My lunch-less afternoon caught up with me immediately. Before I knew it, Noelle, Brady, Jeff, and I were several rounds in, and the room had started to spin. As the opening notes of “Love Shack” by The B-52s filled the bar, the karaoke machine and screen beckoned, and in my alcohol-infused state, belting out my favorite party song seemed like a brilliant idea.
“I’m going to sing!” I announced, stumbling towards the stage.
Nadine hooted and cat-called while the guys howled. I grinned as I picked up the mic. I strutted across the stage, mimicking exaggerated model poses as I warbled out the lyrics. I’d just hit the last stanza when I glimpsed a familiar face at the bar entrance. Gunnar had arrived, his expression a mix of amusement and concern.
Fucking Gunnar Evaldson. I’d spent a good bit of time this evening not thinking about him, and now he was here, ruining my fun. I stumbled off the stage, giggling as I for some reason made my way directly toward him. “Gunnar! You came to hear me sing!”
He frowned, his eyes darting to the group of players at our table. “Not exactly. Coach Whittaker is on his way,” he informed Brady and Jeff, his pale eyes now glacial with…something my muddled brain wanted desperately to understand, especially after the two players swallowed hard. “He heard you were here. Since I was still at the office, I told him I’d suggest strongly that you head home in a rideshare. I’m also here with a warning: You, Jeff, are past your two strikes. I’ve never had a player hit three, but I’ll remind that you signed a contract that includes a cut clause should you be unwilling to abide by team rules.”
“Hey! That’s not fair,” Jeff began.
But Gunnar’s expression turned dark, and Jeff fell silent, his lips compressing. After sharing a look, Jeff and Brady made a beeline for the exit, and Nadine slunk away during the exchange, making it impossible for me to suggest she share a ride home with me.
“Oh,” I sighed. “I was having fun.”
Gunnar turned back to me, a thick eyebrow shooting up. “I think it’s time to call it a night. Let me take you home.”
“But the night’s just getting started!” I protested. Do my words sound slurred?
Gunnar’s jaw clenched with apparent irritation that even my drunken self recognized. “You’ve had enough fun for one evening,” he said. “Come on.”
“Fine, but only because you chased off my friends.” I hiccupped softly. “And because everything is spinning. And because I’m really going to hate myself tomorrow.”
“Then why drink?” Gunnar asked.
I had enough self-preservation intact not to give him the main reason. “I thought… Jeff likes to party, so connecting with him might be a good idea.”
“Yes, but now the rest of the team thinks you’ve gone to the Jeff-side.” Gunnar shook his head, disappointment tightening his mouth. “I thought you were smarter than this, Zaila.”
As we stepped outside, the cool night air hit me, and I swayed. Gunnar steadied me with a hand on my elbow, guiding me back toward the Wildcatters’ building and his car.
“I…wasn’t at my best,” I conceded.
Gunnar chuckled as he shook his head. “Not much of a drinker, are you?”
“Nope. I never drink. My dad said it rots the mind.”
Gunnar looked over at the two players, now huddled on the corner, as we passed. At least they were smart enough not to get behind the wheel of a car. I wasn’t too drunk to notice that.
“He’s right, and I’m more worried about you than those two knuckleheads.”
I giggled, enjoying his attention. Then I remembered my mom, and I gasped.
“What is it?” he asked, instantly on alert.
“Oh, I just, uh, should have gone straight home. My mom… She’s not doing well.”
“You live at home?” Gunnar asked.
“I moved back this month,” I said with a sigh. “My mom’s having a hard time. Since my dad died…” I trailed off, blinking away tears. “She needed me. I make sure she eats, goes to the doctor, takes her pills…”
“On top of a more-than-full-time job where you’re paid an intern’s salary?” Gunnar’s eyes held a strange light, almost as if I mystified him.
But that couldn’t be right.
“Well…yeah. This is the first time in my life I’ve been able to do something for her. She was always the one to take care of us. She doesn’t like me living there, though,” I confided.
Gunnar stopped in front of a sleek silver vehicle. I didn’t know what it was, just that it was clearly new and clearly not American. “Why doesn’t she like you there?”
