Page 50 of Unleashed

When Shasta dumps Birdy into Greg’s arms, I miss my time with her. I chew on my lip to stop from sobbing aloud. I must remain unfeeling, but it’s impossible when I feel so much.

Archer picks up my hand and kisses it as I watch Greg lose his mind. I yank my hand back and elbow his arm. He doesn’t know how to read a fucking room.

That sweet little girl brought Greg and me closer and cemented my love for him. But the look on Greg’s face is agony. I want to hug him until his pain goes away.

When he gives Birdy to Val and heads to Brandon’s basement, I shift to get up, but Sylvie is faster and follows Greg. Seeing her seeking to console my former husband infuriates me. I bolt out of my chair and follow. Catching up to her, I laugh, but it makes me sound crazed. Maybe I am. “Don’t you know women go to the bathroom in pairs?”

Sylvie slows and appears confused but then laughs. She’s pretty in a librarian-by-day-hooker-by-night kind of way. “Simone! Jeez. Uh, I was going to check on Greg.”

“He’s fine. Trust me. He’d be mad if we bothered him.” I’d be mad if you bothered him.

Sylvie continues to walk. Oh, so that’s how it’s going to be, bitch? She waves her hand like what I said doesn’t apply to her. “Probably, but I bet he could use a distraction.”

“Like?” Not from you, ho.

“Like maybe he’ll let me kiss him. For starters.” And I’ll rip off your lips and feed them to Frenchie.

Desperate to stop her, I’ll do or say anything. “No, no, no. Greg won’t kiss any woman he’s not dating.” I think?

Sylvie blows a raspberry. “He slept with Shasta.”

“They never kissed,” I lie, grasping at straws and sounding stupider by the second.

She looks at me like I’m naïve. I wish I lived under a rock. That’s what I’ll do after I leave Richmond. I’ll turn into a hermit and live in a cave. Fast-walking with her, I say, “I’ll come with you.”

Sylvie slows again, incredulous. I slow down but keep walking as I check her progress. “You will not.” If you think I’ll leave you alone with Greg, you’re crazy as hell.

“I mean, I’ll walk in with you to go to the bathroom.”

She relaxes and walks faster. “Oh. Okay.”

When we enter the basement, I point to a hallway with a guest room. “He usually goes down there.” What the fuck am I doing? I’m doing the opposite of what I set out to do here. I can’t even stomach Sylvie with Greg.

What the fuck did I just do?

SUNDAY AFTERNOON, IN a bitter mood from last night’s events, I brush my pigtails with the ease of a snowplow tearing through a Target parking lot on a Saturday morning. I can’t even stick to my plan without fucking it up. But maybe I’m mistaken, and Greg needs Sylvie right now. I didn’t plan to throw her at him last night. Fuck me to France. I’ve got to get my shit together. Hopefully, I can push him toward someone else. Like no one ever.

My phone on my dresser buzzes, and I throw down the hairbrush to see who’s bothering me. My brother. Huge surprise. And his text pisses me off.

No boyfriends at practice.

No, he didn’t.

This calls for immediate remediation. I find his number and put the phone to my ear. It doesn’t take long before he answers with his usual, “What?”

“I can bring whoever the fuck I want to practice.”

The asshole chuckles but not finding me humorous. “You’re kidding me, right? And watch the damn mouth. I’m the team’s coach, and your antics are distracting.”

“My antics? Kiss my ass. Then stop staring at him, Finnigan.”

“If you can’t control yourself and keep your personal life off the field, the team is done.”

“You can’t keep threatening to pull the plug! It’s ridiculous!”

“I will, and I can. No dates, Simone. Find another softball team if you can’t deal with it.” The line goes silent. That motherfucker.

Still, regardless of my arguing, a mega part of me is relieved I don’t have to play a bigger part than necessary today. I’ll go there, hit a ball, catch a ball, bend over in front of Greg.

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