Struggling Solitudes

Britt

Just when you think you've got it all figured out, life throws a curveball—or in our case, an entire game's worth of them. Today brings a rollercoaster of emotions, career changes, and cheesy curds! Our heroine, Britt, faces the bitter taste of replacement, only to be reminded that on my streets, the unexpected should always be expected. Just when she contemplates waving goodbye, life serves up a reminder that she's exactly where she needs to be. So, keep your arms inside the ride until it comes to a complete stop. Every cloud has a silver lining—if you're brave enough to stick through the storm.

Playlist: "Help Is On Its Way" by Little River Band

I'm at the office, puttering around in Canva trying to decide on the font for our next Instagram post when Pru arrives. Most of the time, I work from my home office, but I wanted to shoot some clips of the guys during practice this morning. Also, I'm pretty sure that if I go three consecutive days without leaving the house, I will lose my mind. For realsies.

"Hello, Prudence." I spin to face her. "What can I do for you?"

Trailing a few steps behind Pru is a young woman with bottle-blond hair. At first glance, I think she must be in her teens. The braces are a dead giveaway.

"Britt, this is Tina. Tina, Britt." Pru beams at me. "You're in luck. Tina's taking over from you."

"I… what?" I'm still smiling, but I can tell that's stretching thin as I try to process what Pru just said. "Tina's my what?"

"Your replacement," she repeats. "Tina works for the school paper, and she's a social media whiz."

"I'm soooo excited about this opportunity," Tina gushes. Her pretty face flushes. Dammit, Tina's cute. She's bright. She's perky. I totally can't hate her. "It'll look great in my portfolio, and the money will be a big help with my tuition next fall. This is honestly a dream come true."

My stomach sinks. As reluctant as I was to take the position, I don't really want to give it up, but I'd have to be a monster to tell this literal child that no, thanks, I'll be keeping the position I'm grossly overqualified for.

Maybe this is a sign.

"I'm finishing up for the day," I tell her. "Shall I show you the ropes?"

"Sure." Tina scurries over to grab a chair, then peers at my screen. When she sees my design, she grimaces. "Um, do you mind if I make a couple of changes?"

I scoot out of her way. "Go for it."

Within moments, it becomes clear that Tina is way more adept at this than I am. She'd give Tierney a run for her money.

"That's wonderful, dear." Pru pats Tina's shoulder. "I'm sure you'll do an excellent job. I've got the passwords to all the accounts, so I think that's it, Britt. You're free to go. Which should be wonderful news, since your presence in town is only… temporary." She winks.

"I'll need my laptop," I say, with all the dignity I can muster. Since I'm pregnant, unmarried, and with a family that doesn't even care that I'm gone, I have so very little left.

Although what I need a computer for, I don't know. I don't have a job here, and I doubt I'll have one waiting for me in Minneapolis at this point. I have plenty of money in my account for now, but I'll need to make a plan soon.

Maybe after the baby comes.

Holy fuck, I'm going to have a baby, and my life is falling apart.

I manage not to cry in front of Tina and Pru as I collect my things. Tina's already chattering away about her plans for the next few weeks, and some ideas she has on how to improve account health and follower engagement. I slip away while they're both distracted and retreat to my car.

One of the downsides to living in this small town is that, even if I cry discreetly in the parking lot, someone will see, and they'll talk about it at the only nail salon in town, or the only bar in town, or the only diner in town, and then the stylist/bartender/server will overhear, and suddenly I'll have the reputation as that girl from out of town who cries in her car, and it'll be a whole thing.

Unfortunately, thinking about this only makes me want to cry more. Hormones are a bitch.

"Look on the bright side," I say aloud, and then fail to think of a single positive aspect to being sent away. Unless… unless this really is a sign. Maybe I'm not meant to stay in Sorrowville. Maybe it's time to go home.

True love be damned.

I mean, every little girl who believes in fairytales grows up to be a woman who understands that love is not always enough.

But would it really be home, without Holden?

Just when my tears are about to spill over, my phone rings. My eyes are too watery to read the caller ID, so I sniff, wipe my nose on my sleeve, and answer in my most professional voice.

"Britt Jensen speaking," I chirp.

