“Yeah,” she says. “But it won’t be on account of Trent. That’s your man’s doing. He’s reining them in.”
Despite the somber mood, pride swells within my chest. He absolutely is. I know August is pulling them together and holding on to this game by sheer will and determination. It’s incredibly hard to do. No one will be questioning his commitment or “wild” behavior now.
He doesn’t need me to be his fiancée anymore. I doubt he ever really did. He just needed the chance to settle in.
“Trent was at the top of his game before he met me.” Monica sips her cocktail and watches the game dispassionately. “Best of the best, is what they called him. A fucking football god.”
“He still is. One game does not make a career.”
Her gaze slides to mine with quiet worry. “He’s been off for four games.Four.That’s a pattern.” The limoncello spritz sloshes in her glass as she uses it to point toward the TV. “The people who run this business are all about patterns.”
“Issomething on his mind?”
Monica shrugs. “Won’t tell me. Says he’s fine. But I know he isn’t.”
“Well, we both know it’s not you.”
“I don’t help either.” Gold hoop earrings flash as she shakes her head. “Everywhere we go we’re watched, commented upon.”
The “Monica effect” as the press calls it, is a phenomenon I never fully grasped until I was drawn into it.
At every game we attend, whenever there’s a big play or even discussion of August or Jelly, a multitude of telephoto lenses unerringly swing toward our box. Mainly, they want shots of Monica reacting, Monica smiling, dancing up and down in celebration, whatever they can get. As I’m invariably next to her, and the apparent fiancée of golden boy Luck, I get a fair amount of attention too.
Why anyone would care or need to see our reactions every other damn play is beyond me. I figure they’ll get bored. Eventually.
Monica used to be more pragmatic about it.I sell seats, she’d told me one game when the cameras, yet again, pointed our way.They figure, show me, and others will follow.
It’s fine. Whatever. I hate it. But I love Monica. And August... well, every day with him is a gift as far as I’m concerned. Now, however, I’m seeing that buildup of attention crushing my friend’s heart. We can tell ourselves the pain is worth the gain but actually living through it takes its toll.
As the game plays on, Monica worries her lip with her teeth. “I’m taking a role in England. Starts up in two months, but maybe I should head over early, get settled in, and let all this...” She waves a hand at the screen. “Settle down.”
“You want to leave now? Won’t that make it look like these assholes are right?”
“Maybe I need a little distance. Maybe I want easy.”
“Okay.”
“Relationships are hard enough as it is. Add fucking fame to it and suddenly the world has front row seats.” She scowls at the TV. “Penny, my friend. Think long and hard about this life. Because it’s never going to be easy and it’s never going to be normal.”
I’m not nor ever will be famous like Monica. But August is. Hell, his smiling face pops up during a commercial break as he uses all that Luck charm to sell a sports drink. It’s followed by another one of him throwing a sub like a football. Jelly catches it and takes a huge bite. Together, they tell us it’s better to eat fresh.
I’ll always share him with football, with the public.
“What’s normal anyway?” I say half to myself. “And why are we all trying to be it?”
Monica eyes me for a long moment. Perhaps she understands I need convincing as well. The shadows clear from her eyes as she nudges my shoulder. “Beats me.”
The woman is a good actress but not that good.
“Look,” I say carefully. “I’ve heard everything you said. You have to follow your heart here. But, before you do anything, I think you should talk to Trent about this. Don’t leave him without telling him how you feel.”
She ducks her head and studies the carpet. When she looks back, her expression is resolute. “You give good advice, Pen. Are you going to take it for yourself?”
This shocks me enough to set me back on my heels. For all Monica knows, August and I are a newly engaged couple. Why would I need to confess feelings?
She makes a soft noise of annoyance. “I wouldn’t be a very good actress if I couldn’t see it in others. Or read body language. I don’t know what’s going on between you and August. You’re obviously crazy about each other. You’ve been engaged for months, and yet when I ask about the wedding you act like you’ve been caught stealing. Half the time I expect you to bolt from the room. Not the actions of a woman who wants to get married.”
What can I say? I’m stuck in a web of my own making. If I want out, I’ll have to confess all. Not just to our friends but to August too. He hasn’t said he loves me, but he’s obviously deeply into me. Do words of love really matter? If they don’t, then why is it so hard to say them?
