by Meghan Quinn
“She’s right,” Grams chimes in. “Don’t get so dependent on a man that you lose who you want to be. That’s what I did with your grandfather. And I loved that old coot, but it wasn’t until after he passed that I found who I really was, a closet smoker with a pension to solve every crossword that came my way.”
“You smoke?” Daisy asks, shocked.
“Closet smoker, dearie. Closet smoker.”
“That’s still smoking.”
“Yes, but I won’t necessarily die from the black lung.”
“Something to look forward to.” Daisy rolls her eyes. “I just don’t get it. Will I always be some innocent to him?”
“Maybe that’s what he likes about you,” Amanda suggests.
“Well, I don’t like it about me.” Scanning the room, she sits up, knocking over the bowl of chips next to her. “Amanda, this can’t possibly be what you want for a bachelorette party. Matt is in New Orleans having a great time, and you’re having a slumber party, with an eighty-year-old woman.”
“Hey,” Grams protests.
“Sorry, Grams, but this is pathetic. We should be out drinking, throwing caution to the wind, making poor decisions that will result in great stories later on instead of sulking around a table of junk food with an elderly woman teasing us about pleasure without repercussions.”
I couldn’t agree more. This “bachelorette party” is pathetic. When Amanda came to me about it, I held my tongue for many reasons. One, it’s a sad ladies party and no one wants to know about their sad ladies party. Two, wedding stuff has been very difficult for me, so I didn’t want to go too much into detail. It’s still too raw. Three, it’s what she wanted and who was I to tell her differently? Apparently Daisy has no problem in doing that.
Wincing, I add, “She’s right, Amanda. The night is still young, why don’t we go out? I can see if there is one of those bike bars available you’ve always wanted to try. They might take last-minute reservations.”
“A bike bar sounds fun,” Amanda says, perking up. “Grams, will you be able to pedal and drink?”
Grams waves her hand in front of her face. “Oh no, I’m practically sleeping with my eyes open right now. You girls go have fun. I’m going to help myself up to Daisy’s room to sleep.”
“You can be our bail money if we get in trouble,” I add.
“Deal.” Grams squirts the bottle of cheese again, but nothing comes out, so she tosses it behind her and gets up slowly from the couch. “Have fun. Daisy, I hog the bed so it’s best you sleep on the couch. Plus, I get the toots at night.”
Grams takes off for the stairs, cane in hand, while we all giggle at each other.
I look at my watch and say, “All right, let’s take half an hour to get ready. I’m going to need some clothes so get out some of your sluttiest outfits for me.”
Daisy and Amanda run upstairs and I’m left cleaning up our junk food. As I’m sealing up untouched Pop-Tarts, my phone rings.
Jace.
I need to answer. I haven’t talked to him much since my trip to Arizona, for obvious reasons. I don’t know what to say and I sure as hell don’t know what I want. But my neglect is starting to become obvious so I answer.
“Hey.”
“Ah, you answered finally. I was starting to think you were avoiding me.”
Nothing blows by him. “Never. Just been busy, you know.”
“I don’t actually, since you haven’t talked to me lately.”
Yeah, I deserve that one. Avoidance after sex is never the best thing. It can help someone develop a complex, not that Jace has to worry. Nope, he’s pretty much perfect when it comes to sex. I mean, mind-blowing.
And that’s what makes my stomach churn. With Eric, it was sexy, intimate, loving. We made love while looking each other in the eyes. But with Jace, it was an entirely different experience. It was so raw, so unfiltered, anything went. And the burning need, it turned me into ashes. I was a pile of dust by the end, being blown away by Jace’s powerful force. I never thought I could feel this way with another man, and yet, Jace almost makes me feel more.
Terrifying.
“I’m sorry.” It’s all I can say because I’m in the wrong. I wish I wasn’t. I wish I had an excuse to use, but I have nothing.
“Are you regretting what we did?”
Yes, so many regrets, but also, I’m so thankful it did happen. Conflicting thoughts are beginning to eat me alive.
