Chapter 21

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

ROSIE

“You did this on purpose,” Nina shrieks at Anthony as Wilson presses an ice pack to his balls, groaning. He’s sitting up against the wall, banging the back of his head against it in small motions as if he’s trying to take away the pain below his belt with some love taps to the head. The teenage attendant is lingering close by, deathly pale, probably worried if he’s going to be the clerk who brings a lawsuit down on Balls of Fire.

Actually, it’s an indoor paintball court that looks like it hasn’t been updated in my lifespan. I’m guessing they face a new lawsuit every season.

“It’s just a name,” the kid mutters, whether to Anthony or Nina I have no clue. “It’s not…we encourage people not to take it literally.”

“Dying,” Wilson mutters as he squirms on the ground, his hands cupped around his balls. “I’m dying. Someone get a doctor. Actually, we may need a whole medical team. Possibly a helicopter for a medivac.”

It seems like an extreme reaction to getting tapped in the balls. I may not have balls, but I have two brothers, and I’ve witnessed enough ball shots to know it hurts but is hardly fatal.

“ Dying ,” Wilson says a third time. “There are stars in my vision. And stars within the stars.”

It’s probably because he’s staring straight up at the fluorescent light, but I don’t say anything.

I recognize the need to have a dramatic moment, having felt the same way a time or two in the past. After I discovered the truth about my five-minute-fiancé, I changed my name, and after I found out about Roman, I moved to North Carolina. Sure, I had secondary reasons for doing both of those things, but you don’t get more dramatic than that.

The kid loses more of the blood in his face and runs to the front room, muttering about managers and not getting paid enough for this.

Anthony swears and fists his hair in his hands, making it almost wild—revealing the rule breaker within the man of reason. “I didn’t do it on purpose, Nina . I have terrible aim. My father tried to take me skeet shooting, and the only thing I hit was a tree. I was aiming for Wilson’s leg.” Looking at Wilson, he swears again and says, “I was trying to hit your leg. I’m sorry.”

Wilson nods, pressing the icepack to his balls with one hand, and extends the other in a fist for a weak fist bump. “It got wild out there, man. I get it. There are no rules in war.”

“Well, I don’t believe you,” Nina says, crossing her arms over her chest. “You’re jealous of him.”

“ Jealous? ” Anthony says, raising his voice. His face looks haughty and angry. He’s every inch the heir to a fortune. I put my hand at the small of his back, needing to reel him back so he’ll be my Anthony again. His face softens slightly, but his jaw is still hard as he adds, “Why the hell would I be jealous of him… you ?”

Her face tightening, she gets to her feet. “I need to talk with you privately.”

“No, you don’t,” he says gruffly, glaring down at her. “You can say anything you want in front of my fiancée. We have no secrets.”

That word shouldn’t mean anything, but it makes the blood in my veins feel fizzy and above the legal limit.

Nina laughs, a harsh, bitter sound. “I’m talking to her.”

Shock roils through me, like that time I played with an electrical socket when I was a kid, thinking it was like a puzzle for forks.

“Some girl talk?” asks Wilson, who’s deluded in an almost sweet way. Or it would be sweet if he didn’t think messing around with his friend’s fiancée was an acceptable course of action. “That’s a good idea. Can you check on the doctor situation? I’m going to need some pain medication. Maybe an IV. My mother will want to come to the hospital, of course.”

Contempt roils in Nina’s eyes, but it’s papered over within seconds. “Of course, honey.” She shifts her gaze to Anthony, who gives her a hard look. “If you touch a hair on his head—”

“Same,” he says, his tone blistering. His eyes meet mine. “You don’t need to go anywhere, Rosie.”

But I do. I want to know what Nina’s playing at, inviting herself to hang out with us today. And I want to know if she’s the one behind the website. I’m guessing it’s not Wilson, who’s too sweetly dumb to successfully pull off a prank, let alone cyber harassment. Her, though? She could be a mastermind.

“I’m fine,” I say, pressing my hand to the small of his back again before pulling away.

He looks worried as Nina leads me out of the course and into the hallway.

The beleaguered boy who’s in charge of this place for the afternoon looks up from his desk. There’s a smudge of blue paint on his cheek. “I just spoke with the manager, ma’am,” he says to Nina. “I’m going to get an ambulance here. Shouldn’t take more than five minutes. One time it even got here in four.”

“He’s fine,” she says dismissively. “He stayed in bed for two days after a flu shot. Do you have any Advil?”

He nods at her, his lips a worried bow, as if he thinks he’s walking into a trap but has lost his sense of direction. “I can find some.”

“Give him some Advil and a Diet Coke, and he’ll think you’re a medical genius.”

He continues to gape at her, but starts scrambling through the drawer of his desk, probably for the Advil.

Nina, done with him, leads me past the desk to the little concessions area. The service counter is unmanned, probably because the teenager at the front has been pulling double duty. Apparently indoor paintball is not a popular past time for most people the day before Christmas Eve.

There’s a half-empty cup of hot chocolate sitting out on the table, but Nina makes a face and dumps it out. I’ve worked in food service enough to know she just made the trash a soggy mess that the poor pimple-faced attendant will probably end up getting all over his pants later this afternoon. As if I needed another reason to dislike her.

“What do you want?” I ask, feeling like we might as well get straight to the point we’ve spent all morning dancing around. She wants something, or she wouldn’t have invited herself on our outing. Maybe she’d even manufactured our run-in at the stables this morning. Jeeves had said they’d been out longer than they’d arranged for.

Did Anthony go riding on regular days, at regular times?

