Scottie’s standing close enough that I can see the disgust on her face. It mirrors the disgust in my soul.
“Perfect! This is going to be so big. America’s Sweethearts back together again. Let’s take a couple of you two sitting down next to each other, like you’re watching the game …”
Aldridge smiles and does as he’s told. Does he understand that we’re actually broken up? Does he believe that I’ve moved on? It doesn’t get moremoved onthan married! “You’re always at your best when all eyes are on you,” he says like it’s a compliment instead of a curse. “Remember to dip your shoulder to catch the right angle.”
“I know, Aldridge,” I say, gritting my teeth through a smile.
“Perfect. Maybe we should try one without the mules,” Aldridge says. “Did you bring sneakers? We could play up the different vibes of Nashville versus Mullet Ridge.”
“I love it,” Ronnie says. “And Kayla will fit better against you in sneakers.” She gives me an apologetic look, like she understands what she’s doing but it’s worth it for the shot. “You are so … statuesque, Kayla! But your height might make you look less sympathetic.”
“Of course,” I say, the fight slowly draining out of me. I’ve objected to photos before. It never makes a difference. I may aswell embrace Ronnie’s vision so I can wake up from it sooner rather than later.
We continue taking pictures for the next half hour.
And with every click of the camera, I feel my body fold slowly in on itself, like I’m shrinking to fit into the frame.
During a break, Scottie grabs me and pulls me into a restroom.
“What is going on with you?” she demands. Her glasses are sliding down her nose, and she pushes them up.
“Nothing. I’m just going along with what they want.”
“Exactly. Why? What is he saying to you?”
I feel sick, but the feeling is too familiar. I so often felt this way with him. Like I was breathing through a scarf and forgot what fresh air felt like.
“Nothing bad. He’s … complimenting me. Telling me how good I look, how nice my smile is.”
“No, he’s complimenting you when you stand in a way that makeshimlook good. He’s manipulating you into acting the way he wants you to act! And you’re not slapping his face!” Scottie throws her hands up. “Who are you and what did you do with my boss? My friend?”
She washes a paper towel, wrings it out, and hands it to me. “Put that on the back of your neck so you can cool your brain. It’s clearly overheating.”
I do what she says.
It does feel good.
“You wore Sean’s jersey here, girl—your husband. You’re wearing a Mudflaps jersey now—your team. Aldridge may own the place, but he doesn’t own you. Don’t forget that.”
She spins me around to look at myself in the mirror. She’s several inches shorter than I am, and for some reason, seeing that reminds me of something.
I came here wearing platform mules.
Three-inch heels, to be specific.
All I have to do to be the exact same height as Aldridge is slip those back on.
“You’re right,” I say. “What am I doing?”
Scottie’s smile grows razor sharp. “He thought he had your number, but you’re changing it. Right?”
“Right.”
“Good. Now I have to pee like a racehorse, so let’s put a pin in this for two minutes.”
I laugh. While Scottie goes to the bathroom, I lean against the counter, pull out my phone, and see a text from Sean.
And I breathe easier.
