2. Sophie Summers

two

Sophie Summers

“Oh, babe, I’m sorry your ankle is bugging you again.” My voice laces with empathy as I tuck my phone between my shoulder and ear to ever-so-quietly not give any clues that I’m shutting a car door. I wave as the taxi driver darts back into the Thursday night New York traffic. My smile only grows larger as I pivot to cross Park Avenue to Rocco’s apartment. It’s his twenty-sixth birthday, and I’m supposed to be on my tour bus headed to Minneapolis for the last stop on my concert tour, but I couldn’t miss his birthday. He’s in the middle of his NFL season and can’t get away, and I’m not okay with missing his birthday. He’s the love of my life, and I want to be the person who is beside him on his special day. “Did you get hurt in practice?”

“Yeah, it’s been sore all week, but I felt something give while I was running. I’m meeting the team’s physical therapist. He’s going to help me stretch it out and wrap it. I’m sure it will be better after I rest for a night.”

“I hate that you aren’t feeling well on your birthday. You should be out celebrating.” My boots click out a steady rhythm, and I adjust the bags on my arms. One package is his gift, a new Rolex wrapped in a handwritten love note expressing all the ways he makes my life better. The other bag is an overnight bag with everything I need to get ready for our dinner reservations. I reserved the entire private rooftop at his favorite restaurant, and I had my favorite designer custom make a special dress for the occasion. Black satin all the way down to my toes with a classy high collar that opens to a V in the back. Rocco always told me one of the things he loves about me is the way I dress classy and not trashy, like most of the women in the clubs. It’s just the way I am, never feeling comfortable showing lots of bare skin. Not to mention that after we started dating, I realized that he tends to have a jealous side when he thinks other guys are looking at me. I’ve learned to not provoke it by overdoing my outfits.

“Nah, you know how I am,” he reassures me. “I’m not one to make a big deal about my birthday. If I can’t spend the day with you, I’d rather stay home. We’ll go out this weekend, and by then I’ll be back to normal.” His voice muffles and I don’t hear what he says before he comes back clear. “Soph, the therapist is ready for me. I’ll call you later. Okay?”

“Sounds good.”

“Love you.” His soft goodbye cushions my heart.

“Love you, too.” I don’t fight the enormous smile on my face as I end the call and turn to greet Rocco’s door attendant. I’m here so much we are on a first name basis. “Good evening, Ben. How are you?”

His blue eyes pass over me and he doesn’t bend a lip upward. “What are you doing here, Soph?”

Laughing off his surprise, I give him a mischievous smile, so proud am I of my sneaky surprise. “I know, I’m supposed to be on a bus, but don’t worry, I didn’t cancel my tour. My pilot will fly me out first thing in the morning. I have it all planned out. If I leave by seven, I’ll beat my tour crew.”

“No.” He steps in front of the door, and his head wags side to side. “You can’t go upstairs.”

“I know he’s not home,” I rush to explain. “He’s getting therapy, but if you would please sneak me up before he gets home, I’m dying to surprise him. He has no idea I’m here. It’s the best surprise I could think of for his birthday.”

“Soph . . .” His voice is steady but softens as he pulls out his phone, holding out the screen for me to see while scrolling down to his door camera app. “He is home, and he has company.”

“Oh.” Tilting my head to the side, I rewind Rocco’s words, not paying an ounce of attention to what Ben has on his phone. “Maybe the therapist met him here? I can’t remember exactly what he said, but it’s fine if I don’t beat him—” My voice drops off and ice rips through my veins, instantly making me ill, and I want to throw up.

Ben has the door camera app open, and he has rewound it in front of me to show Rocco walking through the door with a blonde woman I don’t recognize, wearing a dress that I would never call classy. Their arms are wrapped around each other, and there’s not a slice of air between their bodies.

“This was fifteen minutes ago,” Ben adds as he scrolls back on the camera app some more. “But I can show you that she’s been here all week, and trust me, if I were you, I would not go up there.”

“It must be a mistake. A friend?”

“Technically, she’s the team’s new social media expert, but if you ask me, she’s just a groupie. I wouldn’t doubt she’s dating more than one of the guys.”

