“Hi Joel, it’s Livia. I had a few follow-up questions for you. I don’t know when you’ll get this message, but it’s 10:30 in the morning now. If you could stop by my place sometime today, I would really like to do one final interview before I send this story to print.”

I hung up on his voicemail after leaving my address. I had been calm throughout that entire phone call, but now, it was time to call Dante. Strong, mixed feelings for the man made my mouth go dry. After a drink of water and several deep breaths, I dialed.

“Hello?”

I really hadn’t been expecting him to answer, and my stomach flopped.

“Hi, Dante, it’s Livia. I was hoping to get a follow-up interview with you—just a couple more questions before I wrap up this story.”

Silence answered me. It stretched out so long, I thought he had hung up.

“When?”

“Any time today. My place this time.”

“Why?”

His single syllables weren’t giving me much in the way of a read on his emotional state, which only heightened my anxiety. When I spoke again, it came out a squeak, and I had to clear my throat.

“I—um, excuse me—I saw the fight yesterday, and I think that there’s more to this story. I don’t want to miss anything.”

More silence. I was beginning to squirm, and I had the sneaking suspicion that he knew it.

“Same place I picked you up?” he asked.

“Yeah, just—”

The call ended.

“Wow. Rude.”

I sighed and ran my hands over my face. Not that I didn’t deserve it, but it was sort of killing me to suspect that the kind, sophisticated, smooth man I had met on our first date was a fabrication. Unless this was the fabrication, and that had been the reality…I couldn’t really see the cold, distant Dante getting into a fight over a girl in the middle of the game.

“Well, I guess I’m going to find out,” I said, glancing around my apartment.

I busied myself with tidying up while I was waiting. Not that there was a whole lot of tidying to do, but the uncertainty was stressful enough to make me go looking for dirt. Not knowing for sure whether either of them would show up or when was curdling my gut, so I blasted the feeling away with music and unnecessary chores.

Three hours later, my doorbell rang, shooting my heart into my throat. I hurried to the door and peeked through the peephole to see which of my warring suitors was waiting for me. To my shock, they were both there. I took a breath, smoothed my hair, and pulled the door open.

“Come on in,” I said, disguising my nerves with excessive warmth.

“We decided to do this together this time,” Joel said, almost apologetically.

He sported a deep purple black eye which I almost wanted to fuss over, but I doubted it would have done anything good for anybody’s ego. I showed them to the couch, and took the armchair across from them, notebook and pad in hand. I opened my mouth to speak, but Dante began first.

“I owe you an apology,” he said stiffly.

“I would say so,” I answered before I could stop myself.

“I wasn’t planning to tell you about the contest,” he said, shifting uncomfortably away from Joel as if trying to shut his existence out of his mind.

“Then why did you?”

He opened his mouth, then closed it again, looking away.

“Should I give you guys a minute?” Joel asked me.

I shrugged. Dante shook his head.

“I don’t know,” he said finally.

I didn’t believe him, but I decided to let him dodge for the moment.

“What was the fight about yesterday?” I asked.

“You,” Joel said honestly. “Dante accused me of using you, and I pointed out that he did the same thing, and—”

“You saw the rest, I assume,” Dante interrupted.

“Yeah, so about that…what the hell, guys? Dante, you’re a grown-ass man, and you’re playing these stupid college games. Joel, you have your whole career ahead of you, and you’re risking it to dogfight with a legend. Why?”

My frustration with the situation broke through the whole tangled mess, lending me a moment of much-needed clarity.

“Exactly,” Joel said, leaning forward earnestly. “That’s why I’m doing this. If I’m going to make it in the league, I need a reputation that doesn’t revolve around stained shirts and calls home to my mother. If I go head-to-head with Dante and win, people will stop screwing with me.”

“Screwing with you?” Dante asked, crinkling his forehead in confusion. “You were handed your place on the team. If the coach and the manager weren’t best buds with your old man, you never would have made it.”

I raised my eyebrows. I hadn’t heard this angle before, and I was intrigued. Joel sputtered for a moment, turning red.

