Chapter 23 Rachel
This is all happening so fast. My heart is pounding so hard, I feel as if it’s going to burst right through my chest wall and flop onto the floor. I put my hands over it and press, as if that’s going to keep it inside my body.
"Are you okay?" Gramps is staring straight ahead, but he has the peripheral vision of a hawk. He knows I don’t like to be looked at when I’m starting to panic. I called him to tell him I needed a few days off. Considering I was supposed to start at the new office yesterday, this was a big ask.
My flabbers were gasted when he not only told me to take as much time as I needed but offered to drive me to the airport as well.
It turned out that the remodeling in the new building still wasn’t finished, so I would have continued working remotely anyway.
That makes so much more sense than this overt gesture of caring.
Gramps loves me, but he’s not the best at showing it.
I think he would have been much more content to love us in the distant-grandfather role than as the surrogate-father role he was forced to play.
"I’m fine," I answer. It’s the standard response, whether it’s true or not.
"What are your plans when you land?"
"One of the other player’s wife is also flying in. She’s on a different flight, but she’s going to wait for me. We’re rooming together."
"Too bad you weren’t on the same flight. I’d feel better if you weren’t by yourself," Gramps says. This is about as much as he’ll express his concern. He’s worried about me. I’ve given him plenty of reasons over the years to be.
"Well, Richie said I had to fly by myself, so it wouldn’t count otherwise. I’ve got some Xanax, movies to stream, a coloring book, and music. And I have a friend waiting for me when I get off the plane."
It’s a stretch, calling Ophelia Henry a friend, but if it gives Gramps a little peace of mind, then it’s worth the exaggeration.
She seems lovely through text messages. Unbeknownst to me, I’d been following her on ClikClak ever since her #romanticsurprise video.
She seems to like books too, so I’m sure we’ll find plenty to talk about.
I’m actually looking forward to getting out to Vegas so I can meet her.
Not as much as I’m looking forward to seeing TJ again.
Even if it’s only from the stands, it’ll be enough.
It’s not like this trip means anything. He was suggesting it in a friendly way.
Like friends do. For friends. Because he said I’m his friend.
Message received loud and clear.
Let the record state that the reason I got a haircut before this trip was not to impress TJ Doyle in any way, shape, or form.
I was simply about fourteen months overdue.
My hair feels—and looks—infinitely better in the chin-length bob I now sport.
Like I said, I’m probably not even going to see him in person during this trip.
He’d mentioned parasailing on Lake Mead, but I think that was just to inform me that it was available for me to do on my own.
He probably has a rider in his contract that he can’t do anything dangerous during the season.
I don’t know for a fact that parasailing is dangerous, but it sure seems like it to me.
One year, Richie and I drove down to Myrtle Beach for our spring break.
We were lying there, baking in the South Carolina sunshine, when a guy came right up to us and said, "Ladies, let me take you up.
Only one dollar." He pointed to a boat zooming through the water with a large parachute attached to the back.
I squinted and saw that there was a person under the parachute, at least 100 feet above the surface of the water.
We were poor college kids, so one dollar anything seemed intriguing. He had our attention, but I had a feeling that it was too good to be true. I said, "It’s really only one dollar?"
He nodded. "Yup. That’s it. One dollar to go up. Forty-nine to come back down."
I bet Richie was thinking about that when she put it on her list. I wish we’d spent the hundred dollars back then to be able to do it together.
The flight was not as bad as I thought it was going to be. I didn’t love the taking off or the landing bit, but once we were at cruising altitude, it just felt like a car ride with less scenery. Apparently, flying is not one of the things that makes me anxious. Who could have predicted that one?
One smutty pirate-vampire romance book—Stolen Stars by Lia Finn—later, and we’re touching down on the tarmac.
The person next to me was binge-watching Grey’s Anatomy.
I will still never forgive the creators of that show for killing off Denny Duquette.
Even if I wanted to rewatch it, the whole Izzy-cancer-brain-tumor storyline hits too close to home.
Why couldn’t Richie have had a Dr. McDreamy to take her cancer out before it claimed her life?
