“You’re going to throw away the years of friendship because she has a vagina?”
“It’s not like that. She wants . . .” he looks down, unable to make eye contact with me, “she wants to have a big family and Hope is a part of that.” Now she wants a big family? The woman who only a few months ago couldn’t even consider being a mother?
“The fuck she is.” I move closer to him. “Over my dead body will Rebecca get that baby back.”
“She’s her mom, Jace. Get off your high horse and stop dividing a family up.”
Wrong day, wrong fucking words. My fist finds his face faster than he can utter his next horrifying sentence. Caught off guard, he flies backward, trips on a bucket of baseballs in the middle of the floor, and then falls to the ground.
“Rebecca is her birth mom, fuck head. The only family element shared between Rebecca and Hope is DNA. That little girl has a family. Two loving moms who’ve vowed to raise Hope in a loving, caring, selfless, and compassionate household.” Why the fuck would Ethan encourage Rebecca to take Hope away from June and Alex and parade my daughter, who I can’t raise, in front of me?
My words don’t register because before I know it, Ethan is charging at me, going in for the tackle. My head slams into the locker behind me just as Ethan plows his fist to my eye. Searing pain hits my brain, rage pours out of me, and now with my towel on the ground, dick hanging out, I attack Ethan back.
A roar from our teammates echoes through the locker room, men pulling at us to bring the fight to an end.
Tyler, our first baseman, yanks on my shoulders, pulling me back just in time for Coach to walk through the doors. Given the way he’s staring us down, he’s angry.
“Barnes, Utwood, my office now. The rest of you, go home, this boxing match, porn edition, is over.”
Needing to cover up, I quickly slip on a pair of mesh shorts and follow Coach to his office. This little brawl will most likely cost me a fine, a long lecture, and a little less leniency.
Fuck.
DAISY
“I’m going to fall off. Hold me, I feel myself teetering over. A car is going to run me over and my brains will spill out all over the road.”
“They won’t actually,” Hollyn says with a knock of her knuckles to my helmet. “You’re the only one here wearing protective head gear.”
I instinctively hold on to my helmet. “I don’t understand why you wouldn’t. We are on a bike in the city, drinking beer. I’m already feeling tipsy. This was a bad idea. We are all going to die,” I shout, now gripping to the table in front of me. “We are going to die!”
“Psycho,” Hollyn knocks me, “we are going fifteen miles per hour. Calm your tits and try to have some fun. Your constant worrying is a real downer.”
“It’s five o’clock somewhere,” Amanda sings by herself, swaying to and fro in her seat, defying drunk gravity.
“Amanda, stop that swaying at once,” I demand, one hand on my helmet, the other gripping the table. “You’re going to fall off this human-powered vehicle.”
“Pour me something tall and strong,” she sings some more, joining Alan Jackson and Jimmy Buffett, ignoring my warning.
“Your friend seems to be very drunk,” the guy next to me says. He’s been trying to talk to me all night on this bike contraption but I’ve been too focused on not falling off to pay attention to him.
“She’s going to die, before her wedding. She’s going to fall flat on the asphalt and get run over by a car. I just know it.” I grip my forehead in worry. “And then I’m going to have to tell Matt about how she fell off the bike-mobile while singing some drinking song and consuming what she thinks is cheap-from-the-butt beer. I think Matt will be horrified to know such a thing.”
“Who’s Matt?” the guy asks.
“Her fiancé.” I roll my eyes just as we go over a bump, sending all of us up in the air. I screech and reach for my phone. I’m all about living it up, but I would like to stay alive while doing it.
Because I’m tipsy, on the verge of death, and looking to let someone know about my legacy before I’m buried six feet under, I send a text.
Daisy: If I die tonight, please let the world know I make amazing German chocolate cake cookies.
There, legacy sent. Oh wait . . .
Daisy: And I’m really good at latch hook. Actually, there is a latch hook rug under my bed that I made for Grams, make sure she gets it.
Okay. That should be good. Baking and latch hook legacy . . .
But what about my newfound talent?
Daisy: And also, if my grave can say ‘good at driving motorcycles’ I would appreciate it.
Baking, latch hook, motorcycles. I think that just about covers it all. What a legacy . . .
Daisy: And I can recite the entire Vitameatavegamin episode from I Love Lucy. I would show you, but I’m dying tonight. Just know, I can nail it.
There. That’s all I have to say. My legacy will now live on forever.
At least I can rest easy in my helmet, knowing people will not just say: Daisy who? She lived with her grandma for twenty-one years and had no friends, no job, and no life experiences. No, they will be able to say, Daisy Beauregaurd: German-chocolate-cake-cookie master baker, latch hook goddess, motorcycle mama, and Vitameatavegamin vixen.
“Do you have a boyfriend?” man next to me leans in and asks.
Pulling away, I attractively respond, “Eh?”
“A boyfriend, do you have one?”
“What?” I giggle like a child. “A boyfriend? Well I do have a friend that’s a boy. Does that count? His name is Carter, and he’s moody and mean sometimes but other times he’s really nice, especially when he kisses me or sticks his finger inside of me.” I slam my hand over my mouth. What would possess me to say such a thing? I eye the Solo cup in front of me. Stupid butthole beer.
“Daisy, don’t talk to people about things like that,” Hollyn says next to me. Then she leans in closer and says, “Carter finger fucked you?”
“What?” My face burns bright red and my phone beeps in my hand with a message. “Gah, don’t tell him I said that. I don’t think we are talking about placement of our fingers with other people.”
“Did you stick your finger anywhere?” Hollyn asks, eyebrows raised.
“No! Where would I stick it? He doesn’t have a hole.”
“Men like a good prostate rub,” the man says next to me, clearly eavesdropping on our conversation.
“Ew!” Hollyn slaps the man in the arm from behind me, shooing him away. “Don’t whisper the word prostate in my friend’s ear.”
“Just offering up suggestions.” He shrugs.
With me in the middle, Hollyn gets in an argument with the man about not being a creep. I don’t listen because I’m too transfixed on seeing if my legacy will move on. I open the text and read it.
Carter: What are you talking about? Are you drunk?
Well, that wasn’t the confirmation I was looking for, so I text him back.
Daisy: I’m on a bike booze thing with Amanda and Hollyn. It’s dangerous, I can see myself plummeting to my death. I need to know that you will let my legacy move on.