Going for Two

by Laura Chapman

  I shake my head and fight off their ministrations even as I allow them to guide me to a seat at the kitchen table. “I can’t do this.”

  “Sure you can.” Mrs. MacLaughlin pats my shoulder, careful not to jostle my burnt hand. “We’re all in this together.”

  “No, I . . .” I break off in another sob. Both moms wait for me to say something, but I can’t seem to find the right words. How can I make them understand how out of control I feel without worrying them? If I say I’m having a tough time adjusting to life as the head coach’s significant other, they’ll worry about Brook and me. (They’ve both dropped plenty of hints about weddings and marriage, and they’ve only been here an hour.) And if I tell them about work, they’ll just plain worry. Besides, it would be wrong to tell them when I still haven’t confided in Brook.

  Needing to say something, I finally tell them I’m stressed about the craft fair and a project at work. I also lie and say I’m having issues with my fantasy football team, because giving three excuses for my flood of tears seems necessary.

  Mom nods, and Mrs. MacLaughlin gently cups the side of my cheek while she hands me a napkin to mop up my tears. “Like I said, we’re all in this together.”

  “Except for your fantasy team,” Mom interjects. “We don’t want to be held responsible if our advice leads your team astray.”

  “You’ll have to beat our boys, and the rest of those guys, on your own.”

  “But you can do it.”

  I give a shaky laugh. The weight eases off my chest, and I can breathe. I feel better.

  SOMETHING IS WRONG. A minute ago, Amelia barely acknowledged my announcement that I’d finished making the West Warriors scarves she’d wanted ready for the craft fair. She didn’t even bat an eye when I told her I’d gone ahead and made an extra dozen to pump up our inventory. Instead, she’d stared listlessly out the dining room window at the geese hanging out by the pond. Like Amelia’s attention span, they must be heading south for the winter.

  One of the geese starts honking. Amelia’s eye twitches.

  Letting out a sigh, I push the laptop aside and fold my hands on the table. There’s no point in talking business if Amelia isn’t going to participate or even hear what I’m saying. We’ll have to cover this later when she’s more engaged.

  Our parents left for their respective homes over an hour ago, and she’s been distracted ever since.

  The chrome clock ticks by each passing second without another word from either of us. It’s about all I can do not to pound my fist on the table and demand she explains what’s going on. The question is on the tip of my tongue, but after a year, I understand better than to expect answers unless she’s willing to give them. If I wait patiently, she’ll tell me.

  Any minute now. She’ll speak up, or Brook will come home from his meeting, or one of the guys will call with a last-minute trade before tomorrow’s games, and the silence will come to an end. Any minute.

  The clock strikes the half hour, and Blitz jumps out from behind the trashcan and pounces on Amelia’s toe. It’s enough to break her out of the trance.

  “Wade is cheating on me,” she announces.

  My stomach drops. I’m barely able to choke out, “What?”

  “He’s lying to me and sneaking around. If he’s not cheating, then what is he doing?” Her voice cracks as she chokes on a sob. “I can’t believe it. I figured I was safe falling for him, but I was wrong. Totally wrong. He seemed like a good one.”

  “Wait a minute.” I recover my bearings and take her cold, clammy hands in mine. “There’s no way Wade is cheating on you. He might be a little distant, but I’m sure it’s something else.”

  Like he’s going to propose to you in a couple of weeks.

  Her brow wrinkles. “How do you—”

  “Trust me on this one.” I squeeze her hands. I want to give her the assurance she needs, but I can’t tell her the one thing that will rid her of any doubt. Not without spoiling the beautiful, wonderful surprise that awaits her if she can hold on a while longer. Just until her engagement ring arrives at the store.

  “But he’s being so cagey.” Amelia withdraws her hands to wipe away a few tears streaming down her cheeks. “He’s being weird. And he’s suddenly been busy.”

  “Your brother has been the same lately,” I point out. “Are you going to tell me I should worry, too?”

  She blinks, and her expression undergoes a total transformation. “Don’t be stupid,” she says icily. “My brother loves you, and he’s a good man. He’d never cheat.”

