When I come around the corner, the door to my apartment is open. Elena stands there in a T-shirt that is meant to look like my jersey. She reaches for my bag, but I hold onto it. “What are you doing here?” I ask her. To my knowledge, she received the divorce papers, and while I can hope she will just sign them, I’m not stupid. She wants money. The money I’m not willing to give her. I might need to rethink my stance on this because if she goes away with a cash payout, it’ll be worth it.
“I’m home.”
I tilt my head slightly. “I thought we agreed you’d give me notice when you wanted to come to visit the children, and I would get a hotel. Showing up in the middle of my game, when I’m out of town, is a bit . . .” I pause to seek out the right word. “Dare I say, rude?”
“It’s rude to come home to my children and husband?”
I push past her. “Ex,” I remind her. “I’ve filed for a divorce, Elena. I know you’ve received the papers.”
“I did,” she says as she follows me into my bedroom. “But then I sat there and read what had become of our marriage, and I realized I didn’t want this. That we owed it to ourselves and our babies to try again.”
Her words make my stomach roll.
“Boyfriend break up with you?” I look at her, sitting on my bed, and wait for her answer.
“We were never really together, Julius. And he was never my boyfriend.”
“Just your fuck buddy? Got it.” I leave the closet and head into the bathroom. Unfortunately, she follows. “What happened here earlier?”
“Nothing, why?”
“No, not nothing, Elena. What did you say to my parents and to Autumn?”
Elena blanches. “I would never say anything to your parents. We sat here and watched the rest of your game. I braided Roxy’s hair, and Reggie called out the plays as Noah did them. Everything was perfect.”
“And Autumn?”
“What about her? She was on her way out the door when I arrived.” Elena moves into the bathroom and sits on the countertop. “I know you’ve been seeing her, and I get it, but I’m back now, and I’d really like to work on our marriage, Julius. You should’ve seen how excited the kids were when I walked in. Reggie is so happy, and Roxy fell asleep in my arms. I didn’t realize how much I missed them until now.”
“I’ve moved on, Elena.”
“Well, unmove on, Julius. We owe it to each other to give our marriage another shot.”
I pop some Tylenol and drink from the faucet. “I’ll take the couch,” I tell her as I exit the bathroom.
“What’s wrong with the bedroom?”
“Not if you’re in there, Elena. I told you. I’m done.” I shut the bedroom door behind me and head back into the living room. I go to my pile of stuff, pull my phone out, and scroll to Autumn’s number. Call me when you wake up. I need to talk to you. I missed you, Weather Girl.
Thirty-One
Autumn
As soon as the elevator door closes, I feel relieved. I half expected Elena to continue to follow me, but she turned back to the apartment—the one she has shared with Julius since they moved here. If that isn’t a deterrent for this relationship with him, I don’t know what is. My mind is racing with everything that just occurred in that apartment. One minute, we’re all sitting there rooting on the Pioneers, and then the next—a straight-up hurricane. Pint-sized too. Julius and I are close in height, but Elena is tiny, which means Julius towers over her. Still, her personality and demeanor are anything but small. She’s fierce, demanding, and scary. More so, she’s a mama bear asserting her claim on her cubs. I can’t fault her for being aggressive toward me. What bothers me the most is I feel like I’m innocent in all of this. I’m not the other woman. At least I hadn’t looked at myself that way until this past week. However, Elena made me feel like I am one in a matter of seconds.
When the elevator reaches my floor, I don’t step off. It takes me until the door starts to close to realize what I need—a drink. I hit the button for the lobby, and once I’m there, I walk into the restaurant adjacent to the entrance. I’m guessing that the game is over because of the lack of people here and easily find a spot at the bar.
“What can I get you?” the bartender asks as he wipes the spot in front of me and sets a coaster down. He rests his hands on the bar, waiting for me to give his order. If I’m drinking, my usual is wine or something fruity, but I feel like this situation calls for a more potent drink.
“Whiskey.”
He looks at me oddly, waits a beat, nods, and then walks away. I’ve never had whiskey in my life, and I suspect he knows this. This guy is probably so good at his job. He knows what people like me drink, and it’s definitely not whiskey.
When he returns, he sets a small glass of amber-colored liquid down in front of me, along with a bottle of beer and a glass of water. I look at him expectantly, and once again, he places his hands on the bar and leans down. “You’ll want the beer chaser and then the water to wash it down. Trust me.”
Trust me. Famous last words, right? I glance around the bar, looking for some distinguished gentlemen or someone similar to who I have pictured in my head, to see how they’re drinking their whiskey. I pick the glass up, swirl and sniff—my stomach rolls at the powerful odor.
“Gah, how do people drink this?”
“It’s an acquired taste.” I look up to find the bartender cleaning the spot next to me. “Many start like you, one sip at a time.”
“I’ve never had one,” I tell him.
“I could tell, which is why I brought you the extras. Whatever made you decide to order that,” he pauses and tilts his head toward my glass, “must’ve really upset you.”
She did. He did. I can’t decide who I’m more upset with. Julius. Elena. Or myself.
“Maybe I wanted to try something new?”
He chuckles. “Yeah, maybe. But I doubt it.” He walks away toward the end of the bar, where he spends time helping the other customers. A few football fans are still lingering, but most of the patrons in here seem to be residents of the building or people who happened to pass by and wanted a place to eat.
I finally convince myself to taste the whiskey. When the glass touches my lips, my phone rings, and Cam’s name lights up my screen. Setting the glass down, I stare at my phone, wondering if I should answer or not. I give in and answer. “Hey.”
“Hey, yourself. What are you doing?”
I sigh and contemplate telling him the truth. At the end of the day, I consider him my friend. “I’m sitting in a bar, about to try my first whiskey.”
“Why? Someone break your heart?” he asks with a slight laugh.
“Yes,” I tell him.
“Wait, what?”
Another sigh emits. “I started seeing someone, and I just don’t think things are going to work out. My heart isn’t broken, but I’m sad. I really like him.”
“The football player, right?”
“How did—oh never mind, you probably saw it on the internet or whatever. But yes, him. He’s a great guy. He’s just going through a major life change, and I don’t want to be a complication or get too far deep only to have him end things.”