Page 20 of False Play
“I hope that meow means you agree,” I shouted once he was out of sight then rubbed my face and muttered, “Fuck.”
SEVEN
KENNEDY
MY EYES ARE UP HERE, PRETTY GIRL.
The toweringskyscraper where Anderson resided sat in the heart of downtown Chicago, and it was only a ten-minute drive to our offices and training facilities. And by the looks of theveryfancy building, there was no way I could afford whatever rent he would be asking for.
Why didn’t I set the terms before agreeing? Since when was I this irresponsible?
You were desperate. That’s all.
I parked my trusty old blue Honda Civic at one of the meters and put enough money in it to last until the next morning. Paying for a meter spot every day wasn’t exactly ideal, plus there was the whole first-come-first-served basis, and I had too many late work nights to risk it. But judging by the exterior of where I was going to be living, I doubted I was going to be able to afford whatever they charged for a parking space.
With a tired sigh, I opened the trunk of my car and grabbed my suitcase. I glanced at the fancy-looking building one last time before striding into the lobby with my heart beating painfully against my ribcage.
The concierge made quick work of putting me in the system then they handed me a key that Anderson had requested to have waiting for me. So with keys in hand, I strode to the elevator, tapped the key fob on the elevator systems, and they automatically opened. Once I started ascending, my nerves settled in the pit of my stomach.
I tilted my head back, closed my eyes, and took a deliberate gulp, as if it could help alleviate the dread I was experiencing.
Is this really what my life had boiled down to? A mere few months ago, everything felt solid.
I had a plan. A good one—or so I thought.
It was straightforward. I was going to get married, move to the suburbs, and live a normal life. But all those plans unraveled so fast, it was like the rug got yanked out from under me, and I was still falling into the abyss.
“You’re being dramatic,” Joe said as he gripped the edges of the table we were sitting at. The restaurant was bustling with activity, and the last thing he wanted was to cause a scene. “I’ll be making some serious money now, and you want to keep your silly job?” he asked in genuine disbelief.
At that point, I’d heard it all: that my job was simple and unimportant, that I should be focusing on other things—more ladylike things, as his mother loved to call them.
It started subtly at first, with little comments here and there. His parents had always had issues with me. His mom, more specifically, with her backhanded remarks about how much of a “working woman” I was and how I needed to shift my priorities. Code for: stay home and become a baby-making machine.
“This is not a silly fucking job, Joe. I work for one of the best hockey teams in the League, which has always been my dream. I made it to senior PR specialist in a year. Do you have any idea how hard I worked for it?” I replied, keeping my voice controlled. I couldn’t show any signs of emotions in front of Joe.He would try to use them against me. He’d point out how “emotional” I was being, which inevitably led to him gaslighting me into apologizing for having feelings in the first place.
It was fucked up and frustrating, but he always managed to get an apology out of me, even if it wasn’t a genuine one.
“Why does it matter? You can stay home now and, I don’t know, join a book club or something.” He waved his hand dismissively.
I gripped my glass of wine, forcing myself to take a measured sip of the fruity liquid to calm my nerves. In reality, all I wanted to do was grab the bottle in front of me and down it in one go. I was just so sick of his constant condescending tone and treatment.
“What are you saying? That it’s either you or my job?” There was no way he was being serious. I knew he’d been having issues with my job lately—the late nights and all—but this was too far.
When he’d come home earlier and said, “Get dressed. I have important news to share,” I knew he was talking about his promotion. It was all he’d cared about for the past year and a half, and I was happy for him. I was his number-one supporter, because I thought that’s what we were supposed to be for each other. Even though it had started to feel very one-sided lately, I’d looked the other way and ignored all the signs, convincing myself it was all in my head.
But then, after confirming he got the promotion, he’d dared to say, “Now you can quit your job and stay home.” He knew full-well this wasneverpart of my plan. I’d always been open about the fact that I wanted to focus on my career. It was no goddamn secret.
“Yes,” he replied gruffly. “I want a wife who can stay home and focus on the kids and take care of the house.”
The laugh that bubbled out of me was…strange. I couldn’t recognize it. It was like I’d entered another dimension. My life was bursting into flames, and I couldn’t do anything to stop it.
“That’s not who I am. You’ve always known that,” I retorted.
He shrugged casually, as if we were discussing the weather and not my future and the years of hard work I had put in. “Things have changed. We’ll have money now.”
I scoffed. We both knew it was bullshit. He’d said many times that worst-case scenario, he’d go back to his dad’s firm and become his right-hand man. Joe was anything but out of options—nepo baby and all.
“I’m not quitting,” I croaked. “It’s never been about the money for me, and you know it.”