“I wouldn’t have made it if I wasn’t good,” he said through his teeth, glaring at the floor. “My old man prepped me for this from when I was two. Okay? Just because he has connections, doesn’t mean I’m not good enough. It means I’m good enough and lucky.”

“Luck,” Dante said bitterly. “You think luck is going to earn you a career?”

“No!” Joel shouted, jumping to his feet. “I think practice, hard work and a team that doesn’t hate me is going to earn me a career. But I can’t practice, can I? Not with you guys, anyway. You’ve made it damn near impossible to exist in the same room as you. What are you scared of, Dante? You’ve had your shot! Ten years of it! How much spotlight do you need?”

Fury crossed Dante’s face and he tensed to move. I stood up and snapped my fingers.

“Not in my apartment. Joel, sit down. Dante, relax.”

They did as I said, to my astonishment, but continued to eye each other from either end of the couch.

“Joel has a point,” I told Dante. “How is he supposed to learn anything if you keep trying to get him to quit?”

“I’m not trying to get him to quit,” Dante objected. “I’m trying to make him earn it.”

“And you think after a year on the team, he still hasn’t earned it?” I asked, raising a dubious brow.

“No, I don’t,” he insisted.

“I think you just don’t want to admit that he has,” I said, crossing my arms. “I think you’re dying to see him fail.”

Dante scoffed. “Why would I want that?”

“Because if he fails, it means you won’t be outshined when you finally take that retirement they’ve been pushing at you for the last year.”

I had done a bit of research since our last interview, and it seemed to have paid off; Dante looked away, the challenge in his eyes fading to something more introspective.

“So, what are the stakes right now? That fight yesterday couldn’t have gone over well.”

“It’s bad,” Joel said with a wince. “We’re both on notice. If I don’t show up to practice every time, I’m gone. If Dante screws with me, he’s gone. Any more fighting and we’re both gone.”

“It’s essentially over,” Dante said, shrugging a shoulder.

“You think fighting is inevitable?” I asked, raising a brow.

“Inevitable is a strong word,” Dante said, meeting my eyes evenly. “Difficult to avoid is better.”

“Why?” I asked.

Dante and Joel exchanged a look, the first one which held no animosity. I waited patiently, my entire body tingling the way it does just before I find the break in a story.

“He thinks I should have asked you out and treated you like a princess,” Joel said, cocking his head at Dante. “Instead of just messing around thirteen times.”

“I’m pretty sure it wasn’t thirteen,” I said with a laugh.

“And he seems to think that you aren’t worth the effort,” Dante answered with a smoldering glare.

“It’s not that, it’s—” Joel began defensively, but I held up a hand.

“Dante, why do you think I should be treated that way by Joel, specifically?” I asked.

He shrugged, his ears taking on a red tint. “Because you deserve it,” he said.

“But why Joel? The way I see it, there are two of you who could afford to slip the Prince Charming boots on.”

I gazed pointedly at him, and he squirmed.

“You don’t want me,” he said with an uncomfortable laugh. “You’re right; they’re pushing my retirement. Junior’s got the better part of a decade to wine and dine you in style. Me, I’m…” He shrugged, trailing off.

Joel’s eyes were bulging at this hint of vulnerability in the all-powerful legend. My heart was softening as all the pieces fell into place.

Dante was the man I’d met that first night, just wrapped in insecurity and facing an unpredictable future. Even his attitude toward Joel began to make sense. He was desperately thrashing against the inevitable, sucked down by the feeling that he was no longer good enough. At least, that’s how I would have written it, had I been doing a personality exposé on the formidable Dante Drake.

“Well, now,” I said thoughtfully. “You just went and gave me an idea, Mr. Drake.”

I crossed to the coffee table and sat down on it between them.

“You two need to learn how to work together. You, Joel, could benefit from taking some lessons from the master. And Drake…you need to see Joel as something other than your replacement. As his own person, someone you can mentor. You two need to…bond.”

I put one hand Dante’s knee, and my other on Joel’s.

“And I think I know how to do it.”