Page 19 of How to Prevent a Fumble

“Why?” I scratch my head, awkwardly holding the shot none of us have done yet.

“Well,” she pauses, popping her hip. “It’s his nephew, really. So I get it. But now I have to find a new job.”

From what I’ve heard, Heidi does a handful of things. She keeps busy.

“Anyway!” she yells over the music, “to jobs!”

Throwing my head back, the shot goes down smooth, a mix of something that tastes weirdly like chocolate covered cherries.

“So what have you been up to?” Amara asks, taking my shot glass and plopping hers on top. It takes me by surprise, and I pause for a couple seconds. Because really, how have I been?

I’m being harassed by my ex-husband, moved to the city not that long ago only to realize the place is a complete disaster and basically moved in with my brother’s best friend, and one of the biggest idiots in the NFL because my ex sabotages every single job I ever get.

“I’m doing alright. Elara is starting school soon and I’m not sure how I’m going to cope without her during the day.” I frown. I really don’t know what I’m going to do without her.

“You’re doing amazing, momma,” Amara says, her hand gently placed on my arm, her springy coils bouncing over her shoulders with every movement. Her dark, warm eyes meet mine, and I can’t help but feel a sense of peace wash over me.

For what I’ve been given, Iamdoing great right now. I justhave to give myself credit. I’m doing what’s best for my daughter, and that’s what matters in the end.

But the second I feel my shoulders start to relax for the first time in what feels like ages, my phone buzzes, knocking me out of the moment. Reaching into my back pocket, I grab my phone, the caller ID flashing with Leo’s name.

I turn it a little too quickly, the girls exchanging an odd look before I shoot them a coy smile, wincing. “I have to take this I think, I’m sorry, I’ll be right back.”

Heading for the back door, I prop it open with a rock, the noise from the bar filtering through. Leo had gone to voicemail, but right as I’m about to call him back, another call comes through.

“Yes?” I ask, picking up.

“Hi,” he drawls, his voice higher than usual.

I pause, a hand on my hip. “Leo, are you drunk?”

“What if I am?”

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I take a deep breath. “You’ve been doing so well recently, Leo. Where are you?”

I can hear people talking in the background, but there’s no music that I can tell.

“I’m at a, a friendssss. Just hangin’ out.”

My eyeroll couldn’t be larger. “And why are you calling me?”

“Well, I drove here.”

“Then get an Uber home.”

I can physically feel his head shaking from through the phone. “No can do, Ice Queen. I need you to pick me up.”

I gape, trying to search for the right words. “Leo, I'm out with friends. This is my first night out in—” I try thinking of the exact time, “in months. I didn’t drive here.”

“Can you Uber home and then come get me?”

“Why are you so against getting an Uber?”

He sighs dramatically. “Iwas banned from it, okay?”

The great Leo Warner? Banned from Uber? I’m filing that in my mental bank of stories I have to hear when he’s sober.

Looking around, I think about my options. But in reality, I don’t have any. What am I going to do, abandon him at his friend’s?

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