Because life is not like a TV show or a book or anything else in which we’re guaranteed a happy ending.
God, I wish we were.
The first thing that greets me when I set foot in the terminal is slot machines. The second is Ophelia Henry. I recognize her from her videos. She’s about my height, with her long dark hair in braids, wispy bangs dancing across her forehead.
"Are you Ophelia?"
"Who wants to know?" Her tone is wary.
"I’m Rachel. Rachel Cramer."
Immediately, the suspicion disappears from her face as she breaks into a wide grin. "Hi! You made good time. I didn’t expect you for a while longer."
I don’t know how to respond to that. It wasn’t like I was flying the plane and made good route choices, like when you pick the faster lane of the two-lane drive-through at McDonald’s.
"Thank you for waiting for me. I’ve never flown before, and this is all a bit …
overwhelming." The massive high ceilings with chrome and windows.
The buzz of the people. The clanging and beeping of the slot machines.
Dear God, there are a lot of slot machines.
"If you played the slots here, would you consider it going to a casino?" I ask Ophelia as we begin to walk, following the signs to baggage claim and transportation.
She thinks for a minute. "No, the casinos are an experience themselves. You have to go to at least one. At least that’s what everyone says." She whispers in my ear. "I’ve never actually been here, but I’ve been researching it like crazy. Ask me anything. I’ve been studying."
"How far are they from here?"
"A little over a mile. Look there." She points at a window. "That’s the Strip. The stadium is about three miles or so from here."
She does seem to know her stuff.
"Oh wow. It’s all so close. I saw the mountains and the desert as we were coming in. Not gonna lie, I was a little nervous we were gonna hit a mountain. It’s all so …"
"Hot and brown. That’s the best way to describe Las Vegas. Hot and brown."
I consult my phone to check the temperature. It’s 99 degrees. "It’s mid-September, and it’s almost a hundred degrees!"
"But it’s a dry heat. So is the inside of your oven, but no one seems to make that comparison.
Make sure you drink a lot. You’ll get dehydrated quickly.
" She holds up a large water bottle that’s half-empty.
"That’s what happened to me when we went to Phoenix, and the weather’s pretty much the same here.
Hot as Hades, and guaranteed to give you a headache if you get dehydrated. "
"Thanks again for helping me out with this." We’re crossing the second-floor bridge into the parking garage where our Uber is waiting. "I don’t think I ever would have figured this out."
"You get used to it. I don’t travel as much as some of the WAGs do, but in general, they’re a friendly group. I really like Hannah LaRosa. She’s with Callaghan Entay, the goalie. We’ve worked together a few times, and she’s cool. You’ll like her too. We’ll hang out soon."
The whirlwind of words coming from her mouth has my brain spinning. I try to process it all. "What’s a WAG?"
"Wives and girlfriends of players. I don’t care for the term myself, but we are a group, and it helps to stick together. This life—being the partner to a professional soccer player—can be lonely, and the group helps with some of that."
"I’m not a WAG. We’re just friends."
"Friends"—she makes air quotes with her fingers—"don’t go to these lengths on a moment’s notice."
Our baggage stowed in the trunk, we slide into the back seat of the Uber. "I’m not really here for the game. TJ and I are friends, and I’ll naturally support him, but I have some stuff to do. Including flying by myself and going to a casino. The timing just worked well."
Ophelia raises an eyebrow. "I meant TJ orchestrating this, having me help you out, and staying in my room. Of course, I’m happy to, because you know I love a romantic storyline."
Her viral ClikClak was proof of that. She was trying for one of those grand romantic gestures. Turns out her boyfriend was a turd, and the video exposed him.
If I try to deny it again, it will not help my case. Instead, I change the subject. "So what do you do when you’re traveling with the team?"
"I wouldn’t call it traveling with the team. They are fairly locked down. This is one trip where they have almost a full day before they fly out, though, so we might get to see the boys a little."
"Is that why you’re here?"
"Nah, I need to do some research for my next book. It’s a mob romance, set in Vegas. This is a work trip for me."
"Oh, you’re a writer? I thought you just liked to read books."
"That too. I write spicy romance under the name Lia Finn."
