Page 74 of The C*ck Down the Block

She pulled her Olds to the right about ten degrees and the screech that car made as it tore apart the side of the shitty news outlet’s van was glorious. She rolled down her window and yelled, “I thought I told you douchepotatoes not to play in the street.”

I laughed my ass off.

“Hey lady, I’ll sue you and get your license revoked, you old bat.” The guy who drove the van was freaking out.

“I’m a hundred and ninety-seven years old if I’m a day, you little wyrm.” She flipped the guy off with her crinkly, wrinkled middle finger. “I’ll likely die before it ever gets to court. Besides, I don’t have a license.”

That was about all those schmoes could handle, and they up and left. I waved to nice Mrs. Bo as she drove away. I think some flower deliveries from me were in her future.

After that, the ride to the stadium was a blur of phone calls, texts, and quick strategy sessions.

We decided to have the press conference at the home of the Mustangs instead of at the training facility, because the guys at training camp didn’t need this kind of distraction. And if all went well, I’d be back at camp later today.

It would go well. Trix and I were solid, so really, nothing else mattered.

Maguire was already at the stadium, coordinating with the team’s PR, while my brothers and the cowgirls were circling the troops. As we pulled into the parking lot, the sense of unity, of our collective strength, was a force that even the press would feel.

Today, you were either with us, or against us. And the world would know exactly who the good guys were in this situation, and who should really be ashamed.

Maguire, Johnston, Marie, my dad, and my brothers were all right outside the car, waiting for us. But Trixie took a hold of my hand and held a finger up at them to wait.

“I know what we planned to say, but I thought about this all night, and Rachel isn’t ever going to stop.” There was a new resolve settling into her features. She wasn’t complaining or scared, she was determined. “The haters in the world aren’t going to suddenly say, oh, you don’t feel ashamed, well, we’ll leave you alone then.”

“No, probably not.” That’s not how being in the public eye worked. When you put yourself out there for the world to see you, there were always going to be haters. Fuck the haters.

“So, screw them.” The way she mirrored my thoughts so exactly made me love her even more. Trixie had this fire in her eyes, a spark that said she was done playing it small. No apologies, no looking back. And I got to be here for it, right by her side. “Chris Kingman, do you love me?”

The world and its drama all around us disappeared. There was no press, no haters, no anything. Just me and the woman who completed me. My heart and hers, my life and hers, my love and hers. “I’ve loved you since we were twelve, Trix.”

She smiled so brightly that I was sure we were both going to glow when we stepped out of the car. She was filled with a kind of untapped, soaring energy that was infectious.

“Okay. Then let’s go make the rest of the world understand that love wins.”

We exited the car, and Trixie slipped her hand into mine, her grip tight but steady. We walked hand in hand like we were walking into a fortress, walls built not of stone, but of loyalty and love.

“I’ve seen that look on your face, big brother. You’re gonna fuck some people up, aren’t you?” Declan grumbled, but his eyes were all encouragement.

“We got you, man.” Everett clapped me on the back.

Johnston gave me a nod, and Marie grinned like she was in on a secret. She might be.

It was my dad’s face, the one he got when he was so damn proud of one of us, that got me, and I had to clear my throat before I’d be able to answer any questions from the press.

The cameras flashed and rolled, the journalists and reporters shouted their questions, and just to give them a hint of what was to come, I smiled and waved at them like we were about to announce we’d won the championship. Again. We stepped onto the makeshift stage Maguire had set up on the steps just outside the entrance to the field and waited for the sharks to calm themselves.

“Let’s do this,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the growing clamor of the crowd.

And so we stepped up to the microphones, a united front ready to reclaim our narrative, and maybe, just maybe, change a few minds along the way.

“Chris, Chris, are you going to see a therapist about your sex addiction?”

“Beatrix, what kind of example do you think you’re setting for the teens at your alma mater?”

“Chris, how long have you been a chubby chaser?”

“Did you leak the tape yourselves?”

Trixie gripped my hand a little tighter and whispered, “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, and all the saints. What the hell is wrong with all these people?”

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