Chapter 1 #2
BEING CARTER ST. PATRICK'S wife wasn't always easy.
I always had to be the perfectly coiffed and styled woman for any public event or game.
Hence, the sew-ins, lace fronts, or dramatic, sleek ponytails.
My own natural hair was too unpredictable unless I had a stylist on hand for the extra-special events, like the ESPY Awards or when we were in the playoffs.
That same stylist met with me quarterly to update me on the latest trends and even how to wear casual outfits best.
I had to be ready to smile and nod whenever the camera panned my way, whenever he made a touchdown or a fumble.
Pretending I adored my husband even when I didn't care to be his wife, especially when we argued before a game without making up. All eyes were on the quarterback’s wife and whether I was worthy to walk by his side any time we were in any circle outside of the football field.
It helped immensely that Carter never made me feel unworthy and always held my hand proudly.
He knew these showy events affected my self-esteem and drained my social battery.
Before every event, we usually devised a game plan for how best to mingle and exit without being noticed, and we rarely stayed longer than two hours.
Tonight was no different. We were at an ESPN party at the beautiful, historic J Paul Getty Museum, and Carter hated these parties as much as I did.
Being a star quarterback in the NFL didn't suddenly make my introverted husband an extrovert.
He often had to drink a glass or two of alcohol to relax at events like this, a habit he considered a necessary evil since he wasn't a drinker.
As we entered the breathtaking garden outside the museum to get some fresh air and see the sparkling fountain surrounded by manicured shrubs and small green trees, Carter took a long gulp of scotch.
“Think you’ve had enough,” I started. He didn't hold liquor well and sometimes would be loud and obnoxious. "You haven't eaten much either."
"I had two lobster crepe thingys and some of those dessert bites that floated around." Carter downed his glass and half-slammed it on a passing waiter’s silver tray. “Now, I’ve had enough.”
I pulled on the right lapel of his royal blue jacket. “You’ve been drinking more than usual.”
“I had three, and I’m not drinking anymore tonight.” He scanned the garden and sighed loudly.
“You had five, and no, you’re not drinking anymore,” I corrected as I searched his face. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” he uttered, moving his neck from side to side as if easing tension.
“I hate when you do that.” I moved slightly away, and he reached for my hand, tugging me back.
Carter grabbed a glass of white wine when another waiter walked past. “Do what...not listen to my mother because you're not talking to me like my wife?”
I folded my arms and continued, “Pretend everything’s cool when it’s not. I know you. Are you going to tell me what's going on?”
“Well, maybe you don’t know me. I mean, I thought I knew you, but shit happens.” He took a swig of his wine, and I took the glass from his hand when he lowered it from his mouth. I quickly finished the cool, crisp, sweet wine before he could take it back.
“You’re talking in circles.” I lifted his wrist and checked the time on his Rolex. “We’ve been here over an hour, so we can escape. We can talk in the car I’m driving home about what's really bothering you.”
His eyebrows rose sharply. “Hell, no. I don’t trust you driving my car.
” He drove a slate black Bugatti that he'd had custom-made to include leather seats with his name engraved on the headrests.
Carter wasn't a car collector, but this car was his other baby.
He bought me two vehicles two years ago—a pearl white Maserati and, for the family, a maroon Cadillac Escalade.
“You can’t drive now.”
“I’m not drunk.”
“I can barely see your eyes.” I pointed at his face, and he quickly grabbed my finger and kissed it.
“Can you remember that we’re in fucking public, and jabbing your finger looks like you’re angry with me?” He said through a fake smile.
Returning his phony smile, I tilted my head and replied, “I’m annoyed, not angry. You’ve been on edge all night, even before we got here. Are negotiations going well?”
“Yeah...decisions will be made soon.” Carter finally smiled genuinely. “Think it’s going to work out.”
I had misgivings about leaving a team he’d been successful with when they were on the cusp of greatness. He was integral to their greatness, and the Rams would suffer without him. Still, seeing my husband happy would be worth having his mother so nearby. “I hope so.” I pecked his lips.
“You really mean it?” Like a kid on Christmas, he looked so hopeful that I forgave his irritability and his drinking. My opinion still counted to him.
“Yeah. I want you to be happy even when I'm pissed with you.” I swung our hands slightly.
He kissed my neck, which always slicked my panties. “Later, I’ll make you happy, too.”
I giggled, grateful that the constant tension that had plagued us most of the day had broken. “Then let’s go home now.”
Carter rubbed the back of my hand and gazed into my eyes. “Love you.”
“Love you more.”
We’d just walked back inside the cool air when he halted in his tracks and cursed under his breath. I looked ahead, and my heart stopped.
Literally stopped.
Grant Jamison, a four-time gold medalist in the 2016 and 2021 Olympics, stood across the crowded party with an unreadable expression as he watched us. Also known as Grey, my former best friend and lover, who ironically brought my husband and me together.
Carter looked down at me. "Did you know he would be here?"
"I don't follow him and haven't for years. You don't think I would've warned you or had you come here alone?"
He grunted. "I don't know what you would do when it comes to him."
“Is this why you’ve been jumpy and drinking too much? You knew he would be here and didn't warn me. Were you testing me or something?”
Carter tightened his jaw, and his silence answered me.
And just like that, we were back to the way we were in college.