"Britt." Out of all the voices that could be on the line, this is one I was not expecting.

My tears are immediately sucked back up into my tear ducts, and my watery, weepy emotions instantly boil off as my simmering rage reignites. "Dad. This is unexpected." Even Beth would be impressed by my cold-as-ice tone.

"It's been weeks, Britt. This little tantrum of yours is ridiculous. You've made your point, but it's over. It's time to come home. Now. I need your help."

"How charming." I'm shocked when I hear my mother's voice on my lips—droll, poised, and indifferent. Her three most unshakeable qualities, at least when it comes to dealing with me. "Unfortunately, I disagree, but I'm quite confident that you can afford to hire someone else in the interim."

"Come back, Britt. This is exhausting." He sounds exhausted, and for a fraction of a second, I feel sorry for him. "I'm really not kidding."

I never thought you were. Because you're incapable.

Then I remember why I'm here.

"Are you going to close the gender gap on the trust fund rules?" I ask.

He's silent for a long moment before he says, "No."

"And when your answer changes, so does mine. Goodbye, Dad." I hang up and drop my phone into the seat beside me.

At least I'm not on the verge of tears anymore. Now I'm pissed. He thinks he's tired? He's finished with my, quote-unquote, little tantrum? Well, fuck him, I'm happy here. Maybe I'll just stay in Sorrowville forever.

With no job.

And no trust fund.

And a baby on the way.

But there are three things I do have. A healthy savings account, a law degree, and hutzpah.

I drum my fingers on the steering wheel. To think, I was about to throw in the towel. If Tina's arrival was a sign, what am I to make of my dad's call?

An idea comes to me at last. It's a short-term solution, but I'm sure it'll make everything better in the short term.

I need cheese. No, cheese curds. Deep-fried, greasy, tweak-in-your mouth cheese curds.

I throw my car into drive and peel out of the lot. If nothing else, it feels good to have a plan.

* * *

Once again, I'm the only patron in Power Play. It's a weird hour on a weekday, so I'm not really surprised. Of course, it means that I either have to sit all alone at a table or belly up to the bar with Beth. I'm sure I'm not good company right now, but Beth is rarely a ray of sunshine, so I doubt she'll hold that against me.

I haven't even reached my bar stool when she looks up from her book. "So, you've been replaced. Sorry to hear it. Don't worry, I'll make sure your last meal in town is a good one. It's on the house."

If I didn't know better, I'd think Dad was paying her to drive me away. It's the kind of thing he would do, but I don't think Beth would go for it. She's the right kind of stubborn. She might not like me, but she'd like him even less.

I flutter my eyelashes at her. "You're so sweet, but I'm not leaving. Since you're paying, though, make it a double order of cheese curds."

She snorts. "Cool. I'll throw in a ginger ale…" She fishes around under the counter for a moment until she finds a box. "And some Saltines."

I glower down at the crackers. Beth, for her part, makes no move to put in my order. For all I know, she'll be the one operating the fryer; no point in paying staff during the dead zone between lunch and dinner.

Maybe I should ask Beth for a job? No, scratch that. We'd kill each other. I'm not sure who would win in that fight, but I'm sure we'd both fight dirty.

I slurp my ginger ale. "Thanks for the crackers, but I could really use some comfort food."

Beth examines her fingernails. "I'll get your curds in a minute, city girl. Things take longer in a small town. If you don't like how we do it, maybe you should head back to Minneapolis."

Fighting Dad felt good. This just makes me tired. Instead of some snarky remark or snappy comeback, all I can think to say is, "Why do you hate me so much?"

Beth's eyes snap to my face. She lowers her hands to the bar and sighs. "You think I hate you? I don't hate you! I'm trying to save you. You have options. You have interests. You could go anywhere!"

"I do have options." I swirl my bar straw through the ginger ale and watch the bubbles rise. "And I'm choosing to exercise them here, with Holden."

Beth huffs. "It's your funeral."

"No. It's my life. And I like it. To my sincere and utmost surprise, I like nearly everything about this place." I purse my lips and raise my eyebrows, letting my gaze rake over her. "Nearly everything."