“Dating?” The word rings in my ears and I diagnose how off that sounds. A lump bulges in my throat, swelling even after I swallow to try to force it down. “He’s dating her?”

“They haven’t been discreet, if you know what I mean. I can show you more footage, but trust me, you don’t want to see it.” He pushes the phone back toward me, and a shadow of two figures pushed together in a lip lock flashes before me.

I turn my head away as my voice cracks, “Why are you doing this?”

“I would have called you, but I didn’t want to ruin your focus on your tour. I knew the tour was ending after this week, and you deserve to have that success.” His cobalt eyes spiral pity at me, and my throat dries as reality sinks in. This is not a joke. Even if this woman is a friend, he’s not where he said he was just two seconds earlier . . . at the arena getting physical therapy from the male team therapist.

“I have to talk to him.” My weakened voice floats out. “I need verification. He needs to tell me to my face that he lied.”

“He’s not worth it.” Ben takes a giant step back and leans against the door, securing it even more.

I’m not a violent person. There’s no way I’d bust through it, but his insistence on keeping me out puts my heart on full alarm. “It’s not the first time, is it?”

Ben’s gaze skirts to the side, and he lowers his voice. “You’d better go unless you want this on camera. There’s paparazzi coming this way. Don’t give them the satisfaction of seeing your disgust.”

Disgust? I want to blurt out. I’m not disgusted at all. I’m gut punched. My heart is pummeled as everything I believed to be true and good has been ripped from me in two minutes. I feel ambushed. I simply want to see Rocco to confirm that this is all a lie, but at the same time, there’s no reason Ben would lie to me about this. We’ve been friends since Rocco and I started dating, which has been over a year now. “Tell me when the infidelity started,” I squeak out, still trying to find the place in my memory of something I did wrong.

Was there some way I could have caused this?

Maybe I could still fix it.

I’ve been on the road an awful lot, even missing some of his games.

“I only discovered it recently, since your last trip.”

“Two weeks.” I breathe out, one eye tracing the paparazzi coming down the sidewalk. I pull my baseball cap down, concealing my eyes, as I try to convince myself that two weeks isn’t that long.

He can’t possibly love this woman.

Not how he loves me.

It’s just a mistake.

We could work on it.

I’m willing to try if he’s honest and comes clean.

“I’m sorry, but that particular woman has been here all week, and the paparazzi already suspects something is up with Rocco. They’ll get a photo sooner or later, and it might be best if you’re not in it.” He nods to the left, away from the oncoming reporter. “You need to leave now.”

My hands fly to the bill of my cap, shielding the sides of my face as my cheeks rage in overwhelm and heartbreak. My knees buckle, and moving is not an option. My romance with Rocco flashes before my eyes, and I’m mourning all the romantic dinners, private vacations, and never-ending phone conversations. I can’t walk away from that, even if my legs could move.

“You need to leave before you cause a scene.” Ben’s voice grows in urgency, but it’s too late. Not one or two, but a barrage of phone cameras point at me now. One is from the nearest paparazzi, another is from some guy who popped up across the street, and more are from down the block. I’m surrounded, and I can’t even defend myself.

I’m melting.

But I’m not.

I’m clearly still standing out in the open for all to take photos of.

Could I please melt?

“For Pete’s sake, don’t just stand there.” Ben whips the front door open, and yells, “Get inside.” I slip inside, and Ben follows on my heels. Marching me to the closest door, which happens to be the mailroom, he says, “You can hide in here, and I’ll get a car to come around the back.”

As he pivots to return to his post, I call out, “I’m sorry. I froze.”

“It’s okay.” He tuns back with a sympathetic look on his face. “You’re the one who is owed an apology.”

Suddenly, I’m in a flashback.

At sixteen years old, I promised myself I was going for everything everyone told me I couldn’t have.

They said I couldn’t have fame.

I took the hard road, counting each small success as a win, and eventually, I got it.

They scoffed and said my fame was fleeting, and that I'd need a job to build real wealth.

I was smart, investing in myself, and by not wasting even a dime I’ve accumulated a lot of wealth over the years.

Then they said that even if I could do all that, I would never be able to both work that hard and find true love.

They got me on that one. A single hot tear slips out of my eye, and I let it glide all the way down my cheek.

I guess they were right.