Page 54 of The Wild Card
“Oooh, yes!” Winnie says, bending to fish a Diet Dr Pepper out of the cooler. “I love hearing about a good mess.”
I bet they’re not going to like this one. With only faint music from inside and the occasional bug being zapped for a soundtrack, I recount the whole Liza saga. Starting with our ugly breakup and finding missing money and ending with the offers for my gym I still haven’t responded to and Thayden’s suggestion to fake a relationship with Molly for the sake of my public image. Mostly because I haven’t talked to Molly about it.
The only thing I leave out is the field Tank showed me. For now, and maybe until I know what I’m doing with it, that’s something I want to keep to myself.
Might as well put all the cards on the table. I’ll play pick-up later. Likely not alone from the looks on Winnie and James’s faces.
James wears the same expression about ninety-five percent of the time, so he can be hard to read. I do pick up on his anger by the way Winnie keeps unconsciously trying to soothe it—running her fingertips over his arm or gently massaging his shoulders. By the time I finish, she’s removed his backwards baseball cap and is running her fingers through his hair.
But Winnie looks unsurprised. Actually, she looks guilty, avoiding my eyes in a way that’s intentional and biting her lip.
“You knew?” I ask her, going out on a limb.
James’s frown deepens as he spins to look at his wife.
“Y’all know I do a lot of stuff online. I saw her storytime.”
Winnie rolls her eyes, I groan, and James says, “What the hell is a storytime?”
I want to laugh, but it really isn’t funny when it’syouthat someone’s making a storytime about.
“It’s a trend where people share their personal drama online as what they call a ‘storytime.’” Winnie makes air quotes. Her lip curls like the very idea makes her nauseated. “Basically, people are airing out their personal beef. They’re almost always negative—people griping about their bad experience at the nail salon or with a neighbor or someone on their flight.”
“Or an ex,” I add.
“And people actually watch that?” James asks.
Winnie and I both nod. “They’re surprisingly addictive,” I say.
“People love drama when it’s nottheirdrama.” Winnie sighs. “But more people should consider that it’s alwayssomeone’sdrama. Unless it’s fictional, which sometimes they are.”
“So, you’re telling me that your ex posted a ‘storytime’ about you?” James asks.
“It was a twelve-part series,” Winnie says, then shrugs when we both look at her. “What? It came across my feed. I watched, and it was, from what I could tell, a big steaming pile of lies.”She pauses, and the look that crosses her face is positively wicked. “I reported every single one and her whole account. Created a few new accounts and reported her with those too.”
“That’s my girl,” James says in a low voice, leaning closer to press a kiss to her jaw. Winnie leans into him, giving him a hug.
They are … adorably in love. The ache of my figurative pinched nerve reminds me again what I’m missing. My mind sweeps back to Molly, but then I remember that she left. Left town, left me, left.
I lean back in my camping chair and take a sip of the cream soda. It’s already lost most of its fizz. “There you have it—the actual big mess. Clearly, what happened with Molly this week doesn’t even come close. That’s alittlemess.”
James snorts, although I’m not sure if it’s agreement or irritation over all the drama I’m apparently able to stir up in such a short span of time.
“Surely this kind of thing doesn’t matter, right?” James asks. “She posted, and now everyone moves on.”
Winnie gives his head a gentle pat. “Oh, my dear, sweet, innocent fiancé. The internet doesn’t let things die so easily. People made videos talking about her videos and have done recaps breaking down the whole situation. And even though the Grahams aren’t quite household names like Beyonce, you’re still known enough that it added fuel to the viral fire.”
“Which has complicated things like selling the gym,” I say.
James makes a sound low in his throat. Almost a growl. “And you’re sure you want to do that—sell the gym you’ve poured so much into?”
My stomach tightens. If there’s one thing I’ve always hated, it’s letting people down. I wouldn’t call myself a people pleaser, but I sure as hell hate disappointing anyone. Especially the people close to me.
This wouldn’t be the first time I’ve disappointed James, an older brother whose expectations loom almost as high as his protectiveness.
But this time, it bothers me more.
Maybe because James invested in Grit. He believed in me and trusted me enough to help me get started. Now, I’m throwing it away—at least, that’s how he seems to see it.
