by ME Carter
I’m determined to make this relationship work, but it was a lot easier when we were getting to know each other in our own private off-season bubble, and her past wasn’t being flaunted in front of me.
After what Daniel told me tonight, I know things are only going to get worse with Shivel over the next few weeks. He knows Tiffany is my weak spot, and I’m not sure how low he’ll stoop to throw me off my game. Keeping my cool until he’s gone is going to be hard.
I wind my way around the stadium, reading the signs as I go. I’m used to sitting in Section 100, and I’ve never been to this area before, even after four seasons of games.
It takes me a few minutes to find it, but finally I’m pushing through the door of the box reserved for the WAGs.
When Rowen suggested sitting here, I had to really think about it. I like being close to the field, but since we’re in the middle of the last cold snap of the year, I decided it was a good time to check it out.
There are a dozen or so people standing around, chatting. Most of them I don’t recognize, but I assume they are family members. Especially the kids.
What looks like a fully stocked bar is to my right, the bartender busy wiping down the counter. Against the wall a long buffet table is set up, waiting for food to be brought in. It’s an evening game, and I assume dinner will be provided later.
As the door clicks shut behind me, several people look up. They make me uncomfortable, but I try not to let it show. I look around for a friendly face.
“What are you doing here?” a bleached blonde asks. She crosses her arms and pops out her hip, obviously not wanting me in the room.
“Um… I was invited.” I immediately put my game face on. She may not remember me, but I remember her. Before she got married, we overlapped at some of the same parties. She was a groupie, too. It didn’t last long; once they got married, her husband stopped bringing her around.
She narrows her eyes. “By whom?”
“My boyfriend. See?” I flash my ticket victoriously before putting it in my back pocket and moving around her.
She moves with me. “Groupies aren’t welcome with the families. Your place is out there.” She points toward the general stadium seating.
I’ve had enough of this. “I’m sorry… who are you?” I ask, annoyed.
“Jessica Funderling. I’m sure you know Nate. My husband.”
She’s pissed because she’s been to the parties, so she knows Nate isn’t a saint. And being a former groupie herself, she knows what women like me do with husbands like hers. Well, what I used to do. I do feel a twinge of guilt about sleeping with her husband, but I absolutely refuse to show weakness to someone who has done the exact same thing I have. I play it off like knowing him is no big deal.
“Well, Jessica, it’s nice to meet you. I’ll be sure to tell my boyfriend, Rowen Flanigan, we met. I’m sure he’ll be thrilled I’m making friends with some of the wives.”
She takes a menacing step toward me and gets in my face. “Listen here, you whore. I know who you are and what you do at the after parties. You think you belong here now that you’ve finally got your claws in one of the guys. But you don’t. You’re trash, and you’re not—”
“Oh, hey!” Quincy grabs my hand, interrupting Jessica’s tirade. “I’m so glad you’re here, Tiffany. I saved you a seat.” She drags me away from Jessica, far enough away not to be overheard. “You okay?” she asks.
“Yeah. Thanks. I expected it to be a little uncomfortable up here, but I didn’t expect to be attacked the second I walked in the door.”
Quincy and I sit on the cushioned seats as the announcers start calling the players in through the tunnel. It’s almost game time.
“Ignore Jessica,” Quincy says with a wave of her hand. “She’s a bitch to everyone. It took weeks for her to warm up to me, and I swear, if Daniel wasn’t the team captain, she’d still be giving me dirty looks.”
I nod and look around. The stadium looks different from this vantage point. Being close to the field keeps you right in the middle of all the excitement, but this isn’t bad. I can see everything happening on the field, and a lot of the noise is blocked so I don’t feel like I’m shouting when I talk. I understand why these are considered the best seats in the house.
“Where’s Geni?” I ask, making conversation. I don’t actually care where she is. She’s never nice to me, and I’m not missing another person giving me dirty looks.