  “No need for name-calling,” I say gently. “Not when I was making a point.”

  “I—”

  “And you’re right. Your brother does love me, and he is a good guy.” I fold my arms. “Just like Wade. Only he loves you. Not me.”

  She lets out a little chuckle, before seeming to remember the previous direction of her thought. “You understand why Brook is busy and preoccupied, right?”

  “I do.”

  “He’s crazy busy with work.”

  “Trust me, I know. And I’m cutting him some slack.” Or at least trying, which is about the best I can offer at the moment. “Can’t you do the same for Wade? Unless he gives you a legitimate reason not to trust him?”

  “But—”

  “Aside from his being a little distracted and . . . ambiguous, has he given you any reason to suspect there’s someone else?”

  She shakes her head.

  “Then relax. Be patient.” I pat her shoulder and rise to remove brownies from the oven. With as many watch parties as we’ve been having lately, I’m basically in a constant state of preparing to bake, baking, or cleaning up after baking. “Believe in Wade and believe everything will be fine. You won’t be disappointed.”

  Because she won’t be soon enough.

  Amelia releases a heavy sigh and mumbles an okay as she slouches down in her seat. You’d think I asked her to be a surrogate or carry out a bank robbery on my behalf.

  She certainly has a much more well-defined sense of drama about her than Brook. Hopefully she took all of those genes. Otherwise, I worry about our future children. They’ll already inherit more than enough melodrama from me. Imagining a future full of feet stomping, slamming doors, and pouting doesn’t sound appealing to me. Not one bit.

  But that’s something to worry about on another day. For now, let’s hope Amelia and Wade can survive the next couple of weeks without any major meltdowns or snafus.

  Week Seven Recap: North’s Lady Isn’t Messing Around

  North’s Lady must be in heaven after scoring a seventh consecutive victory. Based on her level of repeat success, one would think managing a fantasy football league was easy. In actuality, she’s set some rather impressive lineups, and she seldom leaves a top performer on the bench.

  Maybe she has an in with NFL coaching staffs, or access to a crystal ball.

  How else would she have known to start Michael Luck and Shawn Woodson?

  Perhaps one doesn’t require magic to predict their results, but it did take constant attention to the changing cogs in this machine.

  North’s Lady will have her most challenging opponent to date—on paper at least—next week. We’ll have to see if undefeated is possible for this team that has been stellar to date.

  Record: 7-0

  Chapter Fourteen

  AFTER EVERYTHING I’VE been through coordinating this craft fair, we’d better raise a ton of money for the football program. Though he’s promised countless times to make it up to me, I doubt there are enough flowers or baked goods in Nebraska to ever make up for the ulcer I’ve undoubtedly developed working alongside the booster mothers to pull off this event.

  At least I’ve learned a valuable lesson through this ordeal: If I have children, I’m never going to be a booster mom. Or a PTA mom. Or a scout troop leader. None of those things. I don’t have the patience, and I’d probably wind up beating someone with my old, but still reliable, Michael Kors bag. Instead, I’
ll give back to society some other way. I’m not sure how, but we’ll figure it out.

  I’m concerned I may have to resort to designer bag bludgeoning based on my business partner’s lack of involvement. Not only did she arrive fifteen minutes late—and no attempt to make an excuse—but she’s been sitting at our booth nearly catatonic. It’s even worse than last week. When I asked what was wrong, she just shook her head. Hoping to jar her out of this state, I buy us coffee, bottled water, danish, and some Skittles. One of those things has to work.

  I’ve barely paid for our food when Amelia comes striding across the room, irritation plainly written on her face. Oh man. What’s wrong now?

  “Is everything—”

  She interrupts me by thrusting my cell phone into my hand. “Wade called,” she announces, her tone every bit as icy as her expression. “Three times. Then he sent four texts.”

