*Asher*November comes and goes, and we’re staring down the barrel of Christmas and the New Year. Celebrating Thanksgiving with Ophelia in attendance was some of the most fun I’ve had in years. Per tradition, the Slater family plays football out in the yard while the turkey cooks. It’s nothing more than a friendly, silly time where no score is kept, and no one plays by the official rules.Ophelia initially wasn’t interested. “I like to watch sports, not play them,” she’d teased. But then, Payton and Renee asked to join in, and her entire attitude changed. “Alright, fine! If your nieces are gonna play, then count me in.” It had been a few months since she met the girls, and neither remembered my girlfriend. But it soon didn’t matter because they were busy trying to run the ball down the yard.AJ even came in to pick up Renee, carrying her past everyone so that she could score. Adorably, she tried to spike the ball with both hands, but the ball just flopped to the ground.The entire
*Ophelia*“Ophelia! ‘Lose It All’ is number three on the charts this week!” My new manager, Daphne McKenna, calls through the studio, excitedly running up to me. She shows me her phone, and I pull the headphones from my head to around my neck.“Holy shit!” I squeal, jumping up and down in my seat. “This is insane!”“They love you, Ophelia!” David says, coming in with a bottle of champagne. “And we’re immensely proud of you.”The interns and other workers enter the studio, handing David a towel to open the bottle without risking the equipment.“Thank you, guys, really. David, I wouldn’t have been able to do any of this without your support. Daphne, thank you for taking on my baggage load in such a short time. I’m so happy to have you here with us. And thank you to everyone else for all your hard work and dedication. But thank you for believing in me.”The bottle goes POP! as everyone cheers, pouring alcohol into paper cups and cheering about the room.It finally feels like I’ve e
*Asher*“Oh, that’s nothing.” Ophelia declares this so nonchalantly that I hesitate a moment. My phone is blowing up with notifications that have tagged us both. But these aren’t standard messages people are sending. There are threats, violent thoughts, and desires. I don’t normally interact with my social media accounts. This, though, is much different.“No,” I slowly start. “Nothing is someone just saying they don’t like you. These messages aren’t nothing, Ophelia.”“It’s been happening for months, Asher. I’ve just turned off all my social media notifications.”I rear back like I’ve been stabbed. “MONTHS?!”She nods, shrugging like she’s just misremembered something that isn’t important. “Yeah, I just figure people hate me because I’m dragging your image down or something? I didn’t tell anyone, though. You have enough stress on your plate; I didn’t want to add this, too.”I can’t help but laugh at her wanting to protect me. Hasn’t she realized I’d do anything for her? “My love,
*Ophelia*The screaming patrons of the concert hall cause the backstage area to rumble under my feet. That, mixed with my nerves, has me quivering. All my work has brought me to this moment. But I can’t help the ache in my heart not having Asher here but know there’s no time to wallow. Tomorrow is the championship game, and the team can’t go anywhere, even if they want to.I take in a deep breath, shuddering as it exits my lungs. I shake out my hands next and start pacing back and forth.“You okay, Ophelia?” Daphne appears by my side, her phone in hand as always. She’s dressed in a t-shirt with my name printed across it and a pair of jeans, with a blazer thrown on over the ensemble.She reminds me of Carolanne, and I’ve dubbed her my older sister. She’s been so attentive, helpful, and even kind to me. I’ve cherished her advice and compassion, so I know I can share my anxieties.“I’m nervous as hell, Daph. I don’t need to be. I’ve been rehearsing for months and know nothing impedes
*Ophelia*"Miss Lane!" a voice bellows.I don’t stop to check over my shoulder at the stout man with a wiry mustache pursuing me. "Don't you dare run!" he snaps, the threat hanging heavy in the air. His companion is close behind him as they follow me through the busy bar. They are after me for my debt, and these particular collectors are a nasty breed…I finally find my way to the restroom hallway. As I glanced over my shoulder again, I pushed the door open without checking the gender on the door. Inside, a man stands at the urinal, his mind focused on the task at hand. But his concentration shatters as I burst through the door, and with a frantic gesture, I implored him to keep silent."Get out," he hisses, his voice a mixture of annoyance and disbelief.“Please,” I beg quietly. “I need help!” "No, you shouldn’t even be in here," he declares, his tone firm as he turns away from me, determined to wash his hands of the situation.Before I can respond, voices sound from out
*Ophelia*I stretch myself out on my stool backstage, sighing deeply. My back cracks into place, and I lean forward, sighing. I’m glad I convinced the bartenders to leave me a stool. My feet have been killing me all day from work.I look towards the clock across the way, signaling the end of the set—another performance, another crowd that will never know me. I can’t help but sneak a peek between the gap in the curtains at Camila Monroe, taking in the applause and bows. She blows kisses and winks to those in the crowd.I let out a quiet huff of air, watching her. It must be a dream, having all the people in a room stop everything they’re doing and face you, knowing you are talented beyond a doubt.I can imagine the warmth of the spotlight shining down on me like the sun. The conversation would pause when they heard my name announced, and their hearts would stop at the sound of my voice. It’s my dream. But I know better. Those cheers, the applause, the fans she’s collected? No matt
*Ophelia*The steady beeping from the heart monitor has become a white noise. My hand has grown numb while holding onto my mom’s, cold to the touch. She’s been breathing gradually, as usual—just a small sigh of air exiting her mouth. She sleeps more than she’s awake these days. Dark circles protrude under her closed eyes, indicating her exhaustion.Susan Lane, my mother, is the strongest woman I’ve ever met. When Dad died, she took over the family farm, and no single complaint left her lips. How can that fierce, independent, diligent woman be the same one I watch lie in this hospital bed? I sniff, wiping away the tears that I’ve let fall down my cheeks. It’s hard trying to convince myself that everything will be okay. Even when Mom’s the one smiling up at me, touches my cheek, and tells me she’s a fighter, it doesn’t hurt any less.“Hey, girl,” there’s a knock at the door behind me, and I look up to see Skylar Leigh, my best friend and roommate. She offers me a kind smile and take
*Asher*I can’t help but stare at the young woman as she walks away from me. I’m usually not taken with many people’s beauty. It’s a habit I’ve clung to for many years after past relationships tore me down. However, those deep blue eyes and her dimples are impossible to miss. I don’t know the last time I saw someone with genuine dimples, which is wild.A plate clatters somewhere in the tavern, and my mind returns to its original thought. Is this woman not at all impressed with the accolades we’ve accomplished? We’ve won four championships since I joined the team. I’m a three-time MVP. I’m a famous and adored quarterback.That’s astounding to me. I don’t always like girls who gawk when I’m nearby. But not even being an Ozarks fan? That, to me, is amusing, and a smile slips onto my face. She may tease and call us nemeses, but that doesn’t