Chapter 12 #2
I carefully pick her up, then pull her wheelchair over to strap her in.
We quietly head to the door so she can go potty.
Flash is very fortunate that she still has control over her bladder and bowels, although she has accidents at times.
She loves to feel the grass under her paws, and the wind across her fur.
I often find her sniffing the breeze, eyes closed, enjoying the moment. This morning is no exception.
I sense Chelsea before I see her. “Did I wake you?”
“It’s weird when you do that,” she says, her voice raspy.
I look over my shoulder to find her rubbing sleep from her eyes, a robe haphazardly hung on her thin frame, but a steaming cup of coffee gripped tightly in her left hand.
The mug she chose is black, with the words ‘gay by birth, proud by choice’ in a rainbow ombre, and it’s one I gave her a few years ago.
As soon as I saw it, I knew she had to have it.
Chelsea’s parents didn’t accept her coming out, and it broke her for quite some time.
I, however, wanted her to know I loved her exactly as she was.
“I guess I shouldn’t say anything, because I didn’t hear you at all. Just knew you were here.”
“What did you call us once? Platonic life partners?”
She nods. “I sometimes wonder if I am the love of your life. You can only be so lucky as to get a piece of this amazing ass.”
“It’s your modesty,” I reply, deadpan. “It’s so attractive. I can’t fight the pull to you anymore.”
Chelsea yawns. “Give me a few more sips of caffeine, then you can give me the gossip.”
“Who says there is gossip?”
She gives me a look of disinterest. “You showed up here on a Sunday morning before sunrise. I know there’s gossip. I’m not alert enough to think of which sibling of yours started something at the event.”
“Neither of them did anything,” I say with a sigh.
“Your parents?”
“Nope. Well, kinda. But not on purpose.”
Chelsea studies me. “This can’t be good.”
“No, it’s not,” I reply, then watch as she takes a large gulp of the coffee. “I don’t think that was a good choice.”
“It’s fine,” she says hoarsely, pounding her breastbone a few times. “I’ll be fine. Get the dog and get inside. I’m awake.”
Thirty minutes later, Chelsea stares at me in disbelief. “Jamie. The quarterback? Who looked like he was ready to mount you in the exam room on Monday, had a girl wrapped around him on Saturday?”
I nod.
“And Martin —”
I interrupt. “Maddox.”
She swivels her hand in the air nonchalantly. “Whatever. He said the girl isn’t Jamie’s girl, but some kind of good deed he was doing for their coach?”
“Yep.”
“And you haven’t spoken to Jamie at length about it yet?”
“No. You know I can’t do that. I need time to decompress and work out all the details first.”
“Do you think Jamie was on a date?” she asks.
I shut my eyes tightly, hating the image that pops into my head. Him looking so dapper and beautiful in his tux, and her climbing him like a damn spider monkey. “They looked perfect together. Like she was just his type.”
“You don’t know his type, Aud,” Chelsea says softly. “You’re assuming based on a lot of factors here, none of which come from the man himself.”
“All I know is what I’ve seen with my own two eyes, and everything that Google has told me.
A quick search of ‘Jameson Wahlberg girlfriend’ brings up quite a few women, and exactly zero of them look a thing like me.
And I know it’s ridiculous of me to believe Google, because the Internet isn’t always the truth, but my own history says that men lie.
” I don’t realize I’m crying until a tear drops onto my hand.
I’m not the crying type, and I’ve cried more in the past twelve hours than I have in the past year.
“Aud,” Chelsea says quietly, “I think you need to give him a chance to explain. If for no other reason than getting closure so you two can plan this event.”
“I feel so stupid,” I whisper.
“Why?”
“Because I let myself believe. That maybe we could be something.”
“Why do you think you can’t be something now?”
I shrug. “I don’t think I fit into his world.
The only reason I was there tonight was because my parents forced me to be there.
Had it been for any other organization, I wouldn’t have gotten an invite.
But Jamie can show up wherever, and he’ll be let in.
He’ll have an entourage, sign autographs, and every woman in the room will wonder what he’s like in bed.
I doubt myself on an hourly basis, Chels.
I’d never be able to confidently be on his arm. ”
“Audrey,” she whispers, pain and sympathy etched into her face.
“I wish you could see how truly amazing you are. I hate that you think you’d just be an ornament for him, because I know you’d steal the show.
I can only hope that Jamie is the guy that recognizes your worth too, and he’ll patiently help you build up the confidence you need to walk beside him. ”
I shake my head. A quick moment, a blip in time, is bringing back every bad memory of my life.
Ridiculed for my weight. Mocked for my love of animals.
Mocked for misjudging a social situation.
It’s dumping on me, wave after wave of depression, sadness, and emotional trauma. “I’m not ready to face any of that.”
“Okay, sweetie,” Chelsea says patiently. “Why don’t you take a nap? I know you, and I bet you didn’t sleep much at all last night.”
“I didn’t,” I whisper. She moves off the couch, handing me a blanket. “Is it okay if I stay here tonight? I don’t want to go home. Just in case he — he knows where I live. I’m not ready to face him.”
“Okay. Just sleep for now. We’ll figure it out when you’re rested.”
Shit. The guinea pigs. “Wait! I need to go home. The piggies —”
Chelsea interrupts me with a devilish grin. “I’ll go feed them this evening. I can be sneaky and quiet. The QB won’t even know I’m there.”
As Chelsea quietly walks into her kitchen, I ball up the blanket, holding it tightly to my chest. It relieves a tiny bit of the ache, but not much. I fall into a deep, dreamless sleep, but wake no closer to a resolution than before.
I sleep on and off throughout the day on Chelsea’s couch, content to ignore the world from my own little self-imposed bubble.
If I wasn’t the only vet at my clinic, I’d be tempted to call in sick Monday, but I can’t let my clients down.
I’ve used a traveling veterinarian to fill in for me a couple of times, but it’s always been for more valid reasons than now.
Plus I’m pretty sure Chelsea would kill me if she had to handle everything in my absence.
Bright and early Monday morning, I head back to my townhouse.
I need to shower and get ready for the day, and I want to spend some time with the pigs.
I feel guilty for leaving them alone this long.
I’m thankful I don’t have any appointments for a couple of hours, so I can work on focusing my attention and emotions.
Since I typically spend an hour on Sunday afternoons doing a little meal prep for the week, I guess this week’s lunches will be a free-for-all.
As I turn into my complex, I have a perfect view of the front of my townhouse … and the large quarterback currently slumped against the front door.