by Ali Dean
I hadn’t noticed Angel and Leah joining the conversation.
You know, you grow up, leave the drama of high school, the stalkers from college, and yet, the mean girls just never quite grow up. They’re a little sharper, a little more jaded, but still stuck in their own bitterness. In Sour-efanie’s case, probably busy raising the next generation of mean girls. Setting an excellent example for her daughters, I’m sure.
Sighing, I walk toward the window overlooking the field. I’m not going to miss out on the game because Drake’s trying to stir up trouble by inviting Madeline. Hopefully Troy doesn’t know about this and didn’t try to mess with Jace’s head today by saying something. I’m just hopeful that Troy’s loyalty to the team is stronger than his need to prove he’s still the leader.
I’m not planning on engaging, but Wes can’t help himself.
“Madeline, what are you doing here?”
I take in Madeline’s stance, trying to grasp whether she knew what she was getting into when she came here or if she was in the dark. When she smirks, I give myself an internal head slap. Of course she knew what she was doing.
“Steph invited me.”
“Right,” Wes replies with sarcasm. “Drake Vogel must be pretty fucking desperate if he’s dragging old hookups in to try to get back at Jace for dropping him.”
Madeline narrows her eyes and I’m tempted to smack Wes on the back of the head for even bothering with this little shitshow. Sure, it’ll feel good to take them down a few pegs but my MO is usually to ignore and pretend they don’t bother me. Seems to be just as effective in most cases, but too late for that.
“Drake’s far from desperate,” Madeline says with her haughty little attitude. She’s still stunning, unfortunately. “He’s taken on the starting quarterback for the Stallions as a new client.”
My eyes widen at that news. Why would Drake take on a veteran on his way out? When Jace signed with Drake, his whole spiel was that he was all about the next generation, the newbies, that he was young, a go-getter early in his career but would be with them for years to come. Wes doesn’t seem affected by this revelation, or at least he’s a good faker.
He scoffs. “Then Bremer must be desperate too.”
Now Stephanie steps forward, and seeing these vindictive women side by side doesn’t send a shiver down my spine like it might have once upon a time. Nope, I’m struggling not to laugh at the whole situation. While it’s entertaining, I sort of want it to be over so I don’t miss anything. The game’s about to start.
“My husband is not desperate. Who are you anyway?” Stephanie gives Wes a once-over but she’s a terrible actress. She knows exactly who he is. If she’s the Denver socialite she’s trying to be, there’s no way she wouldn’t recognize Wes, the son of a famous Hollywood movie director who happened to have grown up near Denver, and who also garnered independent celebrity status in the technology industry, earning a small fortune in his own right.
Wes ignores the question. “Let me guess. Bremer dropped his agent when he pushed retirement as the smartest option? Decided to go with someone like Drake who would feed his ego and tell him he could hold on for a few more years?” Wes shakes his head. “That’s just sad, man. Wilder’s already a better QB than Bremer and everyone knows it. I’m getting a beer, want anything, babe?” he asks Zoe.
“I’ll take a beer. Pep?”
“I’m good. But I need to get some snacks before the game starts.”
I’m done with this banter, hungry, and ready to watch my husband prove Wes right.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Pepper
Jace doesn’t disappoint. I’m no football fanatic, but I do know that Jace was only meant to play in the first quarter, and is doing so well they keep him in for the second quarter too. Stephanie and Madeline sit off to the side, isolated from the rest of the players’ friends and families. I feel bad for them. Okay, I don’t feel bad for Madeline, but I’m a little sad for Stephanie. Her husband’s an asshole. I’d heard about it, but also witnessed it first hand at Red Hot. While I was mostly in my own little happy bubble, I did catch sight of her husband groping other women. It makes my stomach churn in disgust, but she doesn’t need to turn her bitterness around on me. They leave after the first half.
