Note to self—don’t get into a throwing war with a professional fucking quarterback.
And not falling for him would be good too.
Twenty-four
Even though Quinton gave me a parking pass along with tickets—yes, plural, like I have friends who want to watch football with me—to the game, Vonnie insisted that we ride together. I gave in easily because there’s free booze and having a designated driver works in my favor more than anyone else’s.
What I didn’t realize is the insanity that comes from riding in a car with three boys who have been strapped down in their seats for forty minutes after they have no doubt been sneaking Halloween candy for the last week.
And let me tell you, if I wasn’t already planning on drinking, I sure as hell would be now.
“Mmmh. You see?” Vonnie says from inside the suite door as she watches me head straight for the bar. Her boys, who sprinted away from us as soon as we parked, are already sitting in their seats, plates piled high with goodies sitting on their laps. “You see why I made sure to make the woman who owns a bar my best friend?”
“I honestly don’t know how you do it.” I “accidentally” pour too much Jameson into my glass before topping it with a minuscule amount of ginger ale. “The fact that you can ignore and break up their fights and still manage to drive while not getting into a million accidents is a straight-up miracle.”
After seeing the way Vonnie had to manage a million things at once, I’m not sure having kids is in the cards for me.
When Quinton said I wasn’t a good driver, he wasn’t exactly wrong. I mean, I’m not a bad driver, but I definitely cannot multitask when I drive. Putting on lipstick in traffic? Nope. Eating? Hell no. Even singing to the radio has its risks, it’s why I got satellite radio. Talk radio saves lives, people.
“Thank you!” She throws her hands in the air. “Everybody acts like I have it so easy and this shit is hard. I love my boys, but fuck, can a girl get some support around here?”
Vonnie laughs as she navigates her way around the high-top table where she drops her clear purse before making her way to the bar. But even though her laugh is convincing and her smile is beautiful, I don’t believe her. Normally, I would take this at face value and let it slide. Let’s be honest, as evidenced by my own life, feelings aren’t particularly my strong point. But this isn’t the first time she’s made a joke like this. I have a feeling that if Vonnie doesn’t say something soon, she’s going to explode.
I might not be much help when it comes to sorting things out, but I am the perfect person to commiserate with.
“Hey.” I hand her a glass as she reaches for the vodka. “Is everything alright?”
“Yeah girl.” She takes the glass from my hand without looking at me. “Of course everything is fine! Just a little mom venting, nothing a little cocktail and a lot of football can’t handle.”
As a person who has mastered the art of hiding my hurt behind a little self-deprecating humor, I know what she’s doing maybe even more than she does.
“If you’re sure.” I keep my voice quiet—measured—but I don’t move to give her space. “Because I’m not sure if you’ve been paying attention these last few weeks, but I’m a total disaster and if there is one person you can talk to who will not judge you, it’s me.”
I don’t mention that I’m pretty sure Brynn would move heaven and earth for her. I get how hard it is to talk to the people closest to you. To feel like you’re laying your burdens on them.
“You’re sweet for offering, but I really am fine.” She turns to face me, taking a sip of a drink that has about a shot too much of vodka for it to do anything but burn her esophagus. Her full lips are painted the most gorgeous shade of red, her eyes are flawlessly lined, and her highlighter makes her look like a glittering angel. She is perfection.
But the highlighter also shows off the hollowness in her cheeks that wasn’t there a few weeks ago and the eyeliner points out the sadness in her eyes. Her lipstick shows a smile that was painted on for show.
Even her crystal-covered sweater falls off her shoulder in a way that is not for fashion but because of weight I don’t think she was intending to lose. But all I can do is offer to be there, I don’t want to push her if she’s not ready.
“Okay, if you’re sure.” I grab my glass off the table and turn to go join her boys out in their seats.
“It’s just that . . .” she starts and stops just as fast.
I change direction. Instead of opening the glass door to join the masses as we wait to see our favorite team take the field, I move to the long leather couch inside the box.
I fall onto the surprisingly plush couch not saying a word. I take a small sip of my drink and keep my eyes locked with Vonnie’s.
She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath as she lifts her glass to her lips. Her feet look like they’re coated in cement with how slow and hesitant her steps are. But her eyes contradict her movements. They might be red and glossed over from the tears she’s been trying so hard to fight back, but the determined glint in them outshines everything else.
“My life has gone up in flames,” she says as she takes a seat beside me on the couch. “I don’t know how it happened or when it even began to change, but now things are so bad and I’m so overwhelmed with it all, that I don’t
