The Player Next Door

“That’s because your career and reputation isn’t being threatened. As usual, the man is innocent in all of this, isn’t he?”

He releases me and lifts his hands in surrender. “Hey, I haven’t done anything wrong here.”

“Neither have I, but I’m the one about to have my life blown up.”

“What do you want me to do, Scar? What am I supposed to do? Tell me how I can fix this?”

“I don’t know.” I wince at the throb in my temple. It was a dull ache when I said goodbye to Wendy. Now it pulsates. “I’m going home. I’ve got a headache.” And I suspect nothing good will come of letting this conversation continue while our tempers are flaring.

Shane’s brow furrows, but he merely nods.

I’m halfway to the front door when he hollers, “Do you still want me to come over later?”

“I don’t know. We’ll see if I’m still hysterical.” So much for our sordid night together.

I’m not sure who I should be angry with right now.

Penelope, for proving that some people don’t change.

My mother, whose selfishness still haunts me all these years later.

Shane, for so thoroughly pursuing me to dive into this relationship, knowing the land mines we’d have to navigate around.

Or me, for being stupid enough to give my heart to Shane Fucking Beckett again.

While some women don’t like to throw derogatory names at other women, Justine has no qualms.

“What a cunt,” Justine declares over my phone’s speaker, her crass announcement—and her favorite insult, that she adopted after spending a semester working with an exchange student from London—competing with the noisy rattle of my bathroom ceiling fan.

“She’s definitely something.” I poke at the bath faucet with my big toe. It’s been four hours since I left Shane scowling in his kitchen. I heard his truck pull out as I was popping Advil and lying down to attempt sleep that didn’t come. Finally, I gave up and drew myself a bath, hoping the lavender bath bomb might soothe my aches and my woes.

“She won’t win this, will she?”

“Wendy doesn’t think so. I mean, it’s not like I’m walking around Shane’s kitchen in my underwear when Cody’s there.”

“Has he heard you two fucking?”

“No. I’ve never slept over when Cody’s there. And we’re super careful around him. I think I’ve held Shane’s hand once.”

“So then that psycho can stuff her piehole. She has no argument.”

“We’ll see. They post formal complaint resolutions on the school board website. I went on it to see what kinds of cases were listed. They’re all DUIs and thefts. Real crimes.” My only crime is stupidity. Did I really believe Penelope would take my relationship with Shane lying down?

“See? You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“Maybe you’re right.” My voice doesn’t hold much hope. If there’s anyone who can spin a question of moral character—gray area, at best—into a crime, it’d be Penelope.

I don’t want to lose my job. I definitely don’t want to spend the next however many years with my reputation trashed.

But am I going to have to give up Shane to keep those things I’ve worked so hard for and protected? It’s a dark thought that reared itself while I was lying in bed, toiling over solutions. I immediately dismissed it as a viable option, but it’s still there, lingering, as if my brain knows something my heart doesn’t yet want to face:

Maybe I’ll have to choose.

Maybe I can’t have it all.

Another grim thought has emerged along with it—what if Shane decides he doesn’t want these complications in his life? What if he’s the one who pulls the plug on us?

He’s done it once before, and the “complications” were barely that by comparison.

I push that gut-wrenching worry aside. “What are you doing tonight?”

“Binge-watching The Last Kingdom. This guy’s so hot. I hate Bill’s job and I miss you.”

I smile despite her bitter tone. Apparently, Bill’s job description includes frequent booze-laden cocktail hours with clients and colleagues. Justine has always hated it, and they’re always fighting about him coming home tipsy to fall asleep on the couch. It’s good to see some things haven’t changed since I left. “Anything else exciting going on this weekend?”

“I have a trade show, and Bill’s daughter has a piano recital tomorrow, so he’s heading to Boston overnight. So, what did Shane say about all this bullshit?”

I sigh. “Penelope told him she was going to do it but he didn’t take her seriously. He doesn’t know what to do.”

“Ugh. How about don’t stick your big dumb dick in her all those years ago, buddy,” she chirps, her accent especially thick with her irritation.

“If only we had a time machine.” Though, that would mean Cody wouldn’t exist and, after teaching him for more than two months and spending time with him outside of school, I could never wish for that. He’s a good kid.

Too bad his mother couldn’t simply vanish.