"I JUST READ YOUR BOOK!" My voice is way too loud for the confines of the car, but Ophelia doesn’t seem to mind. "I don’t even like smutty books, but I’d seen it so much that I thought I would give it a try. It made the flight go by so fast! My sister would have loved it."
"Would you believe someone accused me of using Xavier for research for that book and said I was only with him to get my storyline? It blew up and nearly cost me everything."
With that, we both break into laughter. The over-the-top, side-splitting, tear-inducing laughter that such a ridiculous notion can bring.
Wiping the tears away, I say, "Is Xavier immortal? I’ve seen him outside in the sun, so that kind of discounts the vampire theory, unless you’ve created a new breed of sun-tolerant vampires.
Something more plausible than sparkling like diamonds in the light. "
We can’t contain our laughter as we get out of the Uber and check into the hotel. There’s something about Ophelia that immediately puts me at ease. For the first time since Richie’s diagnosis, the huge crushing weight that’s been threatening to suffocate me lessens.
We’re at the W, which is where the Buzzards are staying as well. It’s easily one of the swankiest places I’ve ever visited, with its gold trim and marble everything. This is a very long way from Cramer-Romero Associates Pumps. Surely they’re going to kick me out for being an impostor.
That doesn’t even touch the fact that I’m not a WAG.
"The guys have a curfew, but they usually have a nice meal in one of the restaurants. I’ll find out which one, and we can go there too.
" Her fingers fly over her phone, texting away.
"Okay, apparently all the restaurants they are considering are over at Mandalay Bay.
" She squints at the phone. "Xavier says they’re deciding between Mediterranean and steak.
" She looks up. "Ten bucks says they’re going to do Mexican. It’s what they usually do. "
Ophelia checks her phone and laughs. "Maybe I should gamble a little while I’m here.
They’re going to the Border Grill. Oh wait, Xavier has a message for you from TJ.
He says there’s a casino in Mandalay Bay, right where the restaurant is, so you can hit that after.
I’m here to see the casinos too, so what do you say? "
Ophelia talks so fast that it makes my head spin.
She keeps going. "Let’s get changed. Do you want to shower?
I might shower. Like a quick rinse off. Not my hair or anything.
I feel like I should dress up a little. Do you want to dress up a little?
We don’t have to if you don’t want to. It’d be nice to look cute for our men, even if they can only see us from across the room. "
My face falls. "I didn’t bring anything cute. I don’t own anything cute. I don’t go anywhere where I need to look cute."
"You can wear one of my outfits. I totally overpacked because I couldn’t decide what I wanted to wear, so I just threw a bunch of stuff in my bag.
" She is rummaging through her suitcase, pulling out all her clothes.
Every minute or so, she stops to look at me, her eyes narrowing. "Okay, I think this one is for you."
She hands me a black sheath minidress that has a large white flounce around the top of the chest. "It’s got your cute vibe, but also a little sexy too."
"What are you going to wear?" I hold the dress she’s handed me, already in love with it.
"I’m feeling sassy tonight. I’m gonna wear this one." Ophelia holds up a red boatneck skater dress. "I want my husband to be chomping at the bit to get home to me after the game."
Getting ready feels like it did when Richie and I were in high school. We never did anything wild or crazy. Most of the time, doing our hair and makeup was the most fun part of the night. We’ve got music blasting, and when The Black Eyed Peas come on, I immediately pick up my phone to text TJ.
Me: Ophelia and I are getting ready for a night on the Vegas Strip.
I snap a picture of my leg extended, showing the short hem of my dress, a fair amount of skin, and Ophelia’s strappy black heels.
TJ: You’re killing me, Smalls.
"What’s that grin about?" Ophelia exits the bathroom in a cloud of hairspray and perfume. She looks fantastic.
"Nothing. I just sent a picture to TJ."
A sly grin takes over her face. "Right. Your friend, TJ."
I pick up my purse. "Yup. He’s just a friend. He told me so himself. That’s how he sees me. That’s it. That’s all."
As Ophelia pulls open the door, she says, "Well, let’s go make him eat those words."
I am totally okay with that.