“His sister must be rolling in her grave,” another says.
“Maybe they’ll take the boy away from him.”
“Serves him right.”
The anchors continue their judgmental banter while Ryan and I stare at the television screen. Their voices meld into a chorus of ridicule that pours rage through me so suddenly I can no longer hear anything above the pounding of my heart.
Somehow, I remember I can move, and I wrench the remote from Ryan and turn off the television, but his expression has crumpled. His hands are limp at his sides, tears streaking his face.
“Ryan, they don’t know what they’re talking about,” I whisper, trying to pull him into my arms for a hug, but he wriggles free and rushes to his bedroom, slamming the door.
I stare after him, my entire heart hurting.
This is not good. Not good at all.
I can’t even imagine how Ryan must be feeling right now. I know how I feel . . . I want to punch something.
What the hell do I do?
Do I talk to him? Do I give him space?
I walk over to his door, slumping against it. I open my mouth to tell him I love him, but when I hear small sniffles coming from inside the room, I clamp my lips together as my heart caves in. I wish to God I knew how to fix this, but I’m so damn afraid of saying the wrong thing and making things worse. Look at the mess I already caused.
I close my eyes and slide to the floor.
I'm sorry, Ryan.
I'm sorry, Jenny.
Numbly, I fumble my phone out of my pocket, navigating to the last texts Stacy sent, the ones with more nanny information. I ignore those messages, about to call her when the doorbell rings.
I shoot to my feet and stumble over to my door, hoping that somehow Stacy knew I needed her and miraculously showed up. She has such a nurturing presence, one that calms not only me but Ryan as well. When she’s around, I feel less lost when it comes to parenting. I feel like I can actually accomplish things.
When I open the door, however, it’s not the petite brunette teacher, but my quarterback, Brenton.
“Hey, man!” he says with a laugh and a shake of his head. He has a case of beer tucked under his arm, the bottles clinking together. “The news reports running about you today are something vicious. Thought you might need a little pick me up.”
I shake my head but Brenton just winks and rips a beer free and passes it over.
“Believe me, this will help,” he says. “Besides, it’s been way too long since we partied. I’ve been missing you at the clubs. Have a drink with me, man.”
Even though I'm not in the mood for a beer, I don’t want to say no to him. I haven’t hung out with any of my teammates in forever. I was always the life of the party before taking Ryan under my wing. It’s been an adjustment for all of us.
Before I know it, we’re sitting on the couch together and I'm three drinks in when the doorbell rings again. A few of our other teammates flood in, each one with a date who invites more and more people. Brenton hands me another beer.
What could it hurt? It is starting to take the edge off.
A few more drinks in and suddenly my penthouse is crammed with bodies—only a quarter of which I actually know. Ryan is still locked in his bedroom, and I have a steady buzz.
I stand up, intending on telling everyone to get out of my home, but the room sways. My eyes meet the photo of Jenny on the wall. Guilt stabs me in the gut as I meet her familiar brown eyes.
I’ve messed up big time.
This has gotten completely out of hand.
But what do I do?
I’ve always been the partier of the team and these aren’t just my teammates, there are fans here too. If I make the wrong call, it might tarnish my reputation, which is half the battle in the professional career of an athlete.
I'm stuck between the person I have to be for my career and the person Ryan needs me to be.
How can I be both at once?
A lamp suddenly crashes, exploding on the floor in front of Ryan’s bedroom where Brenton has a woman pressed against the wall, his hands all over her, his mouth on her neck. In the heat of the moment, they almost knock down the portrait of Jenny.
That’s it. Enough is enough!
“Out!” I shout, losing my temper. “Everyone, get out! The party’s over!”
I follow them, still shouting at the stumbling herd of drunkards to get out when I see the front of my apartment building on the television. Some vulture is streaming a live feed of the people exiting my home. The ticker scrolling across the bottom of my screen reads: Broken homes and broken promises. The Hartbreak Kid, breaks the heart of deceased sister’s kid.
I can already see the stories that are going to spread like wildfire. I’m going to be labeled a perpetual partier who can’t get my act together for my nephew.
I click off the television and fall to my knees, burying my head in my hands.
Maybe they’re right. Maybe I'm not cut out for this.
No matter how hard I try, I just can’t seem to do anything right.
Chapter 8
Stacy
I stroke a distracted thumb over a stain on my favorite pair of cozy pajama bottoms. They have green and red apples printed on them and I’ve had them since my undergrad days. They’re still my favorite pair even though I’ve stained them with pizza sauce and red wine.
I’m eating pizza now, so it seems fruitless to worry about the stain when I’ll probably add another. I shrug and abandon the stain, choosing to take another buttery, garlicky bite of the pepperoni pizza I’ve ordered for myself. It’s delicious, and just what I need to get through another grading session of my students’ math homework.
The problems are easy but the handwriting is hard to understand and my brain feels like it’s ten thousand miles away.
The apartment is quiet tonight, the only sound coming from the neighbor’s adjoining unit. Morgan and Eric went out for a lavish date night. I’m not sure if I’ll even see them before their next big adventure. Eric can afford a date night in Paris now, and this wouldn’t be the first time he whisked Morgan away on a private flight to somewhere elegant.
Jealousy again gnaws at me, but I refuse to let it bring me down. Instead, I lament that I should have gotten fried mozzarella sticks with my pizza and maybe some garlic knots.
I groan at my own lack of resolve. Carbs are my kryptonite.
I don’t mind being alone, but I do miss the company of having someone to share these quiet moments with. As good as this pizza is, it can’t cure loneliness.
It seems like just yesterday both of my best friends were here every night and we were all laughing and talking together.
Now they have their own lives, which is beautiful‚ but when will I have that too?
They’ve both found men that complete them in perfect ways so that they bring out each other’s inner strengths. Every time I see Chloe with Donovan, and Eric with Morgan, they each look so blissfully happy. I'm sure not every second is paradise but having someone to lean on when life gets rough must be so comforting.
I push away the stack of papers, losing interest, and scoop up the pizza box.
I almost don’t know why I even bother grading my students’ homework. Principal Walton insists that I'm not allowed to give a letter grade below a ‘C’ in case it infuriates one of the parents who might withdrawl their child and their tuition checks.