“We were expecting you for dinner. Mom and Dad had the Tompkins family over to meet you.”
Jesse swore. He’d forgotten. After the workout and the conversation with Olivier, quiet and solitude were all he craved for the remainder of the day. His parents had set up a steady stream of brunches and dinners with him trotting, or rather limping, in to meet church members, coworkers and his mother’s crochet—or was it cross-stitch?—group. After these past several weeks of smiling, signing autographs and posing for photos, he’d come to dread the invitations. Instead of saying anything, he’d come up with excuses not to attend, arrive super late or be stoic and unresponsive to occasional flirtations. But this was the first time that he’d completely wiped it from his mind.
“And they brought their kids.”
Jesse squeezed his eyes shut. “I didn’t know kids were coming.”
“Is that all you have to say?” Diego pushed.
“I’ll make my apologies to Mom. Is she around?” Jesse didn’t want to get into anything with his brother. Not tonight. They could fight tomorrow or the day after when there was no threat of them running out of things to irritate each other.
Apparently, Diego didn’t want to let up. “This was a waste of my time, too.”
“I didn’t ask you to attend. Never did.” Jesse rubbed the length of his thigh. His mood turned sour.
“No, you didn’t ask, but still I came. Mom expected us to be there.”
“And you’re not one to disappoint.” Jesse stared out into the night.
No longer focused on the stars, he looked out at the lakeside houses’ lights dotting either shore. His temper brewed. Friction that had been in the making for most of their lives bubbled like a volcano. Their disagreements waxed and waned, depending on their parents’ involvement to push a peace process. While his busy soccer schedule and obligations once provided a safe zone, lately signs warned that the turbulence was on the rise, a change that he’d noticed when he returned home for his indefinite stay.
Jesse continued, “Tell Mom that I’ll call her in the morning.” No matter how much he’d rather not have to meet his parents’ friends, he never wanted to disappoint kids if he could help it. They mattered, especially with their unconditional loyalty and support. He had hundreds of letters since his injury to prove his point.
Tomorrow, he’d be on it. If he had to go to the Tompkins’ home and take the kids for an ice cream treat, he’d make the experience fun with selfies and autographs.
But Diego didn’t let up. “Sure thing. There’s always an event or woman that is more important. Let me remind you that the false love and adoration won’t last. Because, then what happens now that the soccer god is shown to be human?”
Jesse didn’t reply. He didn’t have to respond since Diego abruptly ended the call. His brother’s challenge had echoes of truth, though.
His thigh throbbed—a final punishment for the night. He leaned back his head and closed his eyes to will away the ache.
Anger was all he mustered up for himself. Disappointment was all he seemed to stir from others. So why on earth had he felt compelled to come back to the city of Midway, New York?
Three months later
Belinda Toussaint had barely nestled her butt onto her office chair for the morning when Tawny, her assistant, hovered in the doorway. At least she came with a proffered mug of coffee. Steam curled enticingly upward from the hot elixir. The robust scent magically jolted her brain awake.
“I’ve got good news.” Tawny held her position in the doorway, only extending the hand that held the coffee, a gift from the gods. “And I’ve got bad news.”
Was the mug with the words Professional Badass supposed to energize her for the good news? Or stroke her ego for the bad news?
Belinda beckoned Tawny to come closer. She relieved her assistant of the offering. “Thanks.” She took a careful sip, letting it wash over her tongue, before closing her eyes with a grateful sigh. “Okay, what now? Lay down the yucky stuff. This Wednesday is starting on the wrong side of my emotions.”
“Mail already arrived.” Tawny raised the cluster of envelopes clutched in her other hand. Today, the fingernails were painted bright periwinkle blue. Her burgundy-dyed hair was styled in spiral curls. Bright eyes blinked out at her behind black-framed glasses.
What Belinda noted more, however, was that Tawny didn’t hand over any of the mail. “Are those bills?”
Tawny shook her head. “It’s worse.” She scrunched her nose.
“Worse than having to pay out money?” As far as Belinda was concerned, things couldn’t get much worse than starting a new business, specifically a nonprofit.
Mentally, she ticked off what she could tout as a new owner. One employee—Tawny. No real clients to speak of...yet. In this one-room converted barn-turned-office, they shared the work space and had carved out a storage area. Belinda framed her office with thin drywall and equipped it with a salvaged door that was more for aesthetics than for privacy. Other than her desk and two chairs, a single column of file drawers that hopefully soon would contain a large number of clients’ information filled a corner in her office. A small clay pot with a thriving ivy plant draped the top.
“Got a response about my complaint.” Tawny’s mouth pursed. “The secondhand store where we bought these so-called antiques won’t give us back our money. Stuff wasn’t even fit for a yard sale.”
“At least we were able to decorate the welcome room. And part of the donation went to a good cause.” Belinda wasn’t surprised. The hodgepodge furniture selection was from one of the large thrift stores in the city.
“Please. You need to check to see if the soup kitchen did get any of that money. Those people saw an easygoing, prone-to-guilt woman. And they got paid. Next time, don’t buy anything based on online pictures.”
Belinda waved off Tawny’s constant dig that, when it came to her business, she should stop giving her heart and soul. That she needed to toughen up. It was funny how the advice sounded similar to what she’d said to Dana, her youngest cousin, who now ran the family media empire.
Tawny cleared her throat. “Not done.”
“Okay, bring on the bad news. In an hour, we have a prospective client coming in to see the facility and get more information. I want to make sure that she’s blown away with the work in progress. More important that she’s willing to sign up.”
“Once we start, those good reviews will roll in, and we’ll be busier than you could’ve ever imagined.” Tawny flopped into the only chair. She pulled out the letter and unfolded it. “From the Brandywine Gazette, ‘Dear Mrs. Belinda Toussaint—’”
“Good grief. I’m not married. I’m thirty and single. They’re giving me bad news and don’t give a damn to address me correctly.”
“‘We have enjoyed being a part of building the Dreamweaver Riding Program. Your dedication to assisting young people to overcome challenges with equine-assisted therapy solutions is admirable. We treasure this opportunity beyond measure.’”
“Get on with it,” Belinda prompted. Her fingers on one hand restlessly chipped away the ragged polish on her other hand.
“‘Due to budgetary constraints, we are unable to continue to be part of the sponsorship program. We look forward to working with you in the future. Good luck with your endeavors.’”
“You could’ve paraphrased all of that into we’re screwed.” Belinda leaned back in her chair and swiveled around to face the wall that held her vision board for the riding program.
Her