“She was busy with Erik today. He asked her to go shopping with him. He’s looking for a new TV or something and wanted to make sure he wouldn’t buy something too big for his place.” I look at her quizzically. “Don’t ask me. I don’t get it. He’s turned out to be a good guy, but he’s a different bird, that’s for sure.”
“Is it weird that your best friend is dating your son’s father?”
“You would think it would be, right?” She tucks her legs under her. “It’s really not. I think it’s because Chance is biologically my nephew, so I don’t know Erik intimately.” Quincy got custody of her sister’s baby when she was killed in a car accident a little over a year ago. At the time, no one knew who his father was. But when Erik showed up, not only did Chance end up with an extended family, Quincy’s best friend found her man. It’s kind of weird how it all fell together.
“Why isn’t Sasha here?”
“She wanted to come, but she got sick.” I’m secretly glad Sasha didn’t show up. She doesn’t have much of a filter, and with free drinks, I’m afraid of what would have happened if she was in this environment.
The game starts, and Quincy and I pay more attention to the field than anything else. One thing I learn about her is, beyond what it means to score, she has almost no knowledge of soccer. But she’s trying.
I spend a good part of the first half answering her questions and explaining what’s going on. Since it’s my favorite sport, I don’t mind it at all. Plus it’s a distraction from the very loud whispers behind us. If you can actually call them whispers.
“Want some food?” Quincy asks at half time, after the buffet is set up. “They usually have pretty good stuff.”
She isn’t kidding. There are mini-hamburgers, chicken fries, fried pickles, and mini tacos. There’s even cheese dip for those disgusting stadium nachos Sasha likes so much.
We load up our plates and choose drinks, both of us sticking with soda.
“She’s such a slut,” I hear as we walk past a group of women clustered together. They’ve been together from the beginning, and Jessica has been right in the middle. While the digs they were lobbing at me behind my back made me uncomfortable before, I roll my eyes now. Pot calling the kettle black. Even worse, they aren’t paying attention to the game. I doubt they even know what position their men play. What a waste of some really great seats.
“I’m sorry they’re being so bitchy,” Quincy says.
“They’re entitled to their opinion.”
“They’re entitled to it, but no one asked them to share it.”
“Really, Quincy, it doesn’t bother me. As long as they stay away from me, they can talk about me all they want.”
We finish our snacks, get another drink, and return to the game as soon as the second half starts.
The Mutiny is up two to one as we near the end of the game. I’m not sure who is rowdier, the crowd or the cackling women standing behind us. I’ve seen them each get no less than five mixed drinks over the course of the game, so they’re pretty blitzed.
“I’m gonna have Nate talk to the coach,” Jessica says behind me. “I’m not sure when it started being okay to let any piece of trash in here, but they need to put a stop to it.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Quincy flinch, but I pretend I’m so into the game, I don’t hear them.
One of our guys breaks away from the pack with the ball and zips toward the goal. The crowd roars, and I get excited along with them. “Go, Daniel. Go, go, go….”
“Is that what you say to him when you’re fuc
king him at a party, bitch?” I continue to ignore her taunts. “Huh?!” she yells. Daniel cranks a shot and misses, calming the crowd.
But Jessica continues her tirade. “I asked you a question, whore!” she screams, and suddenly she’s in my face. I can smell the liquor on her breath. “Is that what you sound like when you’re fucking my husband behind my back? You didn’t think I knew about it, did you, but he comes home smelling like this hair!”
It happens so fast, I don’t see it coming, but suddenly she has a handful of my hair. I hear a scream but all I can concentrate on is getting her hands out of my hair. She’s pulling so hard, I can feel it coming out by the handful.
People surround us and my head ricochets back when her fist connects with my mouth. I taste the blood on my tongue.
Within seconds, she’s being hauled off me. Her legs are flailing, and she’s screaming for the man to put her down. A chunk of my hair is in one hand.
“Let me go! She’s a fucking whore, and she doesn’t deserve to be here. Let me fucking go!”
