“Wait.” I set my travel mug down on his desk, forgetting to use a coaster in my haste. “Are you saying the Donaldsons aren’t getting divorced?”
“Apparently not.” Anderson throws his hands in the air. “I guess he found out she was sleeping with one of her lawyers—the younger one, can you believe it?—and he went into a jealous rage.” Anderson shrugs. “He threatened to give her nothing, and she threatened to remove one of his body parts, and then one thing leads to another . . . They’re both saying they need to work harder at their relationship. They need to add spice or some nonsense. Next thing you know . . . they’re calling their legal teams from a five-star hotel in Paris to say the divorce is off, and they’re renewing their vows.”
“I need to sit down.” I sink into the chair a second before my knees go completely weak. After everything we’ve been through the past couple of months, after all the worry, suddenly it’s all good and fine. It seems so anticlimactic.
And who knows how long the peace will last?
Anderson seems to read my thoughts. “We can’t guarantee they won’t put us through this again in a few months—or years.” He collapses into the chair opposite me. “But for the moment, I, for one, am thrilled to be handing out bonuses instead of pink slips this Christmas.”
“What are we going to tell everyone?”
“That there’s no need to worry.” Anderson adjusts the tie dangling loosely around his neck. “We’ll tell them we have our jobs, and we’re back to business as usual.”
For now. We both understand this, but Anderson is right. It’s better to focus on the positives for the moment. At least we’ll end the year with the jobs we started. And at least now we’ll have a better understanding of how much our jobs are connected to the whims of a powerful and tumultuous duo.
I’M EAGER TO SHARE my news with Brook when I get home. I still feel somewhat deflated about the whole thing—I was really working myself up to defend the dealership if called. But Brook will be relieved to know Mrs. Donaldson won’t try to woo me back to Albany to manage a high-end boutique for her. (She’d called and pitched that same idea a few weeks ago.)
Regardless of my mixed emotions about work, it’s still a thrill to arrive at home and find Brook’s car already in the lot. I race up the stairs as quickly as I can in my three-inch heels. Blitz is already at the door before I call out a greeting. Brook follows soon, a towel slung around his neck and his hair damp from a recent shower. He must have done his workout after school today. I lean up to give him a quick kiss. He wraps me into his arms and holds me close.
“How was your day?” I ask.
“Hmm?” He blinks and stares at me like I’ve asked him to solve for x.
“Your day. How was it?”
“Fine.”
I wait for him to ask about mine, but he doesn’t. I’ll just share my news during dinner. “What should we eat?”
“Huh?”
I shake my head. “What. Kind. Of. Food. Should. We. Eat. For. Dinner?”
“Oh.” He gives me a squeeze and a half grin. “Do we have any of that casserole left in the freezer?”
“Sure.” I was ready to suggest we make pizza before the game, but after today, I wouldn’t mind going an easier route. “Want me to heat it up?”
“No, I’ve got it. You go ahead and change and relax. You had a longer day than I did.” He heads toward the kitchen, leaving me to gape. “I sent you a couple of articles about North and the Pope. I’d be interested to hear your take.”
Okay . . . What is going on with my boyfriend—or rather fiancé? (That word!) For someone who won a state football championship and (not to brag) had an amazing woman agree to marry him—all only a week ago—he doesn’t seem too happy. He’s . . . distracted and distant. I’ll have to dig deeper during dinner and find out what’s going on.
He doesn’t keep me waiting long.
“Coach Paxton came in today,” Brook casually mentions as he loads a pile of casserole on his plate.
“Oh!” I set aside the salad tongs to give him my full attention. “How’s he?”
“Good. Really good. He watched the game from a skybox last week and had a lot of nice things to say.”
“That’s awesome.”
“Yeah.” Brook clears his throat. “The treatments have gone well. The doctors expect him to make a full recovery. And he’s ready to come back to work.”
“Oh, thank God.” I grab Brook’s hand, nearly sending the serving spoon flying in the process. “That’s amazing.”
“Yeah. It’s great.” Still, something about Brook’s tone suggests everything isn’t as awesome as the news would suggest.
Then the full meaning of Paxton’s return hits me. “You’ll have to step back into your assistant role.”
“I always knew I would,” Brook says hurriedly. He shrugs. “I guess I forgot.”
I start to offer him words of comfort but stop. What can I say? On one hand, Brook’s mentor is kicking cancer’s ass and he’s ready to resume his life. On the other, Brook has been living his dream for the past few months. Even if the circumstances leading to that were less than idyllic, he took a bad situation and made it great. And now he has to give that up.
When I can’t come up with anything genius to say, I settle on covering his hand with mine. “Hey.” His gaze meets mine. “You’ve shown the state of Nebraska you can take a team in crisis and lead them to a state football championship. Who knows what opportunities are waiting for you? Those teams wanted to talk to you before you won State; I bet they’d love to hire you now that you’re a champion.” A thought occurs to me. “Maybe the Packers will offer you a job on their staff. We’d have season tickets.”
“You never know.”
“That’s the spirit!”