At least, I think they’ve left. When I head to the restrooms reserved for the boxed seating, they’re at the counter, reapplying makeup. I default to ignore mode, do my business, and contemplate forgoing washing my hands when I find them both eyeing me in the mirror. Nah, that would make them think they won somehow. As expected, they play mean girls with me. Actually, it’s mean women now, they’ve graduated to the next level. Only, this isn’t like when Madeline poured her drink down my dress outside the bathroom at Remy Laroche’s party in high school. I’m no longer insecure about where I belong and who I belong with.
Stephanie starts in with a hard hit. “I hope you’re not still doping to try to run fast, Pepper. Cheaters never win, so they say.”
“They also have a hard time having babies,” Madeline adds.
My blood boils at that comment, but as I attempt to mimic Wes’s unaffected look, I remember what I was feeling just moments earlier. Pity. They’re trying to get a rise out of me. Looking for a reaction. They desperately want to know that they can shake me, hurt me. And why? Because if they can, they’ve still got power.
So, as much as I’d love to pull a Gran and slap them across their cheeks, I settle for an eyeroll. They can’t touch me. I won’t let them. I take my time drying my hands, pushing down all the insults threatening to burst from my lips. Nope. I’m better than that. By saying nothing, I’m saying everything.
I’ve got a whole crew of friends and family willing to stick up for me, my integrity, and my marriage. If it means harsh words, a bitch slap, or a drink splashed in a face, I’m covered. The women in front of me probably don’t even have each other’s backs, not that I’m going to test it.
And when I walk right on out of there with nothing but a little sigh of annoyance, I can almost feel the frustration vibrating off of them. I didn’t give them the satisfaction of engaging. And that’s killing them.
When Jace starts again in the second half and Troy remains on the sidelines, pouting like a four- year-old, Madeline and Stephanie do leave the box. And they don’t return.
After the game, I head to the hallway outside the locker room with Angel and Leah to wait for Jace. Zoe and Wes are getting a table at a restaurant so we can celebrate Jace’s first full game in the NFL. He’s never played an entire game, and they won by two touchdowns, so from what I understand, it’s a major success.
I’m proud of him, relieved that things are going so well in his transition to the new team, despite Troy Bremer being a jackass. It’s been two days since I’ve seen my husband though, the longest we’ve gone apart in months, and I miss him like crazy. Despite vibrating with the anticipation of his strong arms wrapping around me, I’m feeling incredibly thankful that two days now seems like a long time apart. A year ago, hell, even six months ago, a couple days without seeing each other would have been just a regular part of our lives.
The reporters on the other end of the hallway swarm the first couple of players as they exit the locker room. I recognize Troy Bremer immediately. He’s usually one of the last to come out, probably because he likes making people wait on him. Instead of flashing his cocky smile and reveling in the attention, he scowls at the reporters and rushes past them. He doesn’t bother to look to see if his wife or anyone is waiting on him, and I guess no one is.
I knew when I married Jace that there’d always be men trying to knock him down, fighting for the power and leadership that come so easily to my husband. I guess I just assumed that grown men would do it with a bit more maturity, or even subtlety. But it’s clear some men and women alike are just larger versions of toddlers throwing temper tantrums.
With Troy and his posse storming by, the reporters turn in our direction. They usually stay in position by th
e door to try to be the first to get interviews with the players, but a couple walk our way. I glance at Angel and Leah, looking for answers, but they appear just as baffled as me.
One of the reporters, a woman not much older than me, stops in front of us.
“Pepper, there’s been nearly as much fanfare about you today as there has been about your husband. How does it feel to have your name cleared?”
I stare at her in confusion. “My name was cleared? I didn’t know it needed to be cleared from anything.” I guess there will always be a little speculation simply from being on the same team as Monica Herrick, but I’ve accepted that.
The reporter raises her eyebrows. “Didn’t you see the article in the Times this morning?” When I continue starting at her in confusion, she offers a smile. “Ah, I bet you traveled in this morning from your race yesterday and came straight to the game. Another indication the Wilder loyalty runs deep.”
“Times article?”
