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Just as I finish relaying the story, my phone dings with a new text.
What now?
I heave out a breath as I check the message.
Rivera: So strange that Sam went to your kid’s dad’s place tonight and left with your kid. Or is it that you’re driving your friend’s car around now to avoid getting caught coming and going from the Coach’s place? [shrug emoji]
“Fuck,” I mutter.
“What now?” he asks, voicing the exact thought in my own head from a second ago.
I toss the phone to him while I change into my pajamas.
“This guy is a real fucking thorn,” he says.
I purse my lips as I slide into bed beside him, and I take my phone and set it on the nightstand beside me. I turn back toward him and snuggle onto his chest as he loops an arm around my shoulders. “What are we going to do? He wants my job, and he’s not going to stop until he gets it.”
“Can you talk to your boss? Or maybe someone at HR?” he suggests. He presses his lips to the top of my head.
“What good will it do?” I ask. “Then he’ll just have a bigger vendetta against me.”
“Maybe they’d have additional suggestions for you. Maybe he can be transferred to a different department. He could cover a different team. I don’t know.” He’s throwing out suggestions, but they’re all things I’ve already thought about.
“He’s an expert in football. He wanted this position.”
“What about at another channel? What if you get him ousted at VG-oh-three but he’s let go quietly and recommended elsewhere?” he suggests. “Could be a great new opportunity for him.”
“Nobody has openings right now, so he’s picking at the most vulnerable thread.”
“You? Vulnerable?” He shakes his head. “Nope. You’re smart, confident, and badass. You will find a way to take him down.”
I wish I was as sure about that as he is.
CHAPTER 2: JOLENE
Despite the shitshow that was my Saturday night, somehow I sleep better than I have since…Ohio.
Sleeping next to Lincoln calms me in a way I didn’t know I could be calmed.
But waking up in his arms…that’s a different story entirely. My kid is in the next room, and even though I said he could sleep in, he still won’t sleep past eight. And more than likely, he’ll come into my room if I’m still in bed.
And so I pop up out of bed the second I wake. I check my phone and see it’s a little before eight, and I reach over and shake Lincoln awake.
“Dude, you gotta go,” I shout in a whisper. “Jonah’s gonna wake up any second and you can’t be here when he does.”
“Just five more minutes,” he mutters, rolling over and pulling the pillow over his head.
“Lincoln!” I’m still shouting but in a soft voice. “Wake the fuck up!”
I’m starting to get a little frantic, which is silly, but I don’t want my child to catch whatever this is before we get to define what it is.
“Can’t I just go out to the couch and we’ll tell him I’m here with Samantha?” he suggests.
It’s actually…not a terrible idea for this early in the morning after a late night where we talked and I cried and we only got about five hours of solid sleep.
“Fine, but you have to get out of here.”
“Okay, okay,” he mutters, and he forces himself up. He grabs his clothes and starts getting dressed. Slowly.