  My heart skips a beat. Oh no. What is wrong with him? Doesn’t he realize I’m spending the day with his soon-to-be fiancée and that her suspicions may be piqued if he keeps trying to get in touch with me? I’m going to tell him he needs to work on playing this a little cooler if he doesn’t want to blow the whole thing. I’ll call him, as soon as I put out this fire.

  “I hope everything is okay,” I say, trying to sound confused.

  “I wouldn’t know.” She folds her arms. “He wouldn’t answer when I tried calling him from my phone.”

  “That’s—”

  “And you have your text messages hidden from the home screen and your phone locked, so I couldn’t read what he sent you.”

  My eyes narrow. “You tried to read my texts?”

  “Sent to you by my boyfriend.” She sucks in a deep breath. “Would you do me a favor?”

  “What?”

  “Just tell me.”

  “Tell you what?”

  “What’s going on between you and Wade?”

  My stomach drops. Is she accusing me of what I think she’s accusing? “I don’t—”

  “Stop.” She throws up her hands, her voice shakes. “Don’t act like you don’t understand what I’m saying. I can’t even . . . I can’t say . . . You’re too smart to play dumb.”

  She’s right. Ignorance won’t help this situation. Not now, when she has so much confusion, such anger, where we’re concerned. There’s an easy explanation for all of this, but it’s not one I can give. Not yet. In a few days this will make sense. Right now, there’s nothing I can do or say to ease her frustration.

  I cast a nervous glance around and note we’re drawing a bit of attention from everyone else in the gymnasium. Including Brook, who’s watching me closely from his spot in the line for concessions. Based on his expression, he’s already guessed what’s happening. I give a slight shake of my head to keep him at bay.

  It would give way too much away, or maybe make things worse, if Brook gets involved now. I can’t have Amelia believing everyone is conspiring against her.

  Lowering my voice, I lean forward. “Can we do this somewhere else?”

  Panic flashes in her eyes, and she nods, giving me a small shove before she walks around me and heads for the exit. Catching the contact from his sister, Brook moves to come toward us, but I wave him back. Painfully aware that we still have an audience, I keep a carefree smile on my face and slowly follow Amelia outside.

  My eyes haven’t even adjusted to the change in light when she rounds on me. “Spill.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Why have you guys been acting so weird lately? All those texts and phone calls.” She swallows hard. “Wade brushed it off when I brought it up with him, and you did last week. But today, I hope you’ll take me more seriously. I’m not crazy.”

  “No, you’re not,” I agree. “But there’s nothing—”

  “Please, don’t lie to me,” she interrupts shakily. A tear slips down her cheek and my stomach twists. “I don’t want to believe . . . I can’t believe either of you would do something, but—” Her voice breaks into a sob. “Why won’t you tell me what is going on if it’s nothing? Don’t I, doesn’t Brook, have a right?”

  I bury my face in my hands. I’m still not quite able to figure out what to say or do without giving everything away. What mess. A horrible, totally misconstrued mess. And all because Wade wants to make Amelia the happiest woman in the world.

  My hands fall to my side, and I let out a sigh of resignation. “I can’t tell you exactly what’s going on.”

  “But—”

  “But,” I interrupt, keeping my tone as calm and clear as possible, “I need you to remember that Wade and I love you. So much. Neither of us would do anything to hurt you. Or Brook.” My voice quivers when I say his name.

  A pang ticks in my heart even imagining how much that would hurt them if Wade and I were embroiled in some illicit affair. It would be like sleeping with either of my brothers. Totally unsettling. At the same time, I can’t quite shake off the guilt weighing on my shoulders. It’s those damn Todd Northwood sex dreams. I had yet another one about Todd last night. This time, I’d woken up after he gave me the quarterback sneak. I spent the rest of the night on the couch because I’d felt so guilty.

  When Brook found me there this morning, I pretended I’d gotten up to do some last-minute prep-work for the fair and fallen asleep. He’d offered me a back rub, and rather than admit the truth, I let him massage my shoulders.

  On instinct, I grab Amelia’s hand and squeeze. “I promise, I swear, as your sister. You’ll find out what’s going on. Just as soon as we can tell you.”

