"I want to start by saying I take full responsibility for my actions that night. What happened that night doesn't reflect who I am as a person or as a representative of Purdue University.”
…
"Of course. Being from South Bend means I understand how important Notre Dame is to that community."
…
"I need to be better, especially for the younger fans who look up to athletes like me. I made a mistake, and I'm committed to learning from it."
…
"As I said, it was a mistake and doesn't represent who I am or the values of Purdue football."
…
"I made a poor decision that night. The coaching staff and the university has been clear about team standards, and I've recommitted myself to being the player and person Purdue deserves."
…
"That's a decision for the coaches and the athletic department. I'm focused on being the best teammate I can be right now."
…
"I've reached out to the appropriate people and expressed my sincere regrets."
…
"Alright, that's all the time we have for Brice today," Ms. Winters, the school's Senior Sports Information Director, stepped smoothly to his side. "Thank you all for your questions. Brice has another commitment to get to."
Brice flashed his media smile one more time, but his eyes had long gone cold.
"You did great," Ms. Winters murmured as she guided him away from the press scrum.
…
Skylar adjusted herself in the slightly worn chair, her hand resting on the curve of her belly as she watched him squint at his monitor. Behind him, a framed Notre Dame law degree hung prominently among various Fighting Irish memorabilia.
"So," Paulie finally looked up, offering a half smile. "You’ve got those copies?"
Skylar pulled out the printed copies they’d discuss during their last phone call.
"Yeah," she slid the folder across his desk. "This should have all of the expenses up until last week. I'm still furnishing the nursery so I’ll print those once it’s completed."
Paulie nodded approvingly as he scanned the documents. "Good. Very good. This level of documentation strengthens our position considerably."
"Has there been any response to our latest communication?" Skylar asked, maintaining steady eye contact.
"They’re still insisting on the amniocentesis," Paulie shook his head.
Skylar sighed, but there was no anxiety in it, just calculated patience. "Of course they are."
"Our position on this has been clear, reasonable and consistent," Paulie assured her. "Keep offering the non-invasive test at every turn. Keep documenting every refusal, every communication. If this does go to court—which, frankly, I'm beginning to think is inevitable—this pattern of behavior works in our favor."
"I hope it doesn't come to that," Skylar smoothed the fabric of her flowing dress, a small smile playing at her lips. "When push comes to shove, he'll do the right thing."
…
"It was just annoying more than anything. The whole time I'm thinking about how I'd be moving half of it to Eli's the next day anyway."
Dr. Mendel nodded. "That must have been stressful, keeping that from them."
"It was," Connie admitted. "But also kind of liberating? Like, I'm making my own choices now. They don't need to know everything. It's weird though. There’s like all these rules on what you’re supposed to do, what you’re not allowed to do but like when it comes to the real shit…"
Dr. Mendel tilted her head slightly. "The real shit?"
"Like my pregnancy, I keep thinking about how contradictory it all was. They go to mass every week, talk about God's plan and the sanctity of life, but when I got pregnant? That baby was just a problem to solve. If they truly believed all that stuff they preach and swear by, wouldn't they have seen my child as a blessing? Instead, they were so fucking relieved when the adoption went through."
"That sounds like a significant realization for you," Dr. Mendel observed.
"It is. I'm not angry anymore. At least, not like before. I just see things more clearly now. Don’t get me wrong, I still think about it and how fucked up all of it was but it’s also like, over, you know?"
A moment of quiet settled between them before Connie continued, "Anyway, Eli helped me move the rest of my stuff the next day. I'm like so freaking excited about living with him, even if it's not like grown-up living together. It feels right, you know? Like we're building something real together."
Dr. Mendel studied her for a moment. "What does moving in with Eli represent to you in terms of your journey forward?"
…
Nia slid into her desk at the back of the class.
"Class starts at 7:45," Mr. Harrison said, marking something on his clipboard.
Nia mumbled something that might have been an apology, but even she wasn't sure what came out, the Xanax still making its way through her system. Mr. Harrison's voice droned on as he began his lecture, the words washing over her without sticking. Nia's eyelids grew heavy. She focused on her breathing, on the pleasant numbness spreading through her limbs. Her phone buzzing in her pocket jerked her attention. She took a glance at it before shifting her attention to the classroom door.
Through the narrow rectangular window, Zack's face appeared. She could see Damien crowded in beside him, making exaggerated beckoning motions with his hands. Both ducked down whenever Mr. Harrison turned toward the board, popping back up like whack-a-moles when his back was turned.
Zack held up his phone, showing her a text message too small to read from her seat. Then he made a smoking gesture with his fingers, eyebrows raised in question. Nia straightened slightly. The fog in her mind cleared just enough for her to understand.
She raised her hand, surprised by how heavy her arm felt.
"Yes?" Mr. Harrison sounded tired.
"Can I use the bathroom?" Her voice came out raspy, unused.
Mr. Harrison sighed, glancing at the clock. "Make it quick."
…
Liz sipped her drink, letting the vodka martini linger on her tongue as she surveyed the hotel bar. She checked her watch. Nine-fifteen. The ice in her glass clinked as she set it down.
"Is this seat taken?"
A man stood beside her, tall and broad-shouldered in a tailored charcoal suit.
"It's all yours," Liz replied, gesturing to the empty barstool.
He settled beside her, his cologne reaching her before he did.
"Chicago traffic is brutal this time of year," he said, ordering a scotch neat when the bartender approached.
"The construction on the Kennedy never ends," Liz agreed, angling her body slightly toward him. "Are you in town for business or pleasure?"
"A bit of both, I hope."
Liz felt a flush creep up her neck. "Sounds intriguing."
"And you?" He leaned in slightly. "What brings a woman like you to a hotel bar alone?"
"Maybe I'm not alone anymore."
They engaged in small talk as the night went on, the kind that was light and cliched yet filled with laughter. With each exchange, he shifted incrementally closer until eventually, his hand brushed hers as he reached for his drink.
"Apologies," he murmured, not sounding sorry at all.
"No harm done." Liz smiled, not pulling away.
When the bartender brought their next round, he paid for both despite her polite protest. After their third drink, he reached into his pocket and slid something across the polished wood.
"Room 1217," he said quietly. "If you're interested."
Liz stared at the key card for a long moment, then burst into laughter that bubbled up from deep in her chest.
"What?"
"That’s a bit forward, don’t you think?"
"Three drinks in, I’m leaving with something," Tom shook his head with a smirk, "Those fuckers are $20 a pop."
"You’re an idiot," she leaned forward, kissing him properly now.
"I thought I was being smooth," he protested, wrapping an arm around her waist.
"Mmm, very smooth," Liz said, pocketing the key card.