“You ran into Anthony at the stables on purpose earlier,” I say, figuring I might as well see how she responds. “You thought he’d be alone.”

“You’re very bold,” she comments as she runs a hand over her sleek hair.

“Yes. So are you. Now, what do you want? Because you obviously want something.”

She folds her hands on the tabletop, a completely different person now than she was in the paintball course a few minutes ago. While I believe she really was furious with Anthony, I don’t think for a minute that it was out of concern for Wilson’s squished balls.

“How much money is he going to give you?” she asks.

“ Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” She leans toward me now, as if she’d been holding back from doing so all along. “I know he must be paying you. I’m sure you feel really lucky to have found him, but Wilson has more money. And there are no strings with him. He’ll get it all when his parents kick it, and they eat meat for every meal. It’s probably only a matter of time.”

“What exactly are you implying?” I ask, mostly because I want her to say it.

“Wilson likes doing this kind of stupid shit, and he agrees with everything. Anthony’s cold and withdrawn.” Her glower deepens. “It’s like living with a statue. And his mother is obnoxious and controlling. You don’t want to be part of their family. You’re…” She waves a hand as if to encompass my personality and everything she finds disagreeable about it.

“He doesn’t like you,” I say. “And neither do I.”

Her lips tip up. “That wedding was planned for us . Not for you. If he thinks people won’t see through your little story in five seconds, he’s as much of a fool as his mother is. At the end of the day, Anthony will always do what’s best for himself and for his father’s company. He doesn’t care about individual people. We’re nothing to him.”

The injustice of this tears through me. Anthony does care about people. He cares very much. His dream, his unicorn, is to make that warehouse into a beautiful home, a haven, for people who would usually be stuck in dingy, small units. But telling her that would be as effective as monologuing to a wall. Still, I can’t let her get away with it. So I firm my lips and say, “That’s an interesting assessment from someone who clearly still wants to marry him. You don’t know him at all, not that I’m surprised.”

Her expression firms. “You’re playing games you can’t win.”

“And you plan on winning by being an asshole to him? Someone needs to teach you manners.”

She opens her mouth, then promptly shuts it, giving me a smile she probably thinks is enigmatic. “I’m not going to share my strategy with you.”

Crap. Maybe she did do the website.

I figure I might as well come out and ask. “Are you the one who’s been threatening his mother?”

“Someone’s threatening her?” she asks, looking surprised and then bemused. With a slow shake of her head, she adds, “It’s not me, but I’m hardly the only person who dislikes her. Everyone says she’s the black widow, but I think her husbands died early just to get away from her.” She gives me an assessing look. “You seem like a woman who’d enjoy getting pedicures with your mother-in-law. Wilson’s mother invites me every week. You can get hers and hers massages and arrange Bunko nights.”

I get to my feet. “I don’t give a shit what meal you asked for at the wedding. If you decide to show your face, you’re getting the fish. I’m told it’s usually overdone and rubbery. Enjoy your Christmas. I’m guessing you’ll be hearing about Wilson’s balls every five minutes.”

And I turn my back on her and stalk back to the paintball course, where Anthony is sitting to one side of Wilson, who’s chugging Diet Coke. The kid is sitting on the patient’s other side, carefully watching him as if he’s afraid he might backslide any second.

Anthony’s brow is furrowed as he listens to his former friend monologue about how his balls feel—“like squished snoballs. Not snowballs from the snow, but those pink marshmallow things with the cream inside.” He cocks his head. “You know, I’d love one of those right now. That would really hit the spot. Nina doesn’t believe in processed foods, but really, after what happened, I think she’d understand.”

Anthony gets to his feet when he sees me, his expression concerned.

“Sorry, Wilson,” I say with a sympathetic smile. “But we have to go. Family emergency. Nina said you should call your mother to ask for a ride. She just loves her. Couldn’t say enough good things about her.”

“She did?” he asks, looking pleased by this. “It’s a Christmas miracle.”

We both pat him on the shoulder and wish him a happy pig roast and a happier Christmas, and after we pull the jumpsuits and gear off, Anthony slips the kid a one-hundred-dollar bill.

I beam at him as we walk out. Nina’s nowhere to be seen as we leave, but I know better than to think she’s given up. She’s adjusting her strategy.

I hope I didn’t just make a crucial error by telling her about the threat to Mrs. Rosings. This game I’ve found myself in is high stakes, and complicated, and I don’t know what cards I have yet.

Anthony takes my hand as we walk, weaving his fingers through mine. “Good aim,” I say as I push the door open and we walk out into the cold air.

He releases a misty breath, giving me a sidelong glance. “I didn’t do it on purpose. I may not like him, but I’d never shoot another guy in the balls.”

“Men and their balls,” I say, shaking my head. My heart starts thumping faster, because it occurs to me that we’re finally alone together. We may be approaching some kind of come-to-Jesus moment, and I don’t know how it’ll work out.

He turns toward me and lifts a hand to the side of my face, cupping my cheek. His eyes are embers in a banked fire. “What’d Nina say to you?”

“Let’s go somewhere we can sit and talk,” I say, feeling my pulse thrumming in my throat. My wrist.

“We can make sandwiches at Smith House,” he tells me, brushing his fingers across my cheek before lowering his hand. “I’ve been staying there with my mom, but she’s supposed to be out this afternoon.”

“That sounds wonderful. I’m starving.”

In the car, I check my phone. I have messages from Joy, my brother, and Lainey, but nothing from Nicole.

I feel like my past is gearing up to grab my ponytail and tug me to a stop, but I’ll do what I always do.

I’ll keep running, even if it’s in circles.