Page 72 of Second Chance Ex
Heather rolls her eyes indulgently. “Prue, you’ve been subbing for like three months, and they made you permanent. Hardly anewjob. What’s to prepare?”
I shrug again, glancing at the television to hopefully hint that the conversation is over.
Frankly, I don’t want to talk about it, because the truth is, Joey didn’t invite me to LasVegas. Not that I would have gone anyway. Sadly, but not unexpectedly, he and I have grown apart over the last year. After losing the baby, I chose to focus my efforts on school and graduating, which I did. And Joey chose to focus on football, which paid off since he received the Rookie of the Year award back in February after a stellar first season.
After I graduated, Joey got upset that I didn’t immediately drop everything and move to Sacramento to be with him, but I’d already lined up a substitute job at Rosewood Elementary as soon as my license came through. Now, I’ve been made one of their permanent third-grade teachers, and I think Joey has taken personal offense to that. I get that he bought us that big house up on the hill overlooking Sacramento, and he lives there all alone, but I have a life to live; my goal was never to be just some football player’s wife.
I finish the rest of my vodka and soda with one big gulp, glancing around the table at everyone else. “Another round, ladies?”
They all cheer, holding up their near-empty glasses, and I manage a forced smile as I hop up, snaking my way through the throng to the bar.
I’m only gone for maybe five minutes, but by the time I return with a tray laden with drinks, the mood around the table has shifted significantly; my friends all look as if someone has just died in the time it took me to order four Tito’s at the bar.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, looking around at everyone.
Heather and Milly glance obviously at Madison who is staring down at her phone, her brows knitted together, and no one will even acknowledge myquestion so I can’t help but assume that, whatever it is, has something to do with me.
“Maddy?”
She hesitates before looking up at me, her face stark, eyes wide.
“What’s the matter?”
Madison doesn’t say anything, she just looks from me, to the crowd around us, her gaze flitting down to her phone still in her hand before turning the device around and holding it up so I can get a look at whatever is illuminated on the screen. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust, but when they do, the world around me stops as darkness consumes me and everything in its path.
I feel my heart bottom-out in my stomach, acid burning my throat, all while I try to keep it together because, again, we’re in a bar. But, it’s hard. Because there, on the screen, is a link to some online article showing a slightly grainy photo of Joey. Joey and a beautiful blonde. Joey with his tongue stuck half-way down the blonde’s throat as she glances at the camera with a menacing glint flashing in her eyes, the caption reading:Vegas Cheerleader’s X-rated Hookup with Grizzlies Golden Boy.
I stareup at my bedroom ceiling, listening to the heated exchange of words coming through the walls of the two-bedroom apartment I share with Heather.
“She doesn’t want to see you, Joey!” Heather shouts.
“Please, Heather,” Joey’s low voice is barely audible,but the pain is evident and palpable through the walls. “Please just let me in.”
“If you don’t leave, I’m going to call the police,” Heather warns. “How will that look on your Wikipedia? A sleazy Vegas cheating scandalandan arrest all within twenty-four hours?”
I don’t know why, but I almost laugh. She’s so dramatic.
“She’s mygirlfriend, Heather,” Joey raises his voice. “You can’t call the cops.”
“Girlfriend?” Heather shrieks, and I can tell by the high pitched shrill that she’s beside herself. “Was she yourgirlfriendlast night when you were balls deep inside some… somewhore?”
Silence. But then suddenly, Joey’s voice booms, “Prue! Prue, please, just talk to me, baby!”
I heave a resigned sigh. He’s not going away
I’m currently dressed in a pair of ill-fittings sweats, my hair nested and all over the place, and most of last night’s make up still stained under my eyes since I haven’t even bothered to shower, but I know no matter what, Joey’s not going to go anywhere without talking to me. I need to deal with him. So, with a muttered curse, I hop up and storm out of my bedroom, down the hall and out into the open living area where I can see Heather trying to block Joey from entering; which is hilarious in itself considering she barely weighs a hundred pounds, and he’s built like a brick shithouse.
“Just let him in, Heather,” I say, turning and walking straight back to my bedroom, leaving my door ajar.
I hear Heather harrumph followed by Joey’s heavy footsteps thunder through the apartment before coming to a stop right outside my door. He seems to hesitate,and I sit on my bed, waiting for him to enter, ready to get this over with.
Moments later, the door gently pushes open, and I don’t look up, instead staring at the floor, watching his Nike-covered feet come into view.
I swallow hard, allowing my gaze to rake up his form, and I’m not surprised to see that he looks like shit. Gym shorts, a long-sleeved t-shirt, his hair sticking up in every direction, beard slightly more unkempt than usual. But it’s his eyes. His eyes are almost empty; red-rimmed, the whites bloodshot, dark circles shadowed beneath them. That look in his eyes is enough to make me feel physically sick and all I want is to jump up, run to him and wrap my arms around him. But I refrain because, well because he cheated on me.
Joey turns to close the door, and for a few seconds he just stands there with his back to me, broad shoulders hunched, head bowed, silent as if in serious deliberation. When he turns back around, he looks at me but he avoids my eyes, rubbing his palms over his thighs.
Crossing the room, he tentatively takes a seat on the end of my bed, purposely leaving a few feet of distance between us.And for a few minutes at least, neither of us says anything. We just sit there, me staring at him waiting for whatever it is he so desperately feels the need to talk to me about. Him looking down at his feet, his left leg bouncing in the way it always does when he’s nervous or scared shitless.
