Chapter 11 #2
I flush. I don’t want kids, at least until I’m done with a degree. And with a real husband or partner. I have an IUD to guarantee that’s the case. “Perhaps not yet.”
“Barbara tells me you’re a career girl.” Myra snags a cocktail glass of what looks like bourbon from the tray of a passing waiter and takes a hearty sip. “Doesn’t mean you can’t have some fun practicing before the main event.”
I laugh; a prickle of heat goes up the back of my neck.
I scan the room, looking for Brayden and find only Barb glaring at me.
Ladies don’t laugh loudly, according to her, or talk with their hands, or need to eat anything other than air and wifely feelings.
Still, I feel fizzy, like a sip of champagne, long enough to forget I’m not who I’m pretending to be: a newlywed with a handsome new husband and disapproving mother-in-law.
Finally, I spot Brayden, standing by the bar, looking handsome as a prince. Only…his suit is the wrong color and his hair is escaping its gel. Blake. I can see why people mistake them for one another. Blake spots me and gives a slight wave, then comes over.
Closer, he’s just as handsome as Brayden, but there’s something about him that’s almost too perfect. His eyes are very blue, his smile is one I recognize, because I’m doing the same thing—pretending to be happy when I’m not.
“It’s great to meet you. Bray’s told me...” Blake starts and then stops. “Well, he hasn’t told me anything, really.”
“He hasn’t said much about you.” Only that I can’t tell if he hates you or hates you for leaving or both.
Blake’s shoulders go tense—a motion I recognize because Brayden does the exact same thing. “Bray’s complicated.” He says it like he’s delivering bad news, like he’s come all the way from Boston to this party to tell me exactly that.
“He is,” I agree.
“I worry about him,” Blake admits.
I do another scan of the room until I finally spot Brayden in a cluster of other ballplayers I recognize from game broadcasts. Not Asher. Asher isn’t here that I’ve seen. It’s possible he isn’t coming.
Brayden is holding a glass similar to the one Myra was drinking from.
Unlike hers, it doesn’t seem like his first, given the shine to his lips and eyes, the way he’s ever-so-slightly unsteady as he pals around with his boys.
None of them seem to notice that he’s drunk.
Notice or care? Maybe you have to know Brayden well to pick up on it, not that I do.
For some reason, my lips tingle. I pluck a flute of champagne from a tray and sip until the feeling lessens. “I worry about him too,” I say softly.
Blake smiles again, and this one seems closer to being real.
“Good, I’m glad someone else does, even when I—” Whatever he’s about to say gets interrupted when his phone buzzes.
He pulls it from his pocket. Briefly, the name Felix flashes on screen.
“If you’d excuse me…” And he hustles off before I can respond.
I’m making my way to the buffet—really, I should have eaten the entire tray the caterers brought, because I’m running nothing but nerves and champagne—when a very tiny, very pale, very blond woman comes up and throws her arms around me. “Oh my goodness, you must be Savannah!”
“Hi,” I say, rather than, Who are you?
“I’m Alexis—Lexi is fine—Isaiah McDonald’s wife, second baseman, blah blah, and girl, it is so nice to finally meet you.
” Lexi lets me go, whips out her phone, sips a pink cocktail, and shepherds her toddler, a little boy with curly hair and brown skin like his father’s—seemingly all at once.
“Here, put your number in.” She thrusts her phone at me.
“I’ve been on Isaiah to get that from Brayden, but you know how men are.
Absolutely useless when it comes to anything but hitting a ball with a stick. ”
I type my number into her phone and hand it back to her.
A second later, a chime comes from my phone, which I stuck down one side of my dress next to my left boob so I won’t lose it.
I extract it—“That is a good idea,” Lexi chirps—and see that Lexi has sent me a whole bunch of heart emojis and added me to the Peaches WAGs group chat.
Me: Hi everyone, it’s Savannah. Brayden Forsyth’s…
Wife. What I am. To this room full of people. To the state of Nevada and every other state. To everyone but the two most important people in the matter—Brayden and myself.
I add an emoji of a bride. That feels more honest, somehow.
Instantly, a dozen messages come in: his and welcomes and pretended outrage that Brayden took so long to get me added. Ballplayers, it seems, can’t be relied on for anything. Everything else has to be managed by women like Lexi—women like me, I realize.
“Anyway”—Lexi’s son tugs at her dress and she scoops him up one-handed without losing a flicker of her smile—“we gotta take you out. I’m sure Brayden has you stuck in that big ol’ house by yourself.”
Which he one hundred percent did. Strangely, my gut flares defensively. “Bray’s been so sweet, giving me time to settle in.”
Lexi’s expression doesn’t waver, but her eyebrow ticks as if questioning Brayden and sweet.
The way Barb’s had. So maybe Brayden isn’t fooling as many people as he thinks.
“This lifestyle can get lonely,” Lexi says, tone slightly more serious.
“Tell you what—the boys have a road trip coming up. We gotta make sure we have as much fun as they do when they’re out of town. ”
I think of the bruise on Brayden’s neck that he had while he was at the altar vowing to love, honor, and cherish me. What other fun was he getting up to on the road? “That sounds great!” I say. “Am I the only new girl in the group?”
Lexi’s forehead pinches in question.
Despite it being warm in the room, I’ve managed to avoid sweating—glistening, really—before now. My palms suddenly go damp. “Asher—I mean Adler, the first baseman. I was wondering if his girlfriend had been added to the group chat yet.”
“You’re so sweet to think of that,” Lexi says. “But no, I don’t know that he has someone.”
“Oh, that’s too bad,” If I take a drink of champagne just then, it’s mostly so Lexi doesn’t notice my smile.
“He’s here, you know?” Lexi scans around the room. “Or he was.”
“Who?” I ask, trying not to let my gaze follow hers.
“Adler,” Lexi says. “I thought you would have noticed. He was looking right at you.”