The thing with having a terrible day is that a lot of times, you don’t know it’s going to be a bad one until it’s too late; it isn’t until your clothes are on, you’ve eaten breakfast, and you’re out of the house, so it’s too late to go back to request a sick day… and bam! The signs stare you right in the eye, and you know your day has instantly gone into the shitter.
I woke up that morning at five o’clock, slightly earlier than usual because it was going to be a busy day of running around, to the smell of my coffee machine going, and my alarm clock blaring the most obnoxious tone in its programming. I showered, slipped a thick headband on to keep the hair out of my face, and threw on a pair of slim, red, cropped pants, a short-sleeved blouse, flats, and my glasses. My two cell phones, tablet, and laptop were all sitting together on the counter in the kitchen. I grabbed my things, poured a travel mug with coffee, and hauled ass out of my apartment when the sky was still sleepier than it was awake.
I managed to make it all the way to the parking lot when things started to go wrong. I had a freaking flat. My apartment complex was too cheap for working outside lights, so it took me three times as long to change the tire than it would have usually taken me, and I stained my pants in the process. I was running late, so I didn’t go back to change.
Luckily, the rest of the drive went by fine. There wasn’t a single light on at any of the other houses surrounding my boss’s, so my usual spot in front of the 4000-square-foot home was empty. I went inside through the front door, disarmed the security panel, and headed straight to the kitchen just as the pipes began humming with use upstairs.
I put on the apron hanging from a hook in the corner of the kitchen because one stain was enough for only having been up two hours. I pulled fruit out of the freezer, the kale and carrots I’d washed and prepped the day before out of the fridge, measured a cup of pumpkin seeds out of a glass container on the counter, and dumped it all into the five-hundred-dollar blender on the countertop. On the mornings when he didn’t leave the house to go to training first thing, he had a big smoothie, worked out a little at home, and afterward had a ‘normal’ breakfast. As if a sixty-four-ounce beverage could be considered a snack.
When I was done blending the ingredients, I poured the mixture into four big glasses and placed Aiden’s portion in front of his favorite spot on the kitchen island. Two apples out of the fridge later, I set it all right next to the glasses of smoothie. Like clockwork, the sound of thunder on the steps warned me The Wall of Winnipeg was on his way down.
We had this routine set up that didn’t require words to get through it.
The second sign I’d been given that today wasn’t going to be my day was the scowl Aiden had on his face, but my attention had been too focused on washing the blender to notice it. “Good morning,” I said without glancing up.
Nothing. I still hadn’t been able to give up greeting him even though I knew he wouldn’t respond; my manners wouldn’t let me.
So I went on like always, washing dirty dishes as the man sitting on the stool in front of me drank his breakfast. Then, once he was ready, he finally cracked the silence with a low, sleep-stained and hoarse-voiced, “What’s the plan for today?”
“You have a radio interview at nine.”
He grunted his acknowledgment.
“Today is the day the Channel 2 news people are coming by.”
Another grunt, but that one was especially unenthusiastic.
I didn’t blame him; at the same time, I didn’t understand why his manager had even gotten him that kind of publicity with the local news. It was one thing for him to get through an interview in a hotel room in the pressroom after a game, or in the locker room, but one at his house? I’d spent the day before dusting the hell out of the living room and kitchen in preparation for it.
“Then you have that luncheon the senior center you donated money to invited you to. Last month, you had me confirm with them.” I kind of eyed him after I said it, half expecting him to say he’d changed his mind and wasn’t going.
He didn’t. He nodded that tiny baby nod that could have been easy to miss.
“Did you want me to go with you?” I asked just to be sure. Most of the time, I accompanied him anywhere he went in Dallas, but if I could get out of it, I would.
“Yes,” he grumbled his sleepy reply.
Damn. “All right. We should get going by eight just to be on the safe side.”
He lifted a couple of fingers in acknowledgment or agreement, whatever. Five chugs of smoothie later, he got up and handed over the empty glasses. “I’ll be in the gym. Get me fifteen minutes before we need to leave so I can shower.”
“You got it, boss.”
* * *
“Vanessa!”
I peeked my head into the green room Aiden was waiting in until his radio interview, and hit send on the message I’d been sending my little brother, before slipping my personal phone into the back pocket of my jeans.
“Yes, sir?” I called out.
“I want more water,” he replied. He sat on the edge of the couch, busy doing whatever it was he did on his phone. It wasn’t like he responded to any fan mail unless I insisted, and he didn’t pay his own bills, or do his own posts on his social media websites. That was my job. What exactly he did was beyond me.
I didn’t care enough to snoop.
“Okay, I’ll be back,” I replied, trying to remember where I’d seen the break room.
It took me a lot longer than I expected to find the vending machines because, of course, no radio station employee happened to be roaming the hallways in my time of need. But I bought two bottles with the cash I had on hand, and found my way back to the green room.
“Did you go all the way to Fiji to get the water?” Aiden asked abruptly when I entered.
Umm.
What?
I frowned and then blinked. I focused in on my boss and the fact there were two women sitting on the couch perpendicular to him now, catching a glimpse of boobs in a low-cut blouse, and too much makeup. I wasn’t worried about them. The only thing I was paying attention to was my boss. My temporary boss. My temporary boss, I reminded myself.
“Is something wrong?” I made myself ask carefully as I stood there, staring him right in the eye even as the two women seemed to squirm in their seats, like when you’re a kid and your friend’s parents scold them right in front of you; it was that awkward.
He watched me right back, his answer more of a pop than a statement. “No.”
No.
Why did I bother asking stupid questions? Really. For a moment, I thought about keeping my mouth closed, but this moody crap was getting old real quick. His usual grumpiness was one thing, but this was a total other. The fact he was being an asshole again in public hummed a quiet song that was too easy to ignore and push away before mulling over because I didn’t know the women in the room, and I would never see them again. What he’d said in front of Christian had been a different story.
Picking at the material covering my headband, I glared at that whiskered face and that whiskered face alone. “I know it’s not my position to say anything, but if there’s something you want to talk about…” My voice was rough, anger tinting each syllable.
His sole focus was on me. The big guy straightened his spine and set his phone on top of one of his thighs. He wore his usual baggy shorts and T-shirt. “You’re right. I don’t pay you for your opinion.”
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten.
I balled up the sensation burning my esophagus and willed myself to keep it together. I knew what it was like to be picked on. I knew what it was like to be treated like crap by the people you were supposed to care about.
I wasn’t going to cry over Aiden. I didn’t cry over people who didn’t deserve my tears, and Aiden—especially not fucking Aiden—wouldn’t be the person to break me. Not now, not ever.
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten.