Chapter 4
NADINE
“This is delicious,” I say, shoving a very unladylike bite of homemade pizza into my mouth, this one with prosciutto, peaches, basil, and balsamic vinegar. Since my brother installed a pizza oven outside, he’s become an adept chef.
Erik and Molly live on the Main Line, the affluent suburbs outside of Philadelphia, in a house that boasts six bedrooms, eight bathrooms, a pool, sauna, and over an acre of land.
It’s secluded enough that they live in peace, but Erik can drive to the stadium in thirty minutes, which is perfect for their growing family.
My brother points his thumb over his shoulder to the brick oven.
“I have the fig and goat cheese one in there now.”
“You’re spoiling me so much, you’re gonna have a hard time kicking me out.”
Molly grins, aiming her pizza crust my way. “That’s the plan.”
I’ve been here for about a week, and I’ve spent most of that time snuggling with Kai, reading all the books I’ve been meaning to, and rotting on the sofa. But I woke up this morning, needing to do something.
Like Erik instructed, I did not resign from my position, and while I don’t feel all that confident about returning in the fall, I’m also trying to keep my mind off my job and my students. Especially Stacey. She should be due soon.
This morning, when I filled Molly in on all the details—how I’d taken Stacey to her doctor’s appointments and purchased her a few things, like baby clothes and gift cards—Molly hugged me close and told me we were going out.
I didn’t argue, needing to clear my head and conscience, so we took a Pilates class, went out for a long lunch, and then did a little shopping.
By the time we returned home, Erik had started preparing dinner and greeted us each with a smile and a glass of wine, directing us to have a seat on the patio.
Suspiciously.
Not that my brother isn’t thoughtful and generous, because he absolutely is, but he’s been watching me for the last half hour like he’s waiting to drop a bomb.
He does after I’ve polished off a piece of the delightful fig and goat cheese pizza and replenished my wineglass. “So, I was with Camden today.”
“How’s he doing?” Molly asks, checking on Kai in his bouncy chair, drooling around his fist.
Erik inhales a big breath. “He’s…not great.”
Molly winces. “Poor guy.”
I don’t follow celebrity gossip, but after Erik told me about the situation, I looked it up, curious for more information on his sister.
I’m not particularly fond of Camden, but my heart did break for him and Paisley.
Especially after I learned someone had sold pictures of the funeral to the tabloids.
The image of Camden with his arm around his sister filters into my mind.
The photo had been taken from behind, so her face wasn’t made public—small favors—but the infamous athlete was in profile, gazing down at her, the heartache etched so clearly on his features, it was impossible not to feel sympathy for him. Despite all of his faults.
Erik scoots closer to me. “Paisley is having a hard time adjusting, and training camp is going to be starting soon, so he needs to figure out a plan. And I thought you might be able to help.”
I wrench back. “Me?”
“He needs someone to take care of Paisley. Like a nanny.”
“No.” I laugh into a sip of wine. “Absolutely not.”
Molly leans over the table to flick my brother’s ear. “Erik, did you volunteer her for something?”
“No.” He avoids another flick, swatting at her hand. “Only told him I would ask.”
“I’m not a nanny,” I say more seriously, as my brother shifts his attention to me.
“No, but you sign.”
I huff. “So do you. Why don’t you do it?”
“You’re a teacher,” he says, as if I don’t know. “You work with kids her age all day long.”
“I thought I was supposed to come here to relax and hang out for the summer.”
He holds his hands up in innocence. “It was just an idea. It’s been really hard on them, their lives being turned upside down. And I know he’s got a reputation, but his parents died. That changes a person.”
I bite the inside of my cheek. I don’t doubt that Camden is grieving hard and struggling with guardianship of his sister, but life is not constant amusement and gratification, as he has always seemed to believe it is. He has to grow up at some point.
And my lingering ire at all the insults he’s thrown my way get the better of me. “He’s a dick.”
Erik shrugs. “Maybe, but he needs help.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m not interested in helping assholes.”
“What about my best friend?”
I refuse to answer my brother, instead choosing to turn away from him.
He doesn’t let it go. “And you know that’s not really who he is.”
My traitorous sister-in-law agrees. “Underneath all that asshole exterior, he’s a nice guy.”
My jaw flaps open. “You think this is a good idea?”
She wags her finger. “I didn’t say that. But I do think you two got off on the wrong foot all those years ago.”
“Yeah? And the arrest is more proof of what a nice guy he is?”
“It was for drag racing, not assault,” Erik says defensively. “Other players have done much worse.”
It’s a pathetic defense of toxic masculinity to say at least it wasn’t assault, and I count off his other offenses on my fingers.
