. You have some unconsented photos out there, but I think if you ask anyone who has the shadier rep, I win hands down. I’m known for making an ass of myself and sleeping with anything with boobs,” Marc said quietly into her hair.

“Big boobs,” Beth corrected with a smile.

“I don’t discriminate by cup size.” Marc chuckled. “Which again makes my point. So, finish the story. I figure this is why you aren’t interested in getting to know me.”

Something, maybe how he was listening or the feeling of his arm around her, prompted her to continue. He wasn’t judging, and it was the reason she didn’t want to get to know him.

“Tabloids pay a lot of money for dirt on big names, and nineteen-year-olds need money. Corey never imaged his roommate would set up a hidden camera. We didn’t know until the pictures came out. His roommate made a hundred thousand dollars, but got quietly kicked out of Penn State. My father was in the Senate at that point, but trying to get the nomination for president. And he would have, but the photos came out in time to ruin it. My dad’s always been ‘the family-values guy.’”

Marc looked skeptical, but she continued.

“So the photos killed his presidential bid, but Corey and I had to deal with the fallout. Dad wouldn’t let me comment, even when the story snowballed, and when Corey tried to comment, it got spun wrong and made everything worse. He and I didn’t last much longer; we talked less, then not at all for a while.”

“Did you blame him?” Marc asked.

She shook her head. “There’s a huge double standard in the media, especially for women. So it whitewashed his role in the story because everyone knew he was going to be a great pitcher.”

“Baseball royalty,” Marc said, quoting half the stories ever written about Corey.

“And politicians’ families are easy targets because both sides are always willing to beat on each other any chance they get. So, because of my dad, everything became front-page news. I’m surprised you don’t remember.”

“I would have been knee-deep in baseball at that point, trying to make it from the minor leagues to the pros. I didn’t care about anything else.”

“To protect his career, my father needed the stories to make me seem uncontrollable and him sympathetic. So for months the media claimed I had a drinking and drug problem. I apparently went to rehab.” Beth rolled her eyes. She’d never so much as smoked pot, but that didn’t stop the stories. Marc became tense next to her, and his hand stopped its motion on her back. “None of it was true. But it took a year before they could claim I’d calmed down. By that time, I had a different name and a different life. Corey has never escaped it, though.”

“I hear about it more than I’d like.” Corey stood at the door, stone-faced.

“Sorry. Hard to talk about it and leave you out,” Beth said, looking at him and sliding away from Marc. His hand now felt hot and heavy on her thigh.

“Not a big deal.”

That was a lie. That time in her life wasn’t something Beth talked about, Corey knew, and the fact that she would talk about it to Marc spoke volumes.

“Here’s one of my shirts for church.” Corey tossed Marc a button-down.

“Pink?” Marc raised his eyebrows.

“Beggars can’t be choosers,” Corey said. “Sorry to break up the love fest, but Ed wants you downstairs.”

“Cor, nothing is going on with us.” Beth shook her head, tired of pointlessly repeating herself.

“Guess you didn’t tell her the game plan,” Corey said curtly. “Come on. We’ll give him some privacy to change.” Corey reached for Beth.

“I don’t need privacy,” Marc said quickly and slapped Corey’s hand away before he could grab hold of Beth. Corey glared at Marc, and then they were standing toe to toe, each glaring at the other.

“Stop. I will not become the new pissing contest,” Beth declared, claiming both men’s attention. “You don’t like each other; neither one of you wants to explain it. Fine. But you only have to be together for five more minutes, so deal.”

Corey looked pointedly at Marc before saying, “Enjoy the loan. I better get it back in one piece.” Then, spinning on his heel, he left the room.

Beth’s eyes flitted shut as Corey stormed out. He had told her last night, all joking aside, to be careful where Marc was concerned. He didn’t want to explain; Beth was supposed to just trust him. Corey thought she wasn’t taking his advice.

“I can’t believe he thinks you’d do something as childish as ruin his shirt.” She opened her eyes to see Marc, pulling his polo shirt over his head before slipping his arms into the sleeves of Corey’s pink button-down.

Marc shook his head. “That wasn’t about a shirt.”

“Then what was it about?” Beth was confused. Corey hadn’t loaned Marc anything else that she knew of.