“Maybe it won’t be such a bad thing.” He turns his hand so our palms touch. He laces his fingers through mine. “This football season was a great experience, but if I’m back in my old role, I’ll be around more. It wouldn’t put such a big strain on us. I might even be able to help you with wedding plans.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You want to help with wedding planning?”
“Maybe.” He lifts a shoulder. “Why not?”
“Try not to sound so excited when you talk about our wedding.”
Brook laughs at last and returns to eating his reheated casserole. I feign interest in my own meal.
Something about Brook’s resignation toward stepping back into his old role doesn’t feel right. Maybe it’s the way he casually brought up the discord between us at times during the season. Maybe it’s the way he lacked any enthusiasm when I brought up the other job offers he wouldn’t consider last month. Or maybe it’s how defeated he looks, when he’s proven himself a winner.
I don’t like it, and something has to change.
Week Thirteen Recap: North’s Lady Finishes the Regular Season Number One
That was easy. At least, North’s Lady made finishing number one overall and landing an automatic spot in the playoffs look easy. This team left a path of broken hearts in its wake all season, and that effort will pay off next week when North’s Lady can kick back and relax while four other teams fight to keep their championship dreams alive.
Not that it matters. They’ll likely only suffer a humiliating loss at North’s Lady’s hands when they go up against her in a matchup.
Let’s take a quick look back at how North’s Lady has managed to get where she has today. For starters, she took names (particularly the top players in various positions) and showed no mercy in the draft. She resisted the urge to take flashy trade offers and ended up with a solid roster at every position. To boot, she clearly did her research week after week and chose the best player from her roster for each position.
What more can you ask for from a fantasy football team owner?
I suppose we should applaud politely for everyone else in the Mega Ballerz for giving this year their best offer, but it’s hardly worth it. They never had a chance g
oing up against the force that was the almighty North’s Lady. Future generations of league members will undoubtedly whisper about her greatness for years to come.
Record: 12-1
Chapter Twenty-Three
BROOK’S NEW, STRANGE attitude doesn’t change. In the days following the announcement that Coach Paxton will be back at school planning for the next season, Brook is like a senior during his last week of class. (While he knows he needs to do well on his finals, he mostly wants to get done and party.)
Only in Mr. Responsible’s version of senioritis, he’s still showing up to all of his classes and meetings instead of ditching for a day of drinking beer by the lake. And instead of throwing a raging kegger while his parents are out of town, the past few nights he’s taken to waking me up for more little moments of spontaneity.
I may have created a monster on that front.
The first night he wanted fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies while we discussed potential wedding dates. On another night, we made a frozen pizza and did a couple of tequila shots while we brainstormed honeymoon locations. Last night, he wanted to make milkshakes and talk about how many kids we should have and what parenting styles we’d like to try out.
If this behavior keeps up, we’ll have our whole future mapped out by Christmas, and I won’t fit into any of my clothing—or my new (old) wedding dress. But I love Brook, eccentricities and all, so I’ll rally.
Which is why at nearly two o’clock in the morning, I’m slouched over our breakfast bar because he had a dream about a new dish he had to try, and he wanted me to be the first to sample it. I suppose that’s chivalrous, but I’m too tired to appreciate the gesture.
“This will blow your mind,” he assures me, flipping something in the pan. My eyes aren’t open enough to tell what exactly he’s cooking, but I’ll admit it smells delicious.
Cracking my eyes open a little wider, I watch my future husband at work. With his hair going a million directions and his Movember beard in full force, he looks a little ridiculous standing at the stove. I’m glad November is almost over. While I appreciate the tradition behind the beard, I wouldn’t mind being able to look at his face again.
Even if there are dark circles under his eyes. They’re leftover from the stress of the season, I imagine. But there’s something else there now, and that’s what scares me. Despite his cheerful disposition and almost manic attempt to seem carefree, he isn’t happy, which is sad, because a week ago he had so much to be happy about.
I know he’s thrilled Coach Paxton is doing well, and he doesn’t begrudge the man his job. But despite the fact that being head coach of the Warriors was only supposed to be temporary, it became part of Brook’s identity.
“Here.” Brook tosses his creation on a plate and slices it in half before pushing it across the counter toward me. “You try the first bite.”
I glance at the plate dubiously. I’m not even hungry. I pick up the half of a sandwich—at least, I think that’s what it is—and take a bite. My eyes widen.
“Oh my God.” I take another bite then meet Brook’s gaze. “Is this . . .”
“It’s a peanut butter and jelly sandwich on that fancy bread you’ve been buying. And I dipped it in an egg batter and fried it.”
“So it’s a peanut butter and jelly sandwich made French toast style?”
He nods.
“Will you marry me?”
“Sorry.” His eyes crinkle around the edges. “I’m already engaged.”
“Lucky bitch,” I mumble and take another bite.
Laughing, Brook picks up the other half of the sandwich made in heaven and takes a big bite. He freezes a second then goes in for another one. “Yeah, okay. Even I want to marry me.”
