Then I did it.
I smacked the underside of his butt.
And I was right. It did make me feel better.
Chapter Eighteen
Two days later, I was driving home and OLD FART ZAC flashed across the screen of my cell as an incoming call.
I didn’t think anything of it. I had seen him the night before after his game—the second loss under him—and he’d seemed all right. He’d even done a shoulder shimmy out of nowhere while sitting on Trevor’s couch, and I’d scratched his back. He’d oohed and aahed the whole time. I figured he was good and not totally down on himself. So I answered his call with “Hey, old man.”
“Peewee, you heard back about your channel?”
I smiled even though it wasn’t necessarily a totally happy one. “Not today. Apparently, they’re very busy. But they said they’re working on it.”
“I’m sorry,” he said sincerely. “What are you up to then?”
“On my way home from the grocery store. You?”
He’d groaned at the reminder I was driving around with one hand, like I hadn’t been driving with one hand for the last ten years. He’d gotten on my case about it after he’d driven me back to Maio House following my meltdown in the parking lot of the urgent care and after going to his house for soup—that he’d made at home just for me, with meatballs, spinach, rice, and beans—and several phone calls to WatchTube headquarters from me, him, and even CJ.
One of my viewers had emailed me yesterday to tell me that they saw my channel for sale on a website that sold hacked WatchTube channels, and all my videos had been taken down. Which then resulted in me blowing up and calling WatchTube again. And, truthfully, crying again.
After everything I’d gone through, the fear of losing it, of having to stay at Maio House after all, terrified me.
Forty-eight hours later, I still hadn’t gotten my channel back. They knew what was going on and claimed to be doing something. Personally, I didn’t get what the hell there was to “do” other than take it away and give it back to me, but…
I was trying to be optimistic. I had every hope I’d get it back, and if I cried a little between now and then, well, that was part of it. I was worried.
And my elbow hurting didn’t help any either. It didn’t help any at all.
Anyway.
Over the phone, Zac said, “Nothin’,” in a way that sounded… suspicious.
So I asked, “Did you want to come over? Was there something you wanted me to do for you?”
Then his “Mmm. Somethin’ like that. I’ll see you at your place, kiddo. Drive safe,” set alarms going off in my head.
I was already wary when I parked my car and spotted a small crowd hanging around the stairwell myself and three other neighbors shared. The thing was, Santiago rarely had company, and my other two neighbors were only home on the weekend. And today wasn’t a weekend.
I looked around. There wasn’t an ambulance or a firetruck. What the hell were they…?
I sped up, holding my purse and single bag tight in my right hand, watching the group of eight or nine moving like they were trying to get a better look at whatever was on the second floor. A few of them were holding their phones up, either trying to take pictures or record something. I slid through the group of people to get to the staircase.
Sure enough, I was still only halfway up when I heard Zac’s “You’re welcome, sugar.”
But what I wasn’t expecting was the “No problem” that I had spent enough time with now to recognize as CJ’s.
And there was a third voice that sounded familiar.
It was Amari, I confirmed a second later. Because all three of them were on the landing with my neighbor Santiago and three other people I didn’t recognize at all. Two men and one woman.
The woman was holding Zac’s forearm between her two hands, gazing up at him like he was a ten-carat diamond.
He was holding a small plastic bag in the same hand.
But the second I cleared the top step, Zac’s head swung toward me and he nailed me with a big smile and a “Took you long enough, darlin’.”
I smiled at him, eyeing the woman still clinging to him for a moment, and then grinned at CJ and Amari; it was Amari who turned and gave me a hug first, careful not to hit my left arm. CJ and I bumped elbows—well, he bumped my upper arm and I bumped his hip with my good one, but close enough. I slid Zac a look, pretty sure I caught a glimpse of a small frown that he quickly wiped away before he asked, “What? Nothin’ for me?”
I tried not to look at the woman who jerked her hands away from him. Was she a neighbor? I wasn’t sure. It wasn’t like it mattered.
Stepping toward him, I reached up and wrapped an arm around his back, feeling a heavy palm cup the back of my neck, his cheek pressing to the top of my head as his other hand landed on my left upper arm and gave it a rub with his warm, dry palm while his bag swayed against me.
“Hi, Bianca.”
Lowering my arm to let go of Zac, I turned my head to see my neighbor. “Hey, Santiago.”
The hand on the back of my neck twitched.
I reached up and set my fingers on his forearm, digging my fingertips in, and mouthed, “Muscle spasm?”
That Disney prince nose wrinkled for a moment before he lifted his gaze, held up a hand over my head, and said, “Sure was nice meetin’, y’all. Thank you so much for all the support. We hope to see y’all at a game in the future. Have a nice day.”
And if that wasn’t my sign to open the door and get inside the apartment, I had no idea what could be.
So that was exactly what I did, catching another glimpse of the people standing around, looking disappointed that Zac had cut their visit short.
A visit I was going to want an explanation for sooner than later.
And it came the instant I unlocked the door and led the three professional football players in.
Zac went right into it as he headed into the kitchen and opened a cabinet while I locked the door. “Y’all want some water? Bianca, we’re here to get your stuff. How long will it take you to finish packin’?”
Just as I was wondering what he was talking about, Amari said, “Yes,” and CJ said, “I’m good.”
He was already filling up the third glass of water, the bag hanging from his wrist, by the time I managed to ask, “What stuff are you talking about?”
Zac was handing Amari his glass when he answered. “Your stuff. What you don’t already have boxed.” He held one out toward me too, and I took it, watching him carefully, still confused. “Clothes. Kitchen things. We got boxes in my trunk. Between the four of us, we can get everything ready in an hour or two max, I bet.”
I held my breath. “And where are we moving my stuff?”
He had his back to me as he picked up his own glass of water to take a sip. “It’s goin’ to Trev’s, darlin’.”
Were my ears ringing? “And why would they be going to Trevor’s?”
“Because that’s where we can get you moved in right now ’til I figure out a better option.”
I repeated the words out loud like I hadn’t heard them correctly.
But apparently they were right before he nodded at me like yeah. Like no big deal. Like he’d thought about it and it made perfect sense to him.