Tackled by Love (5 page)

Finally, he snaps out of it and says, “No disrespect man, but I think I might strangle a bitch if she did that shit to me.”

“Trust me, that thought crossed my mind.”

“How’d you find out?”

“She told me she spent half of it. I guess she was freaking out because I told her we’d be fine. She knew we wouldn’t be, but I didn’t know she spent all but $15K until I talked to my accountant about an hour ago.”

“That’s just fucked up. Have you talked to her about it yet?”

I shake my head. “Nope. I was too pissed to call her when I walked out of that office. It’s bad enough that she blew through everything like that, but she lied on top of it. I’ve known this girl forever and I never would’ve thought she’d lie to me about something so serious.”

“I really don’t know what to say, Landon. That’s a lot to deal with all at once. Do you need any help?”

The glass I’m holding stops midway to my mouth. “No, I’m good. I’m going to have to downsize and sell that big ass house, but I’m sure everything will work out.” Drinking half of the beer, I set it down and lean back in my chair.

“Just say the word, and I’m there for you. I really don’t mind, ya know?”

“I know and I appreciate it.”

“So what are you going to do about Valerie?” He eyes me over the top of his glass, waiting for my response. I’m sure he’s waiting for something juicy like I’m going to kick her ass to the curb. My response is probably going to disappoint him.

“What can I do? Make her sell all those fucking handbags in the closet? The money’s gone now. She’s my wife, so we’re going to get through this. For richer or poorer, right? We’ve seen richer, looks like we’re about to get acquainted with poorer.” I raise my glass and finish off my beer.

“You’re a better man than I am. I usually say ‘it’s cheaper to keep her,’ but in your case, I think you should run for the hills.”

“Thanks for the advice. By the way, don’t mention to anyone about me retiring yet. I haven’t even called my agent yet. It’s just all been a lot to take in and I don’t want to hear it from him too right now.”

“No problem, I won’t mention it,” he says.

I pull out my phone and shoot Val a text so she won’t worry.

Me: Hey. I talked 2 Brian we need 2 sit down and talk I’m at the bar with Andrews see u in a couple hrs

***

A couple hours later, I’m pulling up to the house and parking in my three-car garage. I walk in the house and it’s completely quiet. I know Val is still here because I saw her car.

“Val? I’m home,” I shout out, making my way to the bottom of the stairs. “Valerie!” I yell up the stairs. “You home? We need to talk.”

Right after I say that, Valerie appears at the top of the stairs. She walks down them and I notice she has her keys and purse in hand. “Are you going somewhere?” Her eyes look over toward the front door. I follow her line of sight and see there’s a suitcase sitting there. “What the hell is this?” I demand.

“I’m leaving, Landon.”

“Okay, when are you coming back? We have a lot of shit to figure out and it needs to be done soon.”

“I’m not coming back.” She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes like she’s steeling herself for what she’s about to say. Opening her eyes, she looks at me and says in a monotone voice, “I want a divorce.”

This is not happening to me right now. “You can’t be fucking serious right now.” I’ve been pretty pissed off before, but I’ve never been so mad that my vision starts to blur and I can feel the pulse in my forehead pounding from the sudden rush of blood to my head. But that’s exactly how I’m feeling right now. It’s taking all my self-restraint not to flip my shit at this moment.

“I’m sorry, but this isn’t going to work. You made promises to me and you can’t keep those now.” She says all of this with not one ounce of emotion. You’d think she was reciting a fucking grocery list with as nonchalant as she’s acting. Meanwhile, every single emotion known to man is pinging around inside my body looking for an outlet, a release. I’m about to explode.

“WHAT FUCKING PROMISES, VAL?” I yell in her face.

She winces slightly, which gives me some satisfaction that she’s not completely immune to what’s happening right now. “You promised you’d take care of and provide for me.”

“So now that I don’t have any money, which, by the way, is
your
fucking fault, I can’t take care of you anymore? Is that it? Were you always in it for the money?” I wonder in complete disgust. How was I so blind that I couldn’t see her for the goddamn gold digger that she obviously is?

“No, of course not!” she says in mock offense. You can’t offend someone with no feelings or consideration for others. “Look, don’t make this harder than it already is. I’m really sorry, I am, but you can’t provide for me in the way I’m accustomed to,” she says matter of factly.

“The way you’re accustomed to?” I’m in total disbelief. “Did you forget where you came from, darling? You were one step up from living in a trailer when we were growing up.” I know that’s a low blow, and her parents work their asses off, but she’s bringing out the worst in me.

“Go to hell! You’re such an asshole.” She brushes past me and heads toward the front door.

“And you’re a gold digging bitch. Make sure you leave your key to
my
house,” I spit back.

She throws her head back slightly and lets out an evil laugh as she turns around to face me. The sound of it actually makes the hairs on my arms stand up. “
Your
house? I wouldn’t get used to that one, babe, because I plan to ask for it in the divorce settlement,” she says with a smirk on her face.

“Oh, really? And how do you think you’re going to afford to live here? You couldn’t even pay the fucking light bill on your own,” I say with my arms crossed over my chest.

“It’s called alimony, Landon.” She cocks her hip out to the side and puts her hands on them. “You see, I know you won’t be unemployed forever. And when you do get a new job, I plan to collect on it. Take care, love,” she says as she wiggles her fingers at me in a wave, opens the front door, and pulls her suitcase behind her.

