Page 9 of Force Play

Holy fuck, I just quit my job. Walked out, with no notice, and burned my career to the ground. Swiping the hot angry tears from my eyes I order an Uber. No way in hell am I riding the L home in heels after today.

The anger coursing through my body has me on edge the entire ride, and when I finally get home, I know there’s only one thing that will help.

The polished black skirt and off-white blouse I painstakingly picked this morning are crumpled in a pile on the bedroom floor, and are quickly replaced by a pair of bike shorts and a long sleeve shirt.

I can feel the rage and agitation crawling under my skin like hot snakes, ready to sear my skin from my bones if I let it.

On the way out the door, I snag a water bottle and a few other pieces of gear. With an unexpected afternoon off—or, more accurately, the foreseeable future off—I hoist my bike over my shoulder and maneuver it out of the building.

It takes some finagling, especially with the slight tremble of my hand, but after wrestling with my bike for a minute, I get it in the back of my small SUV. And as I pull out of the parking ramp and let the city fade away in my rear-view mirror, I can feel that uncomfortable fluttering in my chest easing.

Heading southwest, I crank the music for my forty-minute drive, letting it drown out the angry pulse still pounding behind my ears at the unfairness of it all. No, not unfairness; this was a choice, maybe not a super calculated one, but I was in control.

True unfairness is being diagnosed with cancer at forty. Or not having control over being sick as hell from the treatments. And then fighting with everything in you to overcome it, only for it to come back. Unfairness is having your life cut short and being taken from your family, from your daughter, when she needs you.

What JC did was bullshit, which is why I don’t regret my decision, fair or not.

Quitting my job with no plan won’t be the hardest thing I’ve overcome in my thirty years.

Besides, just because I don’t know what comes next doesn’t mean I won’t figure it out. That’s one reason my bike is shoved into the back of the car.

I think better out here, away from the city, with the trees flying by as I ride until my legs want to give out and I can feel every beat of my heart inside my chest.

Although, coming out here alone—knowing that I’ll ride until dusk or beyond—is probably not the smartest thing I’ve ever done. I should text Brianna and let her know where I am. She’s working tonight anyway, so she can’t give me too much hell.

Not like my friends would.

She’ll just want to know if I’m okay.

We’ve only been dating for two months and it’s not serious, but she’s unlike anyone I’ve dated. She actually cares, probably more than she should. Still, texting her is my best bet—safety and all that.

Poppy, my childhood best friend, gets my need to be a little reckless from time to time. But she would just tell me it’s another reason I should be closer to her in Denver—that she would be here right alongside me.

Mia would scold me before offering to write JC into one of her books as an act of vengeance. But she wasn’t there like Poppy was when my mom was sick. So I’ve sheltered her from this part of me, afraid that it’ll scare her away.

Although, without Mia, I wouldn’t have Brianna to text. Mia was in town for an event a few months ago when her own relationship was falling apart, and Brianna was a waitress at the Indian restaurant we went to. My observant friend caught me watching the redhead waiting tables and encouraged me to get her number.

For the first time since I hooked up with Dom, I felt a pull to someone new. One-night stands have never been a hang-up for me before, but I couldn’t shake this one.

A week after seeing Brianna, I found myself back in the same place picking up an order of Murgh Tikka Masala. She happened to be working and saw me first, snagging my order from the hostess and bringing it over herself, along with her number. Unfortunately, our schedules make it hard to see each other as often as we’d like. Between waitressing and grad school, she might be busier than me.

Now that I’m unemployed, she definitely is. My hands twist on the wheel as I turn the car into the Palo Forest Preserve. Fresh air fills my lungs, and the events of this morning fade to nothing more than background noise as I unload my bike and strap on my helmet.

Before I start down the trail, I shoot off the text I’ve been procrastinating sending to Brianna, who I’ve decided is least likely to yell at me or judge me.

Me:

Pin sent: Palo Forest Preserve - North

Me:

My afternoon freed up unexpectedly.

Out riding. Call me after your shift?

Brianna:

Have fun! How’d the presentation go?

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