“That’s an improvement, right?” Anton points out.
“I guess,” I reply from the stretching mat.
“So how did this happen, again?” asks Mitch, the newest trainer. He’s got my ankle in his hand, and he’s angling my leg back toward my body. “Was it, like, a drunken thing or what?”
“Hey,” Silas says. “Don’t ask, man. That’s none of your business.”
Mitch laughs. “Fine. But dude, I’m sorry. Of all the women you could wake up next to, it had to be that bitch?”
I yank my leg out of his hands and sit up fast. “Do not ever refer to a hardworking athlete as a bitch. Or any woman. Especially not my wife.”
He jerks back a few inches, as if I’d slapped him. “But you’re not really—”
“Not. Your. Business,” I say through gritted teeth.
“Yo.” Henry, the head trainer, whistles from the doorway. “Mitch, go wash a load of towels.”
“What?” the kid whines. “I’m workin’ on Drake.”
“Not anymore you’re not,” Henry barks. “And mind your own business next time.”
The kid hops to his feet with an irritated sniff and heads for the door.
Once he’s gone, Henry kneels down on the mat and stretches me. “Sorry about that, Drake. I’ll have a word with him.”
“Thanks,” I grunt.
But I brought all this speculation upon myself. And on Charli, too.
What have I done?
I don’t make it home until around four. Charli’s practice doesn’t start for another hour, and it’s a new thing for me to unlock my door and expect to find someone else in my space.
“Hi honey, I’m home,” I call out as I step inside.
When I leave the foyer, it’s true that I’m not alone, but the person sitting on my sofa is not the one I’m expecting.
“Mom,” I say, startled. “You were out of the country.”
“I was,” she says archly. “But when you start receiving strange messages about your son’s sudden marriage, it tends to change your plans. Joshua never brings me this kind of drama.”
My half brother—from my mother’s first marriage—has the benefit of not being a Drake, though. So he can marry whoever he wishes and nobody will say a word.
I fling myself onto an armchair. “Are you here to complain, too? Like one of Uncle Harmon’s henchmen?”
“Ouch,” she says, touching her cashmere-covered chest. “I would never take his side over yours. But please tell me you didn’t really marry a stranger in Vegas?”
“She’s not a stranger,” I grumble.
“A girlfriend?” she asks.
“A friend. Harmon has nothing to worry about. But did he ask me? No. He just sent over the most humiliating post-nup ever written. He took the nuclear option, as always. So I’m fighting back.”
My mom’s expression is still grim. At sixty, she’s a beautiful woman. And more than a little intimidating. “But you did marry her. And you’re sure it’s legal?”
Slowly, I nod.
“Of all the boneheaded stunts. Your uncle tries to paint you as the non-serious member of the Drake family. So what do you do? Get drunk and get married in Vegas.”
I lean back against the chair and rub my temples.
“How’s your blood sugar?” my mother asks immediately.
“It’s fine. Getting yelled at might destabilize me, though.”
She reaches out a high-heeled boot and kicks me with it. “Nice try. But I’m not done yelling at you.”
“I figured.”
“Your uncle is losing his mind. If that girl decided to screw you, she could endanger this family’s control of Drake Enterprises.”
“She won’t,” I argue, but my mom has a point.
“Harmon will use this against you. He and Fred could muster the votes to oust you. And then with you off the board, I wouldn’t be able to secure a seat for your sister.”
“I’m aware.” I’ve already done this math.
“We’ve spent the last two years trying to convince your uncle that we’re capable of managing our own resources. So what the hell are you doing?”
“I thought I’d give marriage a try.”
She groans. “This isn’t you, Neil. You don’t play games. What are you hoping to accomplish?”
“It’s my life, Mom. I can get married on a whim, if I want to. And I can stay married if it suits me.”
She blinks. “Neil, did you get a head injury in Vegas?”
“No!”
“Lord.” My mother rolls her eyes theatrically. “She must be a hellcat in bed.”
As if I knew.
“Is she the reason you finally gave Iris her walking papers?”
Now there’s a tricky question. “That’s something that needed doing a long time ago.”
“No kidding. I wondered if you got married to let Iris know she should finally move on.”
“Mom! That sounds like an extreme way to break up with someone.”
“It’s the only thing I can think of. Honestly. This impulsive behavior isn’t like you.”
She’s right. I like to party. I’m a fun guy, but I’m not impulsive. I care too much about my athletic performance to be a wild man.
But that’s what I became that night in Vegas. Turns out there was a wild man inside me just waiting to get out.
And drunk logic is still logic. The blotto me had a reason for marrying Charli. I was trying to make a statement, even if I picked a damn foolish way to do it.
If only I knew what statement that was.
TWELVE
MEET THE PARENTS
Charli
Scrolling through story after story about me and Neil, I try to stay calm. They’re just gossipy headlines, right? The only people who care about someone else’s marriage are people who lead uninteresting lives.
That’s what I’m telling myself, anyway.
I put my phone away and watch the subway stops go slowly by. I’d thought I could skip this trip today. After my shift at the diner, it had been a pleasure to stroll up the street to the Million Dollar Dorm and wave my new key in front of Neil’s door.
It had opened with a satisfying click, and I’d let myself into Neil’s pad for an hour of relaxation in peace and quiet.
My Zen mood had lasted about ten minutes until I’d checked my bank balance. That’s never a very relaxing activity, but I hadn’t been prepared to see a strange check written on my account for three hundred ninety-nine dollars.
My heart had leapt into my throat. The only checks I write are to my landlord. There’s no way I could have spent four hundred bucks and forgotten.
The banking app provided images of cashed checks, and I’d focused on the name of the recipient. In a messy hand was written, POGO APPLIANCES.
I’d recognized the name. It’s a store a couple blocks away from my apartment, and I’ve never been there. With my heart in my mouth, I’d zoomed in on the signature, too. Someone had scrawled CHARLI HIGGINS there.