When the door closes, I pull my arm back and punch the wall. Then I punch it again and again, until there’s a massive hole in it and chunks of drywall litter the floor. If she wants the house, she can fix the damn hole in the wall herself. My outburst does little to settle the rush of anger that has overwhelmed me and a ball of fire is sitting in the pit of my stomach. I guess I’ll douse that fire with some good old liquor.

I go to the liquor cabinet and pour myself a full glass of scotch and take it to my man cave, where I sit in my leather recliner and flip on the TV. I feel my phone vibrate from within my pocket. I almost don’t pull it out afraid that it’s Val, but I decide to take a look and see who it is anyway.

Dustin flashes across the screen. I send it to voicemail. There’s no way in hell I’m talking to my agent right now. A second later, it vibrates again, this time with a text.

Dustin: CALL ME ASAP!

I’m about to put the phone in my pocket when it goes off again.

Dustin: SERIOUSLY. CALL ME NOW!

And a few minutes later.

Dustin: IT WOULD’VE BEEN NICE IF YOU TOLD ME YOU WERE RETIRING. INSTEAD I GOTTA HEAR THAT SHIT FROM THE LOCKER ROOM GOSSIP? THAT’S FUCKED UP. CALL ME.

“Shit.” I rub my eyes with the heels of my hands trying to relieve the headache building behind them. Things went downhill so damn fast and I have no idea how to stop this freight train that seems to be crashing through my life. I guess first thing’s first. I’m going to finish this glass of scotch and call my agent back. He deserves to hear what’s going on and I’m sure he’s gotten some distorted story that’s been passed through the grapevine.

***

After I get off the phone with Dustin, I head to bed. The phone call went a lot better than I had anticipated. Once he got over his initial anger that I didn’t call him immediately, and shock at the fact that I was retiring, he was really supportive. He said he was sad to see his paycheck take a cut, but that he agreed with the doctor; it wasn’t worth risking permanent injury.

Looking up at the ceiling fan in my room, I contemplate my next move. I guess it’s time to go back to where it all began.

I start washing my hands at the sink behind the counter before I slip on my apron and begin my day decorating. September is always a busy time of year at the bakery and today is no exception. We have lots of birthday cakes due at the end of this week.

“Good morning, Autumn,” Brenda, the owner, says by way of greeting.

“Good morning, Brenda. Where do you want me to start first?” I look at the bulletin board against the wall that has all of the cakes for this week on it.

“If you want to start on that Sweet Sixteen cake, you can.” She points to the sketch that’s decorated in neon colors and animal print. It should be a fun one to do.

“Sounds good to me.” I walk over to my station, ready to get started.

I began working here while I was in high school. Back then, I was the delivery girl on the weekends. Soon enough, I worked my way up and started to pick up on easy decorating techniques. Upon Brenda’s urging—more like nagging if you want to know the truth—I went to school to learn how to decorate cakes. And the rest is history as they say.

“So what’s the latest? You seem a little antsy this morning.” I get out a tub of fondant and mix it with some bright pink food coloring.

“Landon is coming home today.”Her voice is giddy as she claps her hands in excitement.

Landon, as in
The
Landon Stone. If you haven’t figured it out, I work for his mother. We went to high school together, but we didn’t exactly run in the same circles. I was the nerdy fat girl with braces and coke bottle glasses, and he was the popular jock that could get any girl he wanted. And he wanted Valerie Lane, the head cheerleader. If we were any more cliché, we’d be in some lame teenage movie that went straight to DVD. Landon was always polite to me whenever he actually noticed me, which wasn’t often. Valerie? Not so much. Her little clique of friends went out of their way to make my life a living hell. Even though I lost the weight¸ ditched the glasses and the metal from my teeth, the hurt from their cruel words still haunts me at times.

“That’s great. How’s he holding up?” Everyone around town has been talking about his injury and speculating on what’s causing his separation from his wife. Small town syndrome is what I call it. There’s not a lot that goes on around here that the whole town doesn’t know about.

“He’s good. He had his surgery about a month ago, so he’s decided to come back and do his physical therapy here. I’m so glad he’s coming home; it’ll be easier for me to take care of him and make sure he’s resting that leg of his if he’s nearby.”

I smile at her obvious excitement and continue working on my cake.

***

Twelve hours later and I’m finally leaving work. My lower back feels tight from either standing up or hunching over all day and the only thing I want to do right now is go to bed and sleep it off. I really do love my job, but days like this wear me out. Sitting in the driver’s seat of my car, I flip the visor down and look at the picture I have taped there as a reminder. It’s a picture of me at my high school graduation, where I was 105 pounds heavier. The last thing I want to do on a day like today is go to the gym, but that picture is there to remind me that I never want to be that girl again.

I wasn’t always a heavy girl. One day, when I was looking back at pictures, I noticed that I didn’t start putting on the weight until I was about 10 years old. That was the year my mom died. I think food was sort of a comfort for me, and I wound up eating according to my emotions. Whenever I was depressed, angry, lonely, or even happy, food was always there for me, especially since my dad checked out on me when she passed away. I don’t blame my dad or hold a grudge against him. He was trying to find his way through all of it too. Suddenly, he was a widower and a single dad to a little girl, and I think he was a bit overwhelmed. In dealing with his grief, a lot of the attention I needed from him at the time was forgotten. Once my dad got over his grief—well, I wouldn’t say
got over
since he’s never really moved on from my mom—things got a lot better. But at that point, I’d already developed a relationship with food and relied on it as an outlet for my feelings.

Shaking myself from my thoughts, I start the car and make my way to the gym. Time to get my sweat on.