She puts down her mic, and the other reporter who came over here with her heads back to the exit as another athlete comes out.
“Yes. You led your team in a headwind through a half marathon yesterday. Sacrificed your own race so that your teammates could qualify for the Olympic Trials. A cheater wouldn’t demonstrate that kind of selflessness. That’s the general consensus. Your teammates confirmed that this wasn’t discussed before the race, you just made the decision on your own.”
“Oh. Um. That’s great.” I’m so awkward with reporters. Especially when I’m caught off guard like this. Seriously, what am I supposed to say? She’s not even asking me questions. I guess she tried to but I’m so clueless I don’t even know what she’s talking about.
“Well, congratulations. Stallions fans will want to celebrate your accomplishments too now that your husband is their new hero. It seems the Wilders come as a package and your fan base is about to grow exponentially.” She winks before turning and going back down the hallway.
Angel and Leah laugh at my stunned expression, patting me on the back.
“Watch out,” Angel tells me. “Football fans are probably a little more aggressive than the running crowd you’re used to.”
I really can’t imagine football fans taking much interest in running, but it’s sweet to think I might have even more people supporting me than I thought. I was happy with just my friends and family, but if a stadium full of people wants to stand up for my integrity as a runner and Jace’s wife or whatever, I’m down.
“They don’t usually serve hot dogs or beer at marathons,” I point out.
Angel and Leah laugh some more. “Maybe they’ll need to start,” Leah says.
When Jace finally comes out of the locker room, his eyes immediately start searching for me. It reminds me of when he finished his games in college. I was always prepared to wait while he did his duty sharing himself with the rest of the world, talked to the reporters. But just like he used to, he makes a beeline for me. The increased fame, pressure to give himself to his fans and the rest of the world, it hasn’t changed his priorities one bit. He wants that hug I’m itching for just as bad as I do.
I try and fail at not being dramatic. His grin is huge as he walks toward me, and I can’t hide my own. I break into a jog and throw myself at him, wrapping my arms around his neck, my legs around his waist. I’m so damn proud of him.
Jace
Wes told me about Madeline and Stephanie at dinner while the girls were distracted, giggling about some kid who tried hitting on Angel in front of Tanner.
The news threatened to ruin the cloud of happy I’d been riding all day, but I knew Wes was just having my back, making sure I was in the loop so I wasn’t caught off guard by anything later.
“Dude, I don’t think Pepper was fazed in the least. She’s cool as a cucumber around the bitches that never seem to leave her alone.”
Wes didn’t hide his awe. My brother had a thing for Pepper way back when, and while I always appreciated his protectiveness of her, it used to piss me off too because I thought he still had feelings for her. Now, I saw it was more of a brotherly protectiveness. Hell, maybe it was all along and my own love for our girl distorted everything. Jealousy could make all of us act like assholes.
I’d known for years now that the admiration he had for Pepper wasn’t rooted in the kind of emotions I needed to be jealous about. And it wasn’t only because he was married to Pepper’s best friend now. Nah, I could see Wes truly looked at Pepper like family. There was no lust or want there. Just the desire that she had the best, that she was happy.
“Our girl’s come a long fucking way, hasn’t she?” I asked. As if sensing we were talking about her, she glanced our way.
“Turned into one fierce woman. Hell, she kind of scares me sometimes. She didn’t even bother throwing down with those bitches. Just wanted to get her snacks and watch you play.” Wes chuckled and shook his head.
Pepper got up from the other end of the table. We were in a private room with the Snyders and the Walkers. After a steak dinner, we topped it off by ordering a slew of desserts, and the women shuffled around seats to try all the dishes.
As she made her way toward us, my mouth went dry seeing her in my jersey. It hung off her petite frame, but somehow managed to be sexier than just about anything else she could be wearing. I knew my wife’s body better than my own so it was easy to imagine what was underneath. And now I was hard as a rock. Damn.
When Pepper decided to take a seat in my lap, it didn’t help the situation. She squirmed in reaction to discovering my plight and I grasped her hip, trying to keep her from torturing me.
