“Absofuckinlutelynot. That’s Romantic Motherfucker Day. Ain’t no fuckin’ way I can skip it to watch over Reb.”
“It’s a week away.”
“Then let him wait ‘til the next fuckin’ night. Ain’t doin’ it, CJ.”
“Rebel’s already signed up to a dating app for thirteen to nineteen year olds. Kaia said she’s going to ghost him if they don’t go out ASAP.”
“Well, fuck.”
Act Three
Fathers and Daughters
Seventeen-year-old Bailey Andrews plopped on her bed, peeled off her ankle socks and threw them next to her sneakers, wishing she’d never gotten out of bed this morning. Or left school early and missed the game since tonight had been a bust all around.
Her feet hurt. No matter how much she and the other cheer squad members shouted, danced, and pumped up the crowd for the football team, those clowns still lost. The icing on the garbage cake was her father not showing up to see her performance in the final game of the year. She was a senior, so technically it was the last high school football game she’d ever cheer at.
And Daddy missedit.
She wasn’t sure why it hurt her so much. In the last few months, her father broke his promises more than he kept them. His allegiance was to his motorcycles and some stupid club. A bunch of middle-aged men doingwhatever. Recapturing their lost youth. Performing wheelies. Racing.
She didn’t know because he wouldn’t tell her. For the entire month he’d promised her he would attend tonight’s game. Two days ago, he’d called and said he probablywouldn’tmake it. No explanation and no apology. Just a big old load ofmy club’s more important than you.
Folding her arms, Bailey huffed. He probably wouldn’t make her graduation either.
“That’s months away,” she mumbled. “Stop torturing yourself. It is what it is.”
It was what it was.
Leaning over, she flipped on her lamp, tired of sitting in the dark. She frowned at the framed photo of her and her father that she kept on her nightstand.
Stretching out on the bed, she stared at the ceiling. Before she got under the covers, she needed a shower. Hot water and sleep would help her mood. Then, she’d awaken to the sunlight streaming through the windows in her room, gleaming against her light blue walls and wreathing her white furniture in brightness.Hope. Memories of all the times her fatherdidn’tdisappoint her.
Even if she hadn’t been a senior, the football team was a lost cause. For her entire high school career, they lost more games than they won.
A knock came on her door.
For the first time, she picked up on the lemon scent. Their housekeeper must’ve cleaned her room today. Not that the lady had much to do. Bailey was methodical in her neatness.
“Bailey?” Momma called.
Bailey’s lips trembled, but she sucked back her tears. She barely concentrated on her routine, praying her father came to her last game when he’d missed all of them this year, her first as team captain.
She’d even skipped a bathroom break at halftime to run to the sidelines and look closer at the stands. He hadn’t come.
“Bailey?” Another knock. “Baby, open the door.”
Momma always,alwaysexcused Daddy’s behavior. She couldn’t understand why her mother never sided with her, even when Daddy crushed her. Like now.
Swallowing, Bailey pasted a smile on her face and sat up. “It’s open, Momma.”
She practiced an even tone religiously. As long as she remained calm, so too did her mother. Sometimes, Bailey and her sisters, Alexia and Carissa, role-played various scenarios and acted out the best reactions to keep everything running smoothly.
The door creaked open and her mother walked in, gorgeous in a sparkling fuchsia-colored designer gown. Her hair was wild and crimped, her makeup was bold and daring, and her diamonds gleamed. At thirty-seven, she was one of the most beautiful women Bailey had ever met. She was so proud to have her as a mother.
Thanks to her marriage to Creighton when Bailey was eight, they were at the pinnacle of New Orleans Society.
Momma turned over the house she owned to Meme, her mother, but Bailey knew her mother and stepfather were having issues. Momma was down-to-earth and straightforward. Creighton was sneaky and overly impressed with himself, his family name, and his status. Duke, their son and Bailey’s nine-year-old brother, had moments of snobbery and Creighton-like behavior. Then, there was Creighton’s right handman, Joyner Amfinger, who Bailey detested. He had evil written all over him.