“No? What about the drinking and partying? All the girls? That time he pushed the referee? Or when he trashed your locker room after the championship game that he lost for you last year because he couldn’t wait one goddamn second to celebrate so he could realize he was on the one-yard line and not in the end zone? No one is more arrogant than he is.”
Erik stays silent, only shaking his head.
So I continue. “He’s a joke. He takes nothing seriously, and you expect me to swoop in and save his ass because he has to be an adult for once in his life? No. No thank you.”
“Don’t talk about him like that,” Erik snaps, but I’m not done.
“You know all the shit he’s said about me? To my face? That I’m uptight and need to get laid, that I’d be prettier if I smiled. He actually said that to me, Erik, and maybe you don’t care about that. But I do. I don’t work with people like that.”
Erik leans away from me, sucking air through his teeth, and I hate that sound. Like nails on a chalkboard. “As if you haven’t said shit back to him? This isn’t all one-sided.”
Molly takes our argument as her cue to leave and swiftly removes Kai from his seat, muttering something about giving him a bath while I silently fume.
Because, of course, I’ve said things to him. He’s a real-life Gaston. Rude, conceited, and I’m positive he’s never read a book without pictures in his life. He needs to be brought down a peg or two.
After a staredown, Erik breathes out a noisy exhale.
“If you really don’t want to, I won’t push it, but I’m surprised.
” He lifts a shoulder as if he doesn’t care one way or the other, but then he hits me right where he knows it’ll land.
“I figured you’d care about Paisley, about getting her the help and support she needs. You’re the perfect person to do that.”
Then he stands and leaves me to my indignation.
And memories.
Of the first time I ever met Camden Long.
It was at an engagement party for Erik and Molly five years ago in a ballroom in Center City, Philadelphia.
Back then, the Founders were still trying to turn their losing record around, but Erik and Camden were the up-and-coming players, making moves for their team, which had previously been called the Flounders by anyone who followed professional football.
And the story of Erik marrying his high school sweetheart was the kind of made-for-TV stuff producers clamored for, so while the wedding would be small and have no publicity involved, the engagement party was a big affair.
I’d picked out what I thought to be a flattering gown and practiced walking in the sky-high heels for weeks. So it hurt more than I’d like to admit when I’d overheard some of Erik’s teammates talking, Camden in particular.
“I can’t believe Rivera has such a big family,” one of them said.
“Yo, you talk to his dad? I’d love to see that Olympic medal,” another one added.
“You meet the sister?” the center asked.
To which another offensive lineman said, “She’s in college, bro, barely legal. Stay away.”
I’d been about to barge into the conversation to defend Emmaline when the center said, “Not that one. The other one. The dark-haired one.”
That was when Camden cut in. “I think it’s best if everybody leaves the Rivera girls alone. Especially the older one.”
I hung back, hidden by a potted plant, while the oblivious players had no idea I could hear.
“What’s her name?”
“Nadine,” Camden answered. “She’s a schoolteacher.”
One of the other players snickered. “Bet she fucks like one too.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Camden asked as the rest broke up into chuckles while I curled my hands into fists at my sides.
“Haven’t you ever had a fantasy about fucking one of your teachers?”
Camden shrugged, his glass, containing some dark drink, appearing minuscule in his giant hand. “Not ones who look like her.”
I couldn’t stand there anymore, listening to him talk about me or my body. No, I wasn’t blond like my sister or super confident like some of the other women strutting about, but I certainly didn’t deserve his derisive laughter.
The next time I ran into him that night, I let him know he needed to check himself and maybe switch to water because, “Nobody likes a cocky asshole at their parties.”
Now, I grit my teeth, feeling the humiliation all over again. Remembering how every time we met after that party, our barbs went further. Deeper.
I really can’t imagine he’d want me working with him. For him.
But then I recall that photo of Camden with his arm around Paisley. The way his mouth was tipped down, his usually perfect hair a mess, the glistening streak down his cheek in HD, evidence that the man did indeed have feelings that weren’t all about himself.
I think about my students and how I always wish I could do more for them, and even though Camden has the world at his fingertips with his money and fame, sometimes that isn’t enough.
It certainly won’t be enough for his sister.
With a sigh, I down the rest of my wine and then march inside, where Erik turns to me in the kitchen, expectantly. “I agree to one meeting,” I tell him. “But if he makes one snide comment to me, I’m out.”
Erik nods slowly, almost as if he’s afraid if he makes any quick movement, I’ll change my mind.
I point a warning finger at him. “You tell that friend of yours, this isn’t for him. It’s for Paisley.”