Beth tugs the tie out of her hair and runs her fingers through it. I've never seen her with her hair down before. She's always been behind the bar, doling out drinks and snark. Now, she looks as weary as I feel.

"Britt, think for a minute. Are you sure you're ready to be a single mom?"

I rock back from the bar so fast I almost knock over the stool. "Why am I suddenly a single mom?"

"Did you get married since the last time I saw you?"

My gaze sweeps her tragic expression. "No, but I have Holden. He loves me… us."

Beth sucks her teeth. "Holden… is a hockey player."

That's when it clicks. Beth really is trying to look out for me, in her own way. Or rather, she's saying what she wishes she could tell a younger version of herself. "Holden is a mailman. He's a family man. He's my man. And from what I've gathered, he's nothing like Mr. Foster."

Beth rolls her eyes as she pulls her hair back up into her trademark ponytail. "Yeah. Well, my husband was awesome until the first kid arrived."

Our heart-to-heart is cut short by the creak of hinges and a sickening moan. Heath stumbles through the front door and up to the bar. "I need a drink. No, two. One for each hand. And some ibuprofen. For my head."

Beth and I share a look of alarm. "What's wrong, Heath?"

"I think I'm having a stroke. Or a heart attack. Or both. Can you have both? Are they mutually exclusive?" He collapses against the bar. He's a huge, strong, confident dude, and I've never even seen him anything close to this put out.

He looks like he's been through the wringer, but he doesn't have any obvious injuries, so at least I don't think he was in an accident. His face is pale, and he's shaking all over. He's definitely in shock.

Beth's concern is obvious. She's usually closed off, but she'd do anything for her boys, by which I mean the whole team, and possibly every guy in Sorrowville under the age of forty.

"Should we call Doc Lindy?" I suggest.

Heath shakes his head. "No, he's busy."

"You already called him?" Beth asks. "Maybe we can try again."

"Oh, I called him all right." Heath lets out a hysterical laugh. "Because my agent just dropped dead. In front of me. While we were hammering out my contract."

"Your agent?" Beth's eyes bug out of her head. "Randall, or Kenny? Shit, I bet it was Kenny. He drinks like a fish, and he's gotta be pushing eighty."

"Not anymore," Heath mumbles. "Now he's gonna be pushing daisies. Holy fuck, I've never… never seen anything like that."

"No wonder you need a drink," Beth says, and sets about pouring him a couple of shots.

Heath drops his head forward onto the bar. "What I really need is an agent, but Randall's the only other game in town. I hate to be thinking about this right now, but I've got a mortgage to pay, and since Franklin has Randall handle a lot of his legal matters… conflict of interest or whatever, you know? I'm kind of screwed."

I'm so busy trying to follow the agent talk that it takes me a moment to realize what this means. I shake myself out of my stupor and tap Heath's shoulder. After all, agents are just lawyers specializing in contract law for professional athletes. "Allow me to introduce myself, I'm Britt Jensen, esquire."

Heath tips his head to the side so that he can peer at me with one eye. "I know who you are, Britt. Are you having a stroke too?"

I shake my head, but only a little. The poor man's had a difficult day. "What do you think esquire means?"

Heath just stares at me.

"It means that I'm a lawyer. I can help."

"Oh." Heath sits up. He's still white as a snowdrift, but he's not shaking as much anymore. "I thought you were a publicist."

"I was just filling in after Tierney left."

Beth sets the shots down on the bar. Her eyes bounce from Heath to me and back, following the conversation without comment.

Heath takes the first shot and smacks his lips. "Are you any good at making deals?"

I laugh. "Have you seen Holden's house?"

A slow smile spreads over Heath's face. "Okay, okay. When can you start… um… helping me?"

"Right now," I tell him. "Do you have a copy of your old contract?"

"In the car," Heath says. He offers me the other shot. When I wave it away, he tosses it back. "I'll be right back. Oh, and Beth, any chance I could get something to eat?"

Beth sighs. "I'm already making Britt some cheese curds."

"Perfect." He gets to his feet. "I'll take some, too. I'll be right back, Britt, don't go anywhere."

I meet Beth's eyes as I tell him, "Don't worry. I plan to stay right where I am."