* * *
The lights were on when I walked into the wardrobe trailer Thursday morning. Usually, I was the first one in, with Irina sauntering in two hours later. Russ, our producer, sat in the middle of the room in a folding chair.
“Yep. She’s here now. I’ll call you back when I know something,” he said, hanging up the phone. “Hi, Jessie.”
“Hey, Russ. What’s going on?”
“Have a seat,” he said, then realized there was nowhere for me to sit. He pulled his chair over to my worktable and I sat. “How are things going for you here?”
My heart pounded. Was I about to get fired? “Good. I’velearned a lot. We’ve been really busy, too.”
“I don’t think it was ‘we’, Jessie. We noticed Irina wasn’t pulling her weight. She’d been warned before, but we let her go last night.”
My mouth fell open and I coughed out an involuntary laugh. “Oh, wow.”
“I know it’s not ideal timing with the on-location coming up next week, but if you’re interested, we’d like to promote you to head costume designer. I know that leaves you not a lot of time to hire your replacement. But the sooner you can get someone hired, the sooner you can have help.”
“Russ, wow. I’m honored.”
“So you’ll accept?”
“Yes, yes, of course,” I stammered. “Thanks for the opportunity.”
“You earned it, kid. Sorry you had to work so hard while we didn’t notice. Hopefully your job will get easier now.”
I felt like crying. I was elated, but overwhelmed, too. Where the hell would I find the time to look for a replacement? I gave him a simper of a smile.
“Twenty minutes to call time, though. Figure I should get out of your hair. Scarlett will send an email with your new salary and the budget for your replacement.”
I put my nose to the grindstone and got to work. I’d have to tell Mikey later, but I was sure he’d be happy for me. He’d been pep-talking me for weeks on dealing with Irina and encouraging me to leave if things didn’t get better soon.
Still, I was so excited to share the good news with him. I shot off a quick text at lunchtime, so mid-afternoon for him. He was in Detroit that day.
Got some big news. Can’t wait to share
I didn’t get a response.
Chapter 43
Mikey
It was like my body was revolting to touching down in Detroit. My dad was going to come be my guest for team lunch, and I had a pit in my stomach about it. I purposely didn’t keep in touch with my dad, even though he and my mom were still together and I talked to my mom all the time.
I’d never get over how he spent so much time away from us growing up. Laura and I didn’t deserve it. Mom didn’t deserve it. Aunt Lori had been more of a dad to me than my actual dad. She was the one who picked me up from school when Mom couldn’t. She threw a ball with me in the backyard when Mom cooked dinner. Hell, she even moved into the guest house in our backyard when I was nine, effectively becoming my mom’s live-in bestie.
To Dad’s credit, he did spend the long Saturdays at the rink with me. He came home from his business trips late on Friday nights, but he was always up for those ridiculously early wake-ups to drive me to play hockey. But when he was there, he was always critical. And I felt pressure to perform well so he’d keep coming to my games. That was the only time we got, so I had to make it count.
On this day, I spotted Dad in the stands during morning skate, watching me in the same posture he always had: standing with his hands folded behind his back, brow furrowed. He’d asked if he could come visit while I was in town with the team, and I couldn’t find a good reason to say no.
My stomach had been a fucking mess that whole road trip. My IBS was really having a field day with all the stress I was under:seeing my dad, fighting with Jess, fighting with Leroy about his evil wife, and trying to figure out when I could move us out of that apartment. Jess and I had mostly made up, but I hated that my actions made her feel so insecure. How was I any better than Cole? I was the shitty one, not her.
So my stomach raged on: cramping, digesting shit weird, and generally not doing its job. I did all my little tricks to try and get it back to functional, but it was what it was. I couldn’t afford to miss games because of it. Not after the fight with Leroy, who continued knocking me around any chance he got during practice. I was sure Dad would have something to say about that, too.
Dad met me in the tunnel after I got changed. “You looked a little sloppy out there, son.”
My jaw clenched, as did my stomach. “Hi, Dad. Good to see you, too.”
He had the good sense to look at least mildly chastised. “I’m not saying it to be rude, Ben. I’m worried about you’s all. Is your stomach giving you trouble again?”
