8. Lucy
eight
Lucy
Sliding my key into the lock, I turn the knob and let myself into my friends’ house. Reese greets me with a strained smile from the kitchen. “Hey, Lu. You’re just in time for Emerson’s famous fudgy brownies.”
My brows rise, and Reese’s eyes widen, wordlessly warning me to tread lightly. If Emerson is making brownies, it probably means one of two things. She’s stressing about something or wallowing in a temporary depression. The most likely culprits for her mood are her boss and her ex-boyfriend.
I nod, letting Reese know I got the warning, kick my shoes off by the door, and toss my bag onto the couch. I cross the living room into the eat-in kitchen and smile when Emerson’s gaze meets my face. “Smells delicious.”
Her eyes narrow, then she drops her gaze to the pan of brownies as she cuts them into squares.
When I realize that she’s made a double batch, I turn to Reese with wide eyes.
She shrugs, and I sigh. Emerson scoops brownies onto three plates and hands me one.
When Reese has hers, we gather around the little round table for four tucked into the corner of the kitchen.
Without preamble, Emerson attacks her plate, stacked with three thick brownies. My gaze darts to Reese, but she doesn’t take her eyes off Emerson.
I clear my throat. “Everything okay, Em?”
Her forkful of brownies pauses midway to her mouth. She takes a deep breath and blows it out slowly as her jaw clenches. “Fine.”
I swallow, pushing my untouched brownie forward so I can rest my elbows on the table. “Are you sure?”
She slams her fork down on the table and lets out a grunt of frustration.
“Ugh. It’s like she doesn’t understand that I have my own clients and my own projects to complete.
If she wants to leave the office early to run personal errands, she should either work ahead or divide the tasks among the entire team.
But what does she do? Dump a huge file of things that need to be finished by the end of the day on my desk on her way out of the office.
She’s inconsiderate, unorganized, and entitled.
I’ll never understand how she was given the promotion over me.
I work twice as hard as she ever did, but I guess since I’m not willing to throw myself at the CEO, none of that matters. ”
Emerson works for a social media management agency based in Nashville. They started as a tiny company, but they’ve grown rapidly. Emerson is an incredible social media manager, apparently so good that she does her boss’s work in addition to her own.
Reese sets her hand on Emerson’s arm, a dangerous move. When Emerson is in fury mode like this, she’s like a cornered bear. I hold my breath as Reese tries to soothe her. “Honey, I’m so sorry. It’s not fair for her to walk all over you like that.”
Emerson blows a puff of air through her nose, sounding a little like a snorting bull before it charges. “It’s fine. It’s nothing I’m not used to. I’ve just got to keep my head down and do my job.”
Reese frowns, and I bite my lip. I have a sneaking suspicion that this isn’t about her diva of a boss. Feeling safe from Emerson’s temper with a table between us, I clear my throat. “Is something else bothering you?”
Her light blue eyes meet my gaze full of icy fire, and I freeze in my chair, regretting my boldness.
Reese intercedes with an annoyed sigh. “What did he do now?”
Before she can respond, the front door swings open, and Skye breezes in with a smile and grocery bags on each arm. Reese is clearly doing a better job with Emerson than I am, so I meet Skye in the living room, taking some of the bags off her arms.
She sighs in relief. “Thank you.”
I lean in and whisper, “Em made brownies.”
Her eyes widen, and I nod as I continue, “A double batch. She’s already complained about her boss. Reese had just asked about he-who-must-not-be-named when you came in.”
She nods and plasters her smile back onto her face as we cross the room together with her groceries. “The brownies smell yummy. What’s the occasion?”
Emerson’s icy gaze meets Skye’s, whose smile falters as she sets the bags on the counter. “My boss is an entitled leech, and my ex is still managing to bother me from thousands of miles away.”
Emerson turns toward her plate and aggressively chews another bite of brownie. Reese sighs and leans her elbow on the table. Skye’s wide eyes meet mine, and we unload the groceries quickly and silently.
Once we’ve finished, Skylar serves herself a brownie, I pour Emerson a glass of milk, and we take our places around the table. I slide the glass across the table to Emerson, hoping she appreciates the peace offering. She sighs, nods her thanks, and drains it.
Reese turns to Emerson. “Go on. What did he do?”
