Page 3 of It's Always Sonny

Shoot.

I take the next exit and loop around, all while Jimmy and Bulldog wax on about how Sonny came back from his last surgery better than ever but how no one in history has had the same surgery twice and bounced back both times.

“The team hasn’t updated fans one way or the other,” Bulldog says in his low, gruff voice. “That tells me the injury isn’t career ending. If you ask me, the Waves would be crazy not to keep him if he’s healthy. But that doesn’t mean Sonny’s playing for the Waves next year.”

I do a double take and stare at the radio. My GPS chimes, and I throw myself into my next turn without double-checking anything, and it turns out to be right. Good job, GPS.

But also …

What?

Bulldog has no answers, and soon enough, there’s an extended commercial break just as I’m turning into my appointment. I’m meeting with a new client to discuss a rebrand of her chiropractor business.

I park and instantly pull down my visor to inspect myself, looking for any flaws to my makeup. I grab a brush from my center console, smooth the few hairs out of place, and then hairspray it with the travel-sized spray I keep in my bag. My naturally arched eyebrows look good, but I run a finger over them, anyway. My mascara hasn’t flaked, but the eyeliner around my hooded eyes has smudged a bit. I grab a Kleenex and carefully wipe it off before staring into my deep brown eyes.

What are you missing, Parker?

Lips, of course. Duh.

I debate between red lipstick and a rosy gloss. I think back to what my client was wearing when we had our initial zoom call. She had a nude lip, so I settle for gloss so as not to seem too made up.

You’re an Emerson. How you carry yourself matters, my mother would say with a large helping of disapproval over my every flaw (real or perceived).

But she’s not wrong.

At five feet tall, I can’t afford to look weak, but I can’t look aggressive, either. With my fondness for four-inch heels and my naturally dark features, the rest of my look has to be carefully balanced. Snow White can easily become Ice Queen.

I’ve heard both often enough. The first when someone initially sees me. The second shortly thereafter.

The truth is somewhere in between, but if someone is going to make a snap judgment, I’ll take the Ice Queen every time. I’ve seen the movies. I’ve read the fairy tales. Heck, I’ve lived the fairy tales. People plot against Snow White. No one messes with the Ice Queen.

This is a client meeting with a professional, courteous woman. Retract the claws, kitty.

My client’s office is in an upscale medical suite. She’s clearly not doing poorly, but it’s my firm’s job to make sure she does a lot better.

Fortunately for her, we’re really good at our jobs.

On the way into the building, I swipe my hands across the back of my navy pencil skirt and give myself a quick once over in the glass of the door.

My fitted ivory blouse is crisp. My small gold hoop earrings are even. My heels are amazing. As always.

Perfect.

Let’s do this.

Chapter Two

Sonny

“You have got to be the luckiest guy I’ve ever seen,” the orthopedic surgeon says. He’s looking over every X-ray and MRI I’ve had … ever. “A hit like that should have caused a second torn ACL. The fact that you only have a grade two knee sprain is nothing short of a miracle.”

That’s what the team doctor said the night of the Super Bowl after the initial scans. It’s nothing but a minor sprain. But the team owner wanted a second opinion and sent me to his personal orthopedic surgeon here in Columbia, South Carolina, as if the doctor on his own staff isn’t good enough. This guy’s the best orthopedic surgeon in the South.

I wouldn’t have minded having a say in the doctor providing my treatment, but I get it. When you invest tens of millions into a guy, you get cautious.

“Let’s give you another week on crutches and keep the brace on for another three weeks. I want you icing that knee every four hours, and no strenuous activities. Do your rehab, but don’t push yourself, Sonny. You have physical therapy next door after this, right?” I nod. “Good. Take it seriously. The team needs you.”

“You got it, Doc,” I say.

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