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His phone slides from his ear and lands on top of the stack, but he doesn’t seem to notice.
The guys swarm him, taking the pizzas. A few slap Clay on the back and shoulders until I’m sure his skin is red.
He grabs my arm before I can follow the guys. “Are you okay?”
I get him up to speed on what’s happened from the articles to Tony’s offer.
His eyes widen. “You need to call Mom. Tell her what you just told me. She’s madder than a wet cat.” Another of Grandpa’s favorite expressions. Great. Clay and I are both starting to sound like the old man.
I should have called her before now, but things had been so crazy I forgot. “I’ll do it now.”
Clay hurries away, and the team greets him with cheers and whistles. My brother, the pediatric surgeon and hero of my teammates’ hearts. He brings them food, and they love him for his humor and jokes. And no wonder, he’s a great guy. I couldn’t have a better brother.
The landline rings and rings. Mom and Dad’s cellphones are dead half the time, so I always call the house phone.
Finally, Mom answers. “Sorry, Liam. I had to make sure it wasn’t another of those reporters.” She huffs. “They’ve been calling here all day. Your dad hung up on one not ten minutes ago.”
“I told you not to answer unknown callers, especially when the media’s eating me alive.” I sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose. “Listen, everything is a madhouse right now, but it’ll settle down, okay? Ignore the phone unless it’s family. Are you and Dad coming to the game? I’ll have security waiting for you.”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” Dad bellows from somewhere in the background. “What’re you gonna do about your wife?”
“You’ll find out at the game.” The guys call for me to hurry up. “Trust me, it’s all good.” I tell them what I can about Trina and end with a promise. “See you tomorrow.”
I make another call before joining my team. Tony’s assistant answers with a tone that borders on surly. I make my point in quick, concise words, thanking them for the opportunity but ultimately rejecting the offer.
There’s a moment of shocked silence before I hang up.
Now to get ready for tomorrow.
Trina is in for the surprise of her life. I hope she doesn’t mind that I haven’t called her yet. I want to. I spin the phone around in my hand and open her contact information. It would be so easy to call and apologize.
But I need a bigger apology. A sure-fire way to get her attention and ensure she listens to everything I need to say.
***
TRINA
After my interview with CNN that day, I returned to Liam’s apartment and collected my belongings. I intended to bunker in a hotel for a couple of nights while waiting to see if Liam would call me, but Pam and Dalton begged me to stay with them. It’s a bit of a commute from their place to the new office, but it’s nice to be with family at a time like this.
I place my dinner plate into the dishwasher in slow motion like the plate weighs a brick.
The aroma of garlic, basil, and a hundred other seasonings linger in the air. Unfortunately, I only pecked at my dinner and couldn’t finish dessert. Not after my interview aired, and Liam not calling the second it finished. Coach promised me he’d have the whole team watching.
The overhead chandelier bathes the kitchen in light. White cabinets and gold-burnished handles sparkle. The marble countertops are a rich mottled gray with flecks of emerald. Dalton and Pam's place is simply gorgeous.
Pam enters the kitchen. Her face is pinched and her lips pursed. She shoes me out of the kitchen. “No need to be in here. James is still around. He’ll finish cleaning up for the night.”
I scan the brilliant stainless-steel appliances. The kitchen already looks spotless. Oh, how my sister’s life changed when she married a billionaire. They have their own personal chef. James cooked an amazing three-course meal. I hope James puts the crème me brulée in the fridge. I might need a midnight snack when I can't sleep. I'll have to build a pillow wall around me so it feels like home. No. Liam's apartment wasn't home. His unbroken silence proves he hasn't forgiven me. But instead of being consigned to the couch, I'm here, staying in a three-story mansion.
My rambunctious nephew barrels into the kitchen like a pint-sized hurricane. I laugh. His silly escapades are the perfect distraction from my melancholy mood. Time to be the fun auntie. Melanie would slap me silly if I said that out loud. We have this unspoken competition going on for the role of favorite auntie. I'm easily the winner since I see Rex more often. Melanie moved to Washington State.
I chase after him, and he shoots up the spiral staircase. My arms flail like a clumsy penguin trying to catch a slippery fish. The kid is fast.
“Rex, slow down, buddy.” I gasp for breath when I reach the top step. "Where are you?” I scan the hall left and right.
He giggles mischievously, his laughter filling the hall like a chorus of tiny hyenas.
Agh. He's hiding behind the door to the study.