“Never mind,” Marc said. “And before you ask, I’m going with you to church.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Your father already said I was,” he answered as he buttoned the shirt and jammed it into his pants without undoing them. “I didn’t get the impression we had a choice. Was I wrong?”

They both knew he wasn’t.

Beth walked downstairs behind Marc, who headed straight over to Paul. She couldn’t hear what they were talking about, but from the look on Marc’s face, he wasn’t happy.

“What was that about?” Beth asked when Marc returned to her.

He shrugged like it was no big deal. “The end of his obsession with colors,” he said, as if that answered her question instead of confusing her more.

But before Beth could ask what he meant, her father walked into the room carrying her niece in his arms.

“The limo’s out front.”

“I don’t ride in limos.” Marc crossed his arms in front of his chest and stood up straight, highlighting just how intimidating every one of his six-foot-three-inches could be.

“You do today,” her father shot back. He might be short, but he didn’t let anyone intimidate him.

“No. I either take my car, or I don’t go, Secretary.”

“Why?” Beth asked, but Marc ignored her.

“You need to ride with Elizabeth,” her father demanded as Mary entered the room with the other kids.

“I don’t do limos,” Marc repeated. “Beth can ride with me.”

“Can I ride with you too, Mom?” Steve asked, looking up at Marc. Beth wished she could tell him he could, to save him from the lecture her father would deliver on the way to church. She met Marc’s eye, and he answered.

“Sorry, only two seats. Next time I’ll bring one of my other cars, and you can ride with me then.” Marc patted Steve on the head. The boy looked disappointed, and Beth couldn’t blame him. Then she realized what Marc said.

“Next time?” Beth asked, looking from Marc to her father. “What do you mean?”

“If you two are dating, you’re going to have to do things together,” her father said, as if this was an undeniable fact.

“You’re dating Marc?” Steve asked, confused.

“He’s a friend,” she assured him. “Mother, can you take the kids out to the limo, please?” Beth waited until they were out the door. “I’ve explained to you, Marc and I aren’t dating. I know you said he was going to church with us, and he’s nice enough to come, but—”

“It has nothing to do with ‘nice,’ Elizabeth; don’t be naïve. Besides, between the speculation circulating everywhere and what I’ve announced, there’s nothing left to discuss. It’s done. Now let’s go before we’re late. I don’t need another scene this morning.” Her father stalked out, leaving her standing with Marc.

Beth fumed. She didn’t want to date Marc. And now the choice was out of her hands. She was sure it had already been mentioned on her father’s website, tweeted, and posted on Instagram. The entire world knew whatever story he’d announced. She glared at Marc.

“You knew, and you okayed it?”

“He didn’t ask, just told me the plan,” Marc said. His gaze bounced around, unwilling to look at her, and then he swallowed.

Her eyes flitted shut. It was the story of 2012 all over again—Dad didn’t ask. Her father didn’t ask her if she wanted to be stuck with Marc, and he didn’t ask Marc if he wanted to be stuck with Elizabeth Campbell.

“We can make sure this doesn’t turn into a shit show,” Marc said.

“Don’t curse in my house.”

The car was quiet as they snaked through the side streets of the small town. Marc didn’t look happy, and his eyes cut to her occasionally as if he might say something, but he didn’t. It was only a ten-minute drive, but the silence was grating on her before they even got halfway to the church.

“So, you don’t ride in limos, or did you catch the allergy people develop to my dad?” She tried to make her voice light, hoping to cut the tension in the car.

Marc was quiet for a moment before saying,

“Last year I was a passenger in a car accident that ruined my life. Since then, I drive. I won’t crash; I don’t trust anyone else not to.”

Beth paused. She knew little about his accident, just that it was severe, ending his baseball career. There had been casualties, she knew, but she couldn’t remember if they’d been the people in the car with him or in the other vehicle.

Beth waited for him to say more, but he didn’t. And her mind flicked back to the question she needed to ask.

“Marc?”

“Hmm?”

“What did my father say to get you to do this? Did he offer you something?”

She waited. He was silent for so long that she started to think he wouldn’t respond—until, finally, he said, “I think arguing with him would have only caused you problems, Beth.”

The statement caused a warm flutter in her stomach; he was thinking of her?