Is it possible something good could come out of all the negativity? I’m so sick of negativity. I’m so exhausted from the constant barrage of fighting and hot takes, but I’ve learned the hard way rocking the boat can lead to ruin.
The scrap of paper I found in my pocket sits on my desk, smoothed flat with a paperweight on top. My eyes float over the words again, like smoke on the water.
A hurricane over the Gulf, a rip-tide pulling him out to the deep. He’s terrified? I’m terrified.
I could lose a game and survive.
Losing you, however…
However,full stopis right.
“Ready to do this?” Lindsey walks into the room, setting an Abita Amber on the table beside me.
“Yes.” I answer firmly, shaking away these thoughts. Headset on, mic ready. “It’s showtime.”
* * *
The fans are brutal.
I don’t have to see their comments popping up in real time on Chet’s big screen to know they’re letting me have it out there.
TMI led the charge with their headline, “QP GOES FLACCID ON K-BRAD!!!!!!” which doesn’t even make sense, followed by a quote from my show, “That bad throw had nothing to do with lack of talent. It was lack of coverage.”
“For starters, I don’t have a penis that can go flaccid,” I call out to Lindsey, who’s in the kitchen mixing up extra strong Don Julio and sodas for us.
“You had a lady-dick for about two months there, then you let him fuck it right off you.” She walks into the room, holding out the tumbler to me. “Not that I blame you! He’s a sexy motherfucker.”
“What did I say that was wrong? He never has good coverage!”
I’m still fighting, even though she doesn’t have to tell me. I know what I did. I felt it as I said the words. It was exactly what I knew was happening the minute that little girl patted him on the cheek and said “Ba!”
It was solidified in cement the moment I read his text where his cousin surmised she was asking for her dead mother. I couldn’t do it. The days of roasting him were done.
“It has nothing to do with fucking him.” My voice is quiet. “I still had the edge when we were sleeping together.”
Even when we were sleeping together in a way that melted my kneepits.
“What was it, then?” Lindsey’s voice is quiet as she crawls onto the couch across from where I stand, contemplating my failure.
“It’s her. It’s the way he is when he’s with her. They’re too perfect. I can’t hurt them.”
The tumbler of tequila is in my hand, and I walk around the sofa to sit beside my friend. She scoots around, and I lean my head on her shoulder.
“He made mistakes tonight,” Lindsey notes quietly.
“Minor ones,” I counter.
“You wouldn’t have let them pass before.”
“If you’d seen the way her little fingers tapped lightly on his arm as she slept…” I can still see the two of them sitting in that picture window, the rain falling outside, her little baby mouth phantom-sucking a cold washcloth.
“We’ve got to get rid of that baby…” Lindsey’s voice is a growl, and my head pops up.
“What are you saying?” I cry, horrified.
She snorts a laugh as she takes a sip of her drink. “I’m fucking with you. We’re not getting rid of the baby, and you’re in love with him. Hell, it sounds like you’re in love with both of them. We might as well get our resumes together. Think I could parlay what we’ve done here into a bigger producing gig?”
“Thanks.” I purse my lips, rolling my eyes at her. “I’m not in love with him, and we aren’t going anywhere. If I know anything, our audience is going to be intrigued by this turn of events. They’re not going to abandon us. They’re going to stick around to see what happens next.”