Quincy is almost immediately by my side. She puts an arm around me and leads me to the door. “Come on. Joe, take us to the training room. You know where it is?”
“Yes, ma’am,” the bartender says and steps out into the hallway. There’s blood on my hands, and my head feels like it’s been pounded with nails.
We walk about a hundred yards before security joins us and leads us through a maze of hallways. We end up in a brightly lit room, where three or four guys in Mutiny staff uniforms are lounging.
“Holy shit,” one of them says when we come in. They spring into action.
“Is there an office we can use? Someplace more private?” Quincy asks. “The game is almost over, and I don’t want the guys to walk in on this.”
“Yeah, sure.” A short guy with dark hair under a baseball cap leads us to a backroom. Before he closes the door, he fetches a first-aid kit from under the counter and opens it on the desk. “If you don’t find everything you need in here, let us know. And if she needs stitches or anything, we can page the on-call doc.” He inspects the damage on my face. “I don’t think she will though. It just looks like a really nasty busted lip.”
“That’s what I’m thinking,” Quincy says. “I’m gonna get her cleaned up before Rowen sees her. Do you have an extra practice jersey or something she can wear?”
“Yeah, sure. I’ll be right back.”
She hands me a clean rag. “Hold this up to your mouth while I look at your head. Does anywhere hurt besides those two places?”
I shake my head back and forth. After making me sit down in an office chair, she examines me. I wince when she finds the spot where I no doubt have a giant bald spot.
“It’s bleeding a little, but it’ll stop.”
“Is it bad?” I whisper through the cloth.
“Not too bad. There’s definitely a chunk missing, but your hair is long and thick enough, no one will even know it’s there. Just don’t wear your hair in twin braids for a while.”
We hear a quick knock on the door, and the trainer rushes in, handing Quincy the jersey. “All we have is a man’s medium.”
“That’ll work,” Quincy says. “Thanks.” He nods and turns to go, but she stops him. “Would you let Rowen know he’s needed back here when they’re done? Make sure he’s not scheduled for any interviews, though. There’s no reason for the media to catch wind of this, right?”
He nods again. “The clock ran out as you guys came in, so they’re probably on their way to the locker room now. I’ll check with Daniel and make sure Rowen is available.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it.” She tips up my face. “Let me look at it.” She takes the cloth off my mouth and inspects my lip.
“I’ve never been punched in the face before,” I say, trying to make a joke, even though I want to cry. It’s not the pain. I can handle that. It’s the humiliation. And maybe a little bit of guilt.
“Well, you took it like a champ. Do any of your teeth feel loose?” I run my tongue slowly over them, but everything feels normal. I shake my head. “Good. That means you’re going to have a split lip for a few days, and a headache. But other than that, you’ll be fine.”
She dabs at my face, wiping the blood off. It feels really vulnerable being in this position, but Quincy doesn’t look at me any differently than she always does. I appreciate it.
“You know you didn’t deserve this, right?”
I suck in a breath.
“I don’t care what Jessica says did or didn’t happen. That doesn’t make it okay for her to jump you.”
There’s nothing I can say. While I appreciate her sentiment, her opinion is subject to interpretation. Sleeping with someone else’s husband might actually mean I deserve this.
She sighs. “Especially since Jessica is no saint herself lately.” I raise my eyebrows in interest. She laughs. “That’s all I’m going to say about that. Just don’t take her whole judge and jury thing personally. She’s the last one who has room to be mad.”
I open my mouth to tell her I’m fully aware of Jessica’s history, but the door flies open before anything comes out. Rowen stands in the doorway, sweaty and grimy, hair standing on end. “What the hell happened?” he asks, stalking over to me, cleats tapping the floor as he walks. He takes my face in his hands and looks me over.
“It’s worse than it looks,” I say, holding onto his forearms. “It’s a lot of blood for a split lip.”