“No.” I sit down at the bar in the kitchen. “I’m just trying to process everything, that’s all.”
“Well, process it with me, Hollyn. Shutting me out isn’t going to help anything.”
“It’s the only way I know how to deal. I shut everything out and wish it to go away.”
“Mature.” He chuckles. “Talk me through it. What has you tied in knots?”
The clock in the kitchen is telling me I have twenty minutes to get ready and I know this conversation is going to be much longer than that.
“I can’t right now. I’m going out with the girls for Amanda’s bachelorette party.”
“Are you just saying that to avoid me?”
“No, I swear, we’re going out.”
“That’s inconvenient, because I’m flying in later tonight after a team meeting and was hoping to see you.”
“Why are you flying in?” I avoid his request, not sure how I really want to handle it.
“I have a meeting with my lawyers early in the morning. I fly out in the afternoon to make it back for a pre-season game.”
“Oh, well good luck,” I answer awkwardly.
“Hollyn—”
“Listen, I have to get ready for tonight.”
He exhales heavily on the other side of the phone. “Don’t push me away. Remember what we said from the very beginning? Be honest, Hollyn. This avoidance shit isn’t going to work for me.”
Not sure what to say, I reply, “I really have to go.”
“Yup, okay. Talk to you later.” He hangs up, his last sentence full of disdainful sarcasm.
This is why I shouldn’t be allowed to adult. This is why I should have never come out of my dark little cave, because now everything is so damn complicated.
JACE
Frustrated, I toss my phone in my locker, not caring if I break it. Right about now, I could use the caring Hollyn whose soft touch captures me and pulls me away from reality, if only for an hour. Instead, the woman is avoiding me. Again.
And I know why, she’s scared. I just want her to admit to it. From the sound of our conversation, there is a good possibility she never will.
Fuck.
My towel draped around my waist, I lean back in the chair in front of my locker. My thoughts scatter from Hollyn, to Hope, to June and Alex, to practice, and how I couldn’t field a damn ball to save my life. Rookie of the Year can’t look past his current troubles and focus on the game. Coach and the front office are well aware of my situation, but they aren’t going to cut me a break for much longer. They are going to want to see results sooner than later.
The rest of the team is milling about, waiting for Coach to address us, so I take the moment to eye Ethan who I have yet to talk to, despite his feeble attempts. What does he really have to say? Probably what he should have told me a month ago. He’s a little late now.
From across the room, he sits in his chair and laces up his shoes. Is he going to see Rebecca after this? Will they be going over their plan of attack? Do they want to raise the baby together? That thought never crossed my mind until just now, which throws out my entire notion of slamming Rebecca for having unsuitable living arrangements. I know how much Ethan makes, and he would easily be able to provide for them. The new addition would be pocket change to him.
Does he want to father Hope? Doesn’t he know he’s so far past breaking the bro-code that he should have his card revoked?
My phone beeps with an incoming message. It’s from June. Attached is a picture of Hope, a bow on her head, a smile on her face. Holy shit, s
he looks so much like me with blonde hair and blue eyes. There is no doubt she’s my daughter.
So delicate, so damn happy, that it physically pains me to receive the message.
She’s happy, why does Rebecca want to disturb that?
“Hey, can we talk?” Ethan says, pulling me from my thoughts.
Slowly, I look up at him. Way to pick the wrong time, dickhead.
“It might be in your best interest to turn around and walk the other way.”
“Jace, don’t be like that. Man up and talk to me.”
“Man up?” I stand, cinching my towel in place. “You’re telling me to man up? This coming from the guy who should have told me he was in a relationship with my daughter’s birth mom.”
“I was going to tell you. There wasn’t a good time.”
“Yeah, okay. Because we didn’t hang out all post-season.” I say with sarcasm. “What kind of a friend are you, man?”