She had told me she was proud of me at least a dozen times tonight, but now it was my turn. I might have been focused on the game, but Denise made sure to email me the Times article about my wife as soon as we hit the locker rooms.
It hadn’t surprised me Pepper hadn’t even read it yet when I brought it up earlier. Even with a job requiring frequent social media contact, she had always been able to ignore her phone and emails when there was something else important to her going on.
“They called your performance yesterday the ‘epitome of what sport is all about.’” She had told me she’d paced her teammates, and I’d known that was a sacrifice given this was meant to be a comeback race of sorts for her, a chance to redeem her reputation. Of course, my girl would end up redeeming herself entirely unintentionally just by doing her thing, following her heart.
“They weren’t wrong. They didn’t need to focus on me so much. Indy, Kendra and Maisy were helping too, but they got the teamwork part right. Honestly, Jace?” She turned to look at me. “That race meant more to me than hitting the podium at the world cross championships, or any of the big races I’ve done around the world. It was more fun too.”
“And you’re still riding the high, aren’t you?” I could sense it, that unique energy that vibrates from Pep after a breakthrough workout or a good race. She was practically glowing with it tonight.
“That and from your game, too.” She rested her forehead on mine, and when her hand inched below my shirt, my muscles tensed at her touch. Pep ran her hand over my stomach until it rested atop the Baby Wilder tattoo. “It feels like a betrayal to our baby to say this, but I feel like everything’s come together for us.”
She was already pressed against me, but I pulled her even closer. “It’s okay to be happy, Pep,” I reminded her, and myself.
“I miss the path I thought we were headed on when I found out we were pregnant. I’m still grieving it. But at the same time, I love the path we’ve found, where we’re headed now.” Pepper’s voice cracked as she tried to say what she was feeling.
“I know, baby.”
Her hand curled around my chest and she blinked a few times. I was already thinking about growing our family again, could hardly wait to make another baby with this woman, but I didn’t share my thoughts. Google had told me that one of the worst things someone can say to a woman after a miscarriage was not to worry be
cause you’ll have more. I knew it wasn’t the same thing, telling her I was excited for more babies. It wasn’t as if I was dismissing the loss of our first, but still, I needed to tread carefully.
Pep surprised me by voicing my own thoughts. “I’m going to train my ass off for the trials, but if I don’t make the team, it won’t be so bad, because then we can start making another baby right away.”
I forced myself to remember we were in a room with other people. “That’s really not helping the situation pressing into your ass right now, Pep.”
My heart was soaring too. We’d talked about having children in the future in a couple of sessions with Nancy, but it felt slightly forced and clinical. Like we had to address the elephant in the room to keep moving forward. It helped, sure, but I still wasn’t sure Pep’s heart was entirely on board. As I watched color fill her cheeks, I knew that she was starting to feel the same excitement I was for the future of our family.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Pepper
The day has finally arrived. The Olympic marathon trials. My first marathon. I expected to be more nervous than I’ve ever been for a race in my life, but it’s the opposite. As I strip off my warm-ups with five minutes until the start, a calmness washes through my bones. I’ve put in the miles. Hammered out 5:40 mile pace on long training runs and sat in terribly uncomfortable ice baths to help recover afterward. Pushed my body to distances beyond anything I’ve conquered before. I know that I’ll give it everything today, but that when it comes to the marathon, it’s hard to say how I’ll respond to all that training. For some runners, it takes years of marathon training blocks like the one I just went through before they see the results.
Instead of analyzing my race plan or the state of my muscles and body, I’ve found myself thinking about Baby Wilder all morning. He or she would have been born by now, just a little nugget. I still miss the baby I never met. My hand presses to my chest, where I’ve got a tattoo like Jace’s. I didn’t care that it was cliché to get a matching tattoo with my husband. I loved seeing it on Jace so much, and touched it all the time; I wanted one in the same spot, right where I felt Baby Wilder on a daily basis.