Page 20 of Sweet Redemption

Violent—possibly.

Effective—absolutely.

—Serena’s Secret Thoughts

“I’ve got it,” I yell, tripping over a shoe and just barely catching myself before I faceplant. It’s been almost a year, but I still can’t reconcile the way I move now with the way I moved before I tore my ACL a second time last fall. Just another reason I’m hoping there’ll be a server standing in front of a cart filled with everything I ordered from room service when I open the penthouse door. One of many reasons, to be honest. But hey, we’re in Vegas. I’m not going for honesty. I’m going for self-medicating in the form of carbs.

I glance quickly in the mirror, barely recognizing the woman staring back at me. My messy strawberry-blonde hair could use a trim and a solid keratin treatment almost as much as the bags under my eyes would benefit from more help than any eye patch would ever even try to say it could provide. I used to be a force on the field and off it. Now I look more like a before commercial waiting for the makeover so she can sparkle in the after.

Oh well. I’m not fixing any of that this weekend. Instead, I straighten my hair and my shirt before looking through the peephole and do a little happy dance when I see the silver-domed trays waiting to be wheeled in.

“Thank you so much,” I tell the server as I swing the door open and step aside as he wheels in the cart and lifts the lids.

“Will there be anything else, Miss Kingston?”

“No, thank you.”

Okay, maybe I over-ordered, but seriously, it all looks so good. A charcuterie board dotted with fresh fruit, meat, veggies, and cheese, another specialty cheese tray—because nobody ever believed you can truly have enough cheese—an artisanal breadbasket, and a few bottles of champagne tucked into an ice bucket fill the cart. Definitely too much food, but hey, when in Vegas.

“What the hell, Serena? Are you planning on inviting the entire touring troupe of Magic Mike over while I’m in my meeting?” Liv asks, grabbing a grape.

“Nope.” I pop the cork on the first bottle of champagne and consider drinking right from the bottle. “You go do your work thing. I’ll be here enjoying my bounty.”

“Did you read the text yet?” She sits down on the back of the couch, dressed to impress in a black silk suit, her dark hair pulled back from her face, and her lips painted a beautiful crimson red.

I think I want to be her when I grow up.

There’s no way she has time for this, but that doesn’t seem to be stopping her.

“No.” Ignorance might not be the most mature way to handle . . . well, anything, but it’s all I’ve got going for me at the moment. Not sure I’d call it bliss, but it’s a start.

“You know.” She softens her voice and squeezes my hand. “You’re going to have to talk to him at some point, right?”

“My dad?” I ask, absolutely positive he’s not who she meant.

Liv drops my hand and rolls her eyes. “Him too.”

Because seriously, more than one man has me on edge today.

Screw this.

I find the flute, fill it to the brim, and drink the entire glass before repeating.

“A little early for champagne, isn’t it?” Liv asks before looking at the clock and slipping on her heels.

Ignoring her, I rip into the heavenly scented rosemary focaccia bread and drag it through the burrata before biting into it.

Oh wow. That’s delicious.

“Umm . . . Serena?” She moves the champagne bottle out of the way as I reach for a ripe, red strawberry from the tray and glare at her. “Are we eating our feelings today, carbie Barbie?”

“Whatever, bitchy Barbie.” I pop the berry into my mouth and toss a grape at her head. We may sound mean to outsiders, but when sarcasm is your love language, mean is up for interpretation.

Liv is more tough love than kill them with kindness. Most days, I wish I could be more like her. “I’m contemplating drinking my feelings, which means I need carbs to soak up all the alcohol therapy, thank you very much.”

It’s a solid plan, but it’s also a whole lot of feelings.

Which means a whole lot of champagne.