Her jaw clenches, and her gaze drops to her plate. I’d be willing to bet her hands are rolled into fists in her lap. “He didn’t really do anything. He’s the same happy-go-lucky, charismatic guy he’s always been.”
Reese frowns. “I don’t understand.”
Emerson takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “Zeke sent me a video of his latest interview, and I watched it. It was all the same generic stuff they ask the headlining players for social media stats… until they asked about his contract.”
Reese tilts her head, frown still present. “What do you mean?”
Emerson tucks her hair behind her ears. “His contract ends this year, which means, if his team doesn’t renew it, he’ll enter free agency, and he could end up on a new team.”
Skye frowns. “So, what did he say when they asked about it?”
Emerson rolls her shoulders back, drawing herself up taller.
“Just some ridiculous nonsense about wishing he could play for a team closer to home, if his contract isn’t renewed, so he could come visit more often.
Like he ever comes to visit in the first place.
It has to have been at least six years since he’s been here.
” She closes her eyes and draws a deep breath. “But it doesn’t matter. I’ve moved on.”
I inspect my fingernails to avoid any telling facial expressions. She hasn’t been on a second date since he broke up with her the summer before our sophomore year of college. They had been together nearly four years. To say she was devastated is an understatement.
Emerson’s ex, Wesley Carter, is a professional baseball player and her older brother Zeke’s best friend.
This is his fourth season in the major leagues, and he’s had such a good year that he’s basically reached celebrity status.
We frequently see his photos plastered all over the internet—especially Emerson, since she works in social media.
Skye narrows her eyes at Emerson. “But… wouldn’t it be a good thing for him to visit sometimes? I mean, I’m sure Zeke would love to see him, not to mention all his family.”
Emerson snaps her mouth shut, crosses her arms, and stares at her plate.
Reese glares at Skye, and she shrugs. Reese squeezes Emerson’s shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay if you’re not over him.”
I nod. “Yeah. The two of you dated forever. It takes time to get over something like that.”
Without looking up from her brownie, Emerson mumbles. “It’s been seven years. I should be over him.”
I frown and shake my head. “Says who? There’s no dating rule book, Em. It’s okay if it still hurts.”
She shakes her head, shrugs Reese’s hand from her shoulder, and stands up from the table. “Thanks for the chat, but I want to eat my brownies alone right now.”
She snatches her plate from the table and carries it down the hall to her room. When the door closes, Reese blows out a long breath and sets her head in her hands.
Skye scoops up a bite of brownie, staring at it on the end of her fork. “That may have been the longest stretch without a mention of you-know-who we’ve ever had.”
Reese peeks at Skye through her fingers. “I thought she was truly over him this time.”
I nod, then shake my head. “He really did a number on her heart when he left.”
Reese sighs and stands up, scooting her chair back with a screech. “I’m going to make some coffee. Y’all want some? I think we still have some of that sweet cream stuff you like so much, Lu.”
Skye and I nod. I cross the room to my bag, which I left on the living room couch, and retrieve my diabetes case.
I fire up the glucometer, prick my finger, and collect my blood sample.
While I wait for the results to load, I add up the carbs I’m about to consume from the brownie and the coffee creamer, then plug the total into the app Reese found for me, which calculates how much insulin I’ll need.
Once the glucometer finishes measuring my blood sugar, I enter the number in the app and dial in the right amount of insulin on my pen.
Usually, when I’m not at home and I’m about to give myself an insulin shot, I excuse myself to the bathroom to poke myself in peace and privacy. But I’m comfortable enough to handle it in front of my friends, especially these two.
Maybe I should be nervous because they’re both watching me with calculating expressions.
I frown with an alcohol swab in one hand and my insulin pen in the other. “What? Am I doing something wrong?”
Reese shakes her head. Skye’s head tilts to the side, and she purses her lips. “How are your injection sites? Are you varying them enough?”
“I… I think so. I’m trying to. Do you want to check them?”
She shrugs. “If you want me to.”
I nod, giving her permission. She crosses the kitchen to the sink and washes her hands, then returns, ready to begin her exam.
I lift my shirt to my belly button and show her the tiny pinpricks around my lower abdomen where I’ve been giving myself insulin.
Reese jumps straight into nurse mode and holds her phone with the flashlight shining over Skye’s shoulder, illuminating my stomach for Skye while she kneels to examine it.