“And be careful of her head,” Quincy says as Rowen goes to pull me closer. He draws back and looks at me again, noticing the state of my hair for the first time. “She had a good chunk ripped out of the back. It’s not bleeding anymore.”
“Fuuuck,” I hear off to the side and look over to see Daniel watching us. He looks at Quincy and they communicate silently.
“Jessica,” she says.
He sighs and squeezes the bridge of his nose. “Okay.” That’s all he says before walking away.
“Jessica Funderling?” Rowen asks Quincy. She nods and crosses her arms, looking at the floor. He watches me with concern like I’ve never seen before. “Does it hurt bad?”
I shrug. “A little, but not as much as my pride.” I try to smile but it pulls on my lips, making the cut sting. “Ow.”
“Yeah, don’t smile, baby. We need to let that heal for a couple days so it doesn’t keep breaking open.
“I’m gonna go get some ice and give you guys some privacy.” Quincy closes the door behind her as she leaves.
Rowen squats in front of me and takes my hands in his. “How are ye really?”
I look at our clasped hands. Mine are an olive tone and clean. His, fair and dirty from the field. The contrast is striking. “Embarrassed.”
“How come?”
“She knew exactly who I was the minute I walked into that box. She started spouting shit in my direction before the game even started. I wasn’t even talking to her. I was sitting with Quincy, explaining the different plays and stuff. But Jessica kept getting more and more drunk. All of the sudden she’s screaming in my face about….” I stop. I don’t want to tell Rowen what she was screaming about.
Understanding crosses his face. “Ye don’t have to tell me. I get it.”
“I don’t do that anymore, Rowen. I’m committed to you. It’s not like I care what she thinks of me. She’s not someone I care to know anyway, but how long are people going to hold past actions against me? This makes it harder for you.”
“Why would it make it harder for me?”
“They only see what they want to see, and what they see when they look at me is infidelity by their significant other.”
“That’s their problem, isn’t it?” He stands and leans against the desk. “It’s gonna take some time for people to get used to this situation. You and me being together, it’s turning a lot of heads. We expected that, and it’s fine. But this, this is crossing a line.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
&nb
sp; He knows I don’t necessarily agree. “You know what I did with Nate.”
“I do.”
“She deserved to get one good punch in.”
“Don’t do that.” He crosses his arms.
“Don’t do what?”
“Don’t let her opinion cloud yer opinion of yerself.”
“She’s right, though. I slept with her husband. More than once.” He winces. “It was really stupid of me. I shouldn’t have done it. I mean, before they got married, whatever. But afterward….”
“So ye’ve done some stupid things,” he says, interrupting me. “We all have. But those stupid things have helped shape who you are today. And I like who you are today. So don’t start losing all your confidence because one person is holding you responsible for the actions of two people. You weren’t the only one there.”
“I know. And honestly, if I hadn’t seen her do the same things I’ve done, I’d feel way more guilt. I mean, I’d probably let Santos’s wife beat me to a pulp.”
“Tiffany,” he warns gruffly.
I shrug playfully. “Oh, come on. If someone had slept with you while we were together, I’d want to get one good punch in, too. But that’s it. Just one. Anything more, and I’d be a hypocrite.”
“Fine. You can call it even if you want.” He kisses the top of my head. “I need to shower real quick, but then I’m taking you home. I know you’re probably fine, but with a headache, I’d feel more comfortable staying with you tonight. Is that okay?”
“It’s more than okay.”
“I see someone got you a clean shirt. You’ll be fine without me for about fifteen minutes?”
“I’ll stay here until you come and get me. Then we can plan our getaway.”
“Okay. Just relax. If you need anything, Pedro and Cody are outside. They’re really good trainers, so they’ll take care of you.”
I nod again and smile as he kisses me on the forehead. As soon as the door closes, I peel off my bloody shirt, careful not to smear any blood on my face. The clean jersey is white, which I hate, and about three sizes too big, but it’ll be less conspicuous than wearing one covered in body fluids, so I can’t complain.