  I hold my breath waiting for her to show any reaction. At last, she draws a shaky breath. “You swear it’s nothing bad?”

  “I swear. On Todd Northwood’s throwing arm.”

  Her lip quivers. “Okay,” she says at last. “I believe you.”

  I release my breath. Good. I’m glad that worked, because I have no clue what else I can do or say—aside from spoiling the surprise with the truth—to make her realize I would never do something like that to her or Brook. And poor Wade. If she confronted him like this, no wonder he’s been blowing up my cell phone. I hope he doesn’t get cold feet.

  I DON’T SAY ANYTHING to Brook when I get home from the fair hours later. I walk straight past him and into the bathroom. Closing the door behind me, I turn on the water and pour a healthy dose of bubbles into the tub. Hands shaking, I pull off my clothing and stare at my reflection in the mirror.

  It kills me that Amelia thinks Wade and I could be cheaters. At least Amelia had confronted Wade first. It means she doesn’t think I’m some succubus out to seduce the menfolk while their unsuspecting girlfriends muddle about at home worrying day and night. Instead, I’m an accessory to his alleged crime. Is that any better?

  Pushing away from the counter, I turn off the water and carefully fold my clothing and pile it on the counter. I dip my toe in to test the water, then slip the rest of the way into the tub. Enjoying the sensation of warm water and fizzing bubbles, I submerge my entire body under the water for a moment, closing my eyes so the bath salts and bubbles won’t burn them.

  What a mess. But it’s one that will hopefully be resolved soon. Assuming Amelia says yes. Of course she’ll say yes. Even after this drama, there’s no doubt in my mind that Amelia loves Wade and wants to build a life with him. We’ll probably laugh about all of this later. Probably.

  Brook leaves me alone for a good half hour to contemplate the odds of whether or not Amelia will understand my role in this innocent subterfuge or demand I give up my share of our business. Which would be a little dramatic and over-the-top, if I’m being completely honest. Maybe she should be the one to give up her share for assuming the worst of me. No. Stop. This is crazy. Amelia and I are both much too smart to be jumping to any conclusions. Everything will be fine. I’m just overly sensitive right now, what with everything going on with Brook and the team and the concerns at the dealership. It’s a lot, but I need to get over myself and deal with it. There are pe
ople who face worse every day and are happier.

  I have plenty of blessings to count. I’m now the co-parent to the world’s sweetest cat (who is perched on the toilet watching me have this mini existential crisis). I have a loving family, including two brothers, who are also my friends. I have friends. I have a job (for now) and a growing online business. I have a fantasy football team that will undoubtedly take me back to the playoffs (only this time I’m going to win). I have so much good in my life.

  Why aren’t I happier?

  Brook lightly taps on the door. “Babe?”

  There’s that, too. I have a wonderful boyfriend who loves me, and I love him more than anything. But . . . I need this football season to be over. I want to get back to our off-season routine where here’s around more and we’re less stressed. But then there will always be next season, and the season after, and the season after. Can I handle all of that? Realizing I’ve taken too long to answer, I sit up and reach for a towel. “Yes?”

  “I ordered a pizza.”

  I pause and wait for him to elaborate, but he does not. “Okay . . .”

  “It’s here.”

  Oh. I drop the towel and sag back into the water. The pizza will still be good later. “Thanks. I’ll be out in a bit.” Which means I’ll be out whenever I feel like it.

  “Babe?”

  Releasing a sigh, I pull myself back up. “Yes?”

  “They’re about to start the Sunday NFL preview. The promo teaser specifically mentioned Todd Northwood. You told me to—”

  “I’ll be right out.” I reach for the towel again and stand, splashing a little water on Blitz in the process. Letting out a whine, he pops up to his feet and runs for the door, shooting a quick glare over his shoulder in the process. “Sorry, buddy.”

  I wrap the robe around my body and open the door. Blitz darts out before it’s open completely. I start when I glance up to find Brook sitting on the edge of our bed, staring at me, waiting for me. What a creeper.