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The man in front of me trumped Bayou in size, but when you put the two side-by-side, I could still see the goodness in Rome. But Bayou? Well, I wasn’t sure he even had a soul.
I honestly didn’t think he’d give Rome a break on his schedule. He didn’t seem like a nice man at all.
But I didn’t want to get into that subject with him, because if I did, then he’d ask why I knew Bayou as well as I knew him, and then I’d have to tell him other stuff…and, well, that was a vicious cycle I didn’t want to start with him.
It was better just to leave it be and hope that he never broached the subject with me.
I honestly liked that little boy, and I liked this job. I’d rather not lose it.
If my parents knew that I still visited that prison every week… I shuddered internally at the thought of what I’d lose.
And I didn’t just mean my job, but my family and my heart all at the same time.
“Anyway, I should be able to get it all worked out on Monday. If any of it changes, though, I’ll call you…if you give me your number, that is.” Rome’s eyes were on me, and he was making me feel like I was a deer in his headlights.
I felt those eyes of his piercing right through me.
I walked over to my purse and pulled out a business card. Grabbing a pen next, I scratched out the number—which was my mom’s because God forbid if every single booking didn’t go through her first—and wrote my cell phone number down.
Handing it to him, I dropped the pen back in my purse.
“If those numbers are bad, you should get new cards,” he commented.
I shrugged. “They’re business cards, and they go to the business phones—which are my mother’s. Plus, I don’t see the point in giving people my direct number since I don’t know from one day to the next what my schedule will be.”
His brows rose. “Then how are you…”
I waved him off. “I’ll fix it. Don’t worry,” I hesitated. “I’ll come here, but you can’t expect me to drive him anywhere.”
His brows rose at that. “I’ll be taking him to his appointments. Other than that, he can’t go anywhere anyway because of his immune system. Which brings me to the next point, if you’re sick…you’re going to have to let me know so I can find other accommodations. I can’t have him being around that.”
I nodded. “What about if I’m around someone sick?”
He shrugged. “Do the best you can. If you think you’ve been exposed to something or you’re starting to feel off yourself, then call and let me know. I’m not God, though. We can only do the best we can.”
That was true enough.
“Alright,” I said as I picked up the spray bottle as I turned to tackle the windows in the living room. “Sounds good.”
With that, I went back to work, and when I left later that afternoon, walking down the street with my big bag of cleaning supplies over my shoulder, I had the distinct feeling that I had no clue what I was getting myself into.
***
RP’s Biggest Fan,
Let’s start over.
I hope you didn’t take offense to my last letter.
I think you caught me on a bad day, and I’d never want you to think that I was mad about anything you said.
Are you happy with your life?
Other than a few problems here and there, I’m happy with my life—ish.
There are definitely things I would change, but through that change, I might not have my son. So, it’s definitely a catch-22.
One day, I hope to fix the things that I’ve broken.
One day, I hope you fix your broken, too.
Life’s too short to be unhappy.
At least that’s what my grandmother always said to me.
Hope you have a good day.
Rome.
P.S. If you could change one thing, what would it be?Chapter 3There is no quiet anymore. There is only How to Train Your Dragon. This is your life now.
-Things Rome says to himself every morning
Rome
I’m not sure how the hell I ended up actually writing a goddamn letter to one of my fans, but I’ll be damned if that letter didn’t change my life.
This woman—a woman I didn’t know in real life—knew everything there was to know about me.
She knew my secrets, my fears, my woes and my doubts. She knew about my best friend, Tyler. She knew about Tara and Matias.
Hell, she even knew that I didn’t like blueberries.
It’d all started out fairly innocent. Just a fan letter that my publicist, who usually handled my fan mail, thought I’d like to read.
I did that on occasion, but I hadn’t read any fan mail since I’d left the game because there wasn’t any. Everyone was pissed at me.
The last day that I was still technically an NFL player, I got tons of fan mail. At least fifty letters, if not more, a day.