“Brook MacLaughlin.” I watch him finish his half of the sandwich now that mine is gone. I wish there was a polite way to ask him to give me his part, too. “Nebraska’s two-time high school football coach of the year . . . fiancé extraordinaire . . . inventive in the kitchen and bedroom . . . and such a humble man . . .”
“And don’t you forget,” he mumbles through a mouth full of gooey peanut butter. “Should we market this as a breakfast food or dinner?”
“It is what it is, babe.”
He raises his eyebrows. “Which is?”
“Something you make in the middle of the night to fulfill a craving. And probably when you’re drunk,” I add as an afterthought.
“You’re definitely the one with a head for marketing.”
I don’t know why, but this seems like the moment to tell him about everything at work. I clear my throat. “I have something to tell you. I meant to tell you a few days ago, but . . .”
Brook swallows his last bite hard. “Are you pregnant?”
“What?” I shake my head and take a second to wrap my head around that idea. “No.”
“Okay.”
“Why would you even—”
“Because you just wolfed down this monstrosity of a sandwich in five seconds.”
“A sandwich you made because you were dreaming about it.”
“Fair enough. What’s your news?”
“I mean, it’s not a big deal.” I shrug. “Not like winning a state football title or any of the major accolades that keep piling up on your desk.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Come on now.”
“Well . . .”
“Yes . . .”
I fill him in on everything that happened with the Donaldsons.
“That’s great,” he says. Then he frowns. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
I blink, a little surprised by the hurt in his voice.
“I was going to, but . . .” I shrug again. “I found out on Monday, and it didn’t seem like the right time.”
Brook takes a second to remember what happened Monday and winces. “I appreciate the sentiment, but, babe—my job isn’t the only one that matters.”
“I know.”
“Do you?” He takes my hand and squeezes it. “I know I haven’t been the most helpful or supportive person the past few months. Honestly, I don’t know how I would have gotten through all of this without your help. I realize I put a lot on you this season. Even when you were under more than your share of pressure at work. I added to that by volunteering you for chaperoning and volunteering and baking. But . . . that needs to change.”
“You’ve never—”
“We both know I could do better with work-life balance.”
That’s true. Particularly earlier in the season. But that changed after our blowout mid-season. Despite everything he had to do, Brook made more of an effort to be supportive and nurturing. But I didn’t always make that easy for him. I’ve been keeping part of myself from him. I’ve been holding back. He’s right. That has to change.
“And this isn’t the first thing you’ve kept from me.” I stare at him blankly. He shakes his head, muttering something I can’t hear. “We talked about this—no more secrets.”
“Okay. No more secrets.” I remove my hand from his grasp and slip my arms over his shoulder. “Now, can I tell you about my idea for a variation on the peanut butter and jelly French toast?”
“Let’s hear it.”
I STARE AT THE RED stoplight, tapping my fingers on the steering wheel, willing it to turn green. It’s not like I have anywhere to go. I just want to be home. Work has been different ever since Anderson told me the Donaldson divorce was off and the dealership was safe.
It’s not that I’m disappointed everything worked out well for the dealership. Quite the opposite. I’m thrilled I won’t be forced into job hunting. I’ll be able to make my rent payments each month on time, and I won’t have to worry about bargain shopping for Christmas presents—which I should really get out and buy one of these days. And I’m truly happy for all of my co-workers. Most of them have been at the dealership for years. It’s like their home. They get to stay where they belong and where the want to be. So, I’m glad the Donaldsons are back together. I really am.
>
But it was kind of exciting, or at least entertaining, to be scrambling around trying to build a case for why our location mattered. It was nice to feel like my work mattered.
The light changes. I only wish traffic wasn’t so slow. The urge to gun it, to head to maximum speed is nearly irresistible. Which is weird. You’d think with my fantasy football obsession—not to mention my foray into the world of WWE—I would have all the entertainment I need. Could NASCAR be in my future? I hope not. I don’t want to have to learn the rules and regulations of yet another sport.
Maybe I’m bothered by how fickle the Donaldsons seem to be about marriage. I understand that people change, but after decades together, I’d like to think a couple would have gotten over playing games or taking their marriage for granted. I know better than that. While my parents have enjoyed a long and happy marriage, I’ve seen enough of my friends—and people on TV shows—have other experiences. Marriage takes commitment and effort. But it shouldn’t be treated like a game that someone wins and the other loses.
Or, maybe I’m bored.
I need to keep reminding myself my life is basically perfect. Because it is. Even if I never go somewhere new, even if I never have to start over again, my life is wonderful. Because I have something I’ve never had before. I have someone I have a future with. Besides, what’s being a little bored and restless compared to the real problems other people face? My friends and family are safe and healthy. I have no reason to complain.
I round the corner into the apartment complex. Brook is home. Seeing his SUV parked in his usual spot suddenly improves my mood tenfold.
Maybe we should try going on a little vacation. I have plenty of time saved up, and he goes on winter break soon. It would be short notice, but we both could use a change of scenery. Plus, in a couple of weeks, I’ll be quite a bit richer when I win the fantasy football championship and the cash prize.
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