“If you still like her—”
“Fuck Rebecca,” I shout, drawing the attention of the entire clubhouse. I guess we are doing this here. “I don’t care what kind of intimate relationship you have with her. What I care about is how you knowingly listened to me talk about Rebecca’s plans and never said anything. You knew how I felt, how this was the biggest decision of my life and how it ate me alive, and as a friend, you devalued what we had by not being honest with me.” I pause and then run my hand through my hair. “Fuck, dude. Would it have killed you to say something?”
“She didn’t want me to,” he replies. What the hell?
“You’re going to throw away the years of friendship because she has a vagina?”
“It’s not like that. She wants . . .” he looks down, unable to make eye contact with me, “she wants to have a big family and Hope is a part of that.” Now she wants a big family? The woman who only a few months ago couldn’t even consider being a mother?
“The fuck she is.” I move closer to him. “Over my dead body will Rebecca get that baby back.”
“She’s her mom, Jace. Get off your high horse and stop dividing a family up.”
Wrong day, wrong fucking words. My fist finds his face faster than he can utter his next horrifying sentence. Caught off guard, he flies backward, trips on a bucket of baseballs in the middle of the floor, and then falls to the ground.
“Rebecca is her birth mom, fuck head. The only family element shared between Rebecca and Hope is DNA. That little girl has a family. Two loving moms who’ve vowed to raise Hope in a loving, caring, selfless, and compassionate household.” Why the fuck would Ethan encourage Rebecca to take Hope away from June and Alex and parade my daughter, who I can’t raise, in front of me?
My words don’t register because before I know it, Ethan is charging at me, going in for the tackle. My head slams into the locker behind me just as Ethan plows his fist to my eye. Searing pain hits my brain, rage pours out of me, and now with my towel on the ground, dick hanging out, I attack Ethan back.
A roar from our teammates echoes through the locker room, men pulling at us to bring the fight to an end.
Tyler, our first baseman, yanks on my shoulders, pulling me back just in time for Coach to walk through the doors. Given the way he’s staring us down, he’s angry.
“Barnes, Utwood, my office now. The rest of you, go home, this boxing match, porn edition, is over.”
Needing to cover up, I quickly slip on a pair of mesh shorts and follow Coach to his office. This little brawl will most likely cost me a fine, a long lecture, and a little less leniency.
Fuck.
DAISY
“I’m going to fall off. Hold me, I feel myself teetering over. A car is going to run me over and my brains will spill out all over the road.”
“They won’t actually,” Hollyn says with a knock of her knuckles to my helmet. “You’re the only one here wearing protective head gear.”
I instinctively hold on to my helmet. “I don’t understand why you wouldn’t. We are on a bike in the city, drinking beer. I’m already feeling tipsy. This was a bad idea. We are all going to die,” I shout, now gripping to the table in front of me. “We are going to die!”
“Psycho,” Hollyn knocks me, “we are going fifteen miles per hour. Calm your tits and try to have some fun. Your constant worrying is a real downer.”
“It’s five o’clock somewhere,” Amanda sings by herself, swaying to and fro in her seat, defying drunk gravity.
“Amanda, stop that swaying at once,” I demand, one hand on my helmet, the other gripping the table. “You’re going to fall off this human-powered vehicle.”
“Pour me something tall and strong,” she sings some more, joining Alan Jackson and Jimmy Buffett, ignoring my warning.
“Your friend seems to be very drunk,” the guy next to me says. He’s been trying to talk to me all night on this bike contraption but I’ve been too focused on not falling off to pay attention to him.
“She’s going to die, before her wedding. She’s going to fall flat on the asphalt and get run over by a car. I just know it.” I grip my forehead in worry. “And then I’m going to have to tell Matt about how she fell off the bike-mobile while singing some drinking song and consuming what she thinks is cheap-from-the-butt beer. I think Matt will be horrified to know such a thing.”
“Who’s Matt?” the guy asks.
“Her fiancé.” I roll my eyes just as we go over a bump, sending all of us up in the air. I screech and reach for my phone. I’m all about living it up, but I would like to stay alive while doing it.
Because I’m tipsy, on the verge of death, and looking to let someone know about my legacy before I’m buried six feet under, I send a text.
Daisy: If I die tonight, please let the world know I make amazing German chocolate cake cookies.
There, legacy sent. Oh wait . . .
Daisy: And I’m really good at latch hook. Actually, there is a latch hook rug under my bed that I made for Grams, make sure she gets it.
Okay. That should be good. Baking and latch hook legacy . . .
But what about my newfound talent?
Daisy: And also, if my grave can say ‘good at driving motorcycles’ I would appreciate it.
Baking, latch hook, motorcycles. I think that just about covers it all. What a legacy . . .
Daisy: And I can recite the entire Vitameatavegamin episode from I Love Lucy. I would show you, but I’m dying tonight. Just know, I can nail it.
There. That’s all I have to say. My legacy will now live on forever.
At least I can rest easy in my helmet, knowing people will not just say: Daisy who? She lived with her grandma for twenty-one years and had no friends, no job, and no life experiences. No, they will be able to say, Daisy Beauregaurd: German-chocolate-cake-cookie master baker, latch hook goddess, motorcycle mama, and Vitameatavegamin vixen.
“Do you have a boyfriend?” man next to me leans in and asks.
Pulling away, I attractively respond, “Eh?”
“A boyfriend, do you have one?”
“What?” I giggle like a child. “A boyfriend? Well I do have a friend that’s a boy. Does that count? His name is Carter, and he’s moody and mean sometimes but other times he’s really nice, especially when he kisses me or sticks his finger inside of me.” I slam my hand over my mouth. What would possess me to say such a thing? I eye the Solo cup in front of me. Stupid butthole beer.
“Daisy, don’t talk to people about things like that,” Hollyn says next to me. Then she leans in closer and says, “Carter finger fucked you?”
“What?” My face burns bright red and my phone beeps in my hand with a message. “Gah, don’t tell him I said that. I don’t think we are talking about placement of our fingers with other people.”
“Did you stick your finger anywhere?” Hollyn asks, eyebrows raised.
“No! Where would I stick it? He doesn’t have a hole.”
“Men like a good prostate rub,” the man says next to me, clearly eavesdropping on our conversat
ion.
“Ew!” Hollyn slaps the man in the arm from behind me, shooing him away. “Don’t whisper the word prostate in my friend’s ear.”
“Just offering up suggestions.” He shrugs.
With me in the middle, Hollyn gets in an argument with the man about not being a creep. I don’t listen because I’m too transfixed on seeing if my legacy will move on. I open the text and read it.
Carter: What are you talking about? Are you drunk?
Well, that wasn’t the confirmation I was looking for, so I text him back.
Daisy: I’m on a bike booze thing with Amanda and Hollyn. It’s dangerous, I can see myself plummeting to my death. I need to know that you will let my legacy move on.
Carter: You’re drunk. Is anyone taking care of you?
Ugh, why? Why does he always feel like he has to watch over me? I wasn’t asking for him to white knight it and rescue me from this death trap. I was asking him to help my legacy live on.
Daisy: I can take care of myself, thank you very much.
I puff my chest as I press send. Yes, I can take care of myself. I might have been under the watchful eye of Grams my entire life but since I’ve been living with Amanda, I’ve really been able to—
Beep Beep.
Another text from Carter.
Carter: Are you taking the LoDo route that passes by The Gin Mill?
Stalker.
Looking around, I see that in fact, we are passing The Gin Mill. How did he know?
Daisy: Are you stalking me? Where are you?
“Your friend likes me? Don’t you, sweetheart?” the man next to me asks.
“What?” I missed the entire conversation between the two of them.
“You like me,” he repeats.
I look him up and down. “You seem like you could be a nice fella, but you—”
“Ah, I am nice.” He runs his hand down my thigh. “And I can stick my fingers in places too, you know.”
Oh my gosh.
Before I can answer, as we are sitting at a red light, I’m pulled off my seat and my worst nightmare comes true. This is it. I’m meeting my death. The Chevy Malibu that’s been trailing behind us is finally going to run me over.
Screeching like I’m about to drown, I flail my body as strong arms secure around my waist.