I plop down in a bucket chair and check the chat. Hudson is whining about everyone being there early and how he can’t even leave until tomorrow.
I’m tempted to ask him specifically what time he’s leaving and how long of a flight he has. I wonder momentarily if he still has that fear of flying he had back in college. Part of me contemplates asking, and I don’t realize until the attendant calls for first class boarding that I’d been staring at the chat longer than should be acceptable. So, I slide my phone into my pocket, get up and grab my suitcase, and head for the line, breathing a sigh of relief that I’ll finally be on my way.
Settling into my seat, I get to work setting up my space. I pop my headphones in and queue up my audiobook ofThe Subtle Art Of Not Giving a F*ck, take a deep breath, and tell myself everything will be fine and there’s no reason to be nervous.
This weekend isn’t aboutmeor my life. It’s about Austen.
It’s about supporting my friend.
At least, that is what I tell myself as the voice inside my headphones arrogantly says, “Chapter one. Don’t try.”
I scoff.
Easier said than done.
Chapter Two
Hudson
It’s amazing how easy it is to fall into old routines. It’s been years since I was “one of the guys”—since I worked so hard to fit in with a group of people.
I won’t lie; they made it easy. They were fun, and there was always a ton of alcohol that made me forget how hard I had to try to be normal. But there was no other option then. It was the only way to survive and get through everything I needed to do. So I did it, and in the end, I didn’t hate it. I got a lot out of it—experiencing things I wouldn’t have the balls to do now. I hardly leave my house unless it’s to go to work or get gas. Groceries are delivered now, so what else do you have to leave the house for?
My fingers fly over my phone keyboard, responding to the guys the same way I used to years ago. I already feel my brain getting foggy as I try to jump back into the old me. Good thing it’s only a weekend away, then I get a full week at home to recover.
I’m not sure I’ll need the week to recover, but I’m taking it anyway. Better that then go back to work all burnt out and not in the right headspace.
I’m aiming for a promotion, and the last thing I need is to come into work off my game over a weekend with friends.
“Hey, you’re still here?” my co-worker, Jason, calls out from my office door.
“Leaving soon,” I respond, keeping my gaze on my phone.
“Thought you’d be gone by now.”
“I said I was working a full day.”
“Yeah, but… you know. It’s the day before your vacation.”
I spin in my chair to face him. He’s the office assistant manager, and he’s responsible for keeping everyone in line and reporting any issues to the manager. Neither of them are my boss, exactly, they just handle the office stuff—like vacation time and ordering new furniture.
My boss is Karson Thompson, the VP of Analytics. His job is the one I’m aiming for.
I’ve been here a little over three years, but I am more suited for the job than he is. He doesn’t know what he’s doing half the time, and his numbers are wrong more than 18% of the time—I’ve been keeping track.
“Are you suggesting I steal from the company, Jason?”
“What? No. I was just—”
“I’ll have you know that I thoroughly enjoy working for the Minnesota Wolves. This team has been my favorite since I knew what football was, and it’s been a dream of mine to work forthem ever since I knew what a job was. I won’t do anything to ruin that.”
He stares at me, open-mouthed.
“Jeez, I was just trying to give you a break.”
“If I wanted to leave early today, I would have put in the time.”
I spin around and go back to my computer, and breathe slowly. I don’t usually have outbursts at work, but I’m stressed with my upcoming travel. I hate flying, and I hate being away from home. New York is overwhelming, and it’s going to take a lot out of me mentally to be the way I was in college with these guys. And when I get overloaded mentally, it starts affecting me physically—hence the week off.
