Page 3 of Power Play

“Eloquent as always.” Lexi plops down in the chair I vacated and taps the spot next to her. “Is everything okay?”

“It’s silly to talk about this when you’re in the middle of your workday.” I sit with her and sigh. “There are more important things going on. Liam’s leg is probably worth eight million dollars. Shouldn’t you be focused on stretching him?”

“Do you do this a lot?” Liam interjects.

“Do what?” I ask.

“Pretend like your shit isn’t as important as other people’s shit.”

I blink, not sure how to answer his question.

Yes? No? I guess I do.

I guess I put other people first, preferring to help them solve their problems instead of agonizing over my own. There’s always someone out there who has it worse, who would be envious of what I’m going through, and it feels wrong to complain aboutmy stagnant professional life and dumpster fire of a personal life when the man in front of me is dealing with an injury that could affect his playing career and livelihood.

“Sometimes,” I settle on, glancing back at Lexi. “It’s personal stuff.”

“What did Steven do now?” Lexi asks, referencing my ex-husband. “I swear to god I’m going to cut off his balls and dangle them from a stoplight.”

“That’s my cue to leave. I draw the line at castration. Yes, I’ll keep icing. No, I’m not sticking around,” Liam adds, then swings his legs over the edge of the table. He holds the towel at his waist, but it does little to cover the deep cut abdominal muscles stretching down his torso. “Lexi. Pipsqueak. See you tomorrow.”

He disappears through the door to the locker room, and Lexi looks at me.

“Pipsqueak? That’s new.”

“That’s only the second time he’s called me that. It’s not, like, a thing,” I say, blushing.

“I’ve never heard that man say anything borderline friendly before. And anickname?”

“That’s not true. He wished Hudson a happy birthday last week, and he didn’t even roll his eyes.”

Lexi reaches for my hand. “Are you okay?”

That’s another question I don’t know how to answer.

There’s air in my lungs. Money in my bank account. I know where my next meal is coming from, and I have a warm bed to crawl into every night.

In the grand scheme of things, I’mfine.

Good, even, comparatively.

But I’m also sad.

Stuck in a rut and unsure how to break out of it. Overwhelmed, despite a lackluster life. Tired, even when I’m getting enough sleep. Lost, and I haven’t strayed off the pathI’ve been following: thirty-two, divorced, and attempting to start over.

“Steven keeps trying to renegotiate the assets we split in the divorce. He’s suddenly interested in taking things he didn’t want when he was busy sleeping with his secretary. And, on top of that, my boss made a comment during our monthly one-on-one meeting that was so slimy, I’m considering turning in my two-week notice.” I wince. “Shit. Sorry. That was a lot to unload on you.”

“Let’s start from the beginning. Have I mentioned lately how much Ihateyour ex?” she asks.

She has. In great detail, multiple times a day. I wouldn’t be surprised if she had a dartboard with his face on it somewhere in her office down the hall.

“No,” I say sarcastically. “Can you remind me?”

“The guy is a damn millionaire. What does he want from you that he can’t buy himself?”

“My apartment, which I gotafterthe divorce. I had to spend the first hour of my morning listening to his lawyer talk to my lawyer about how the natural light fosters creativity and—” Lexi throws up her middle fingers, and I laugh. “He’s not going to win that battle.”

“I’m still mad you didn’t let us key his car, but I guess that’s the downside of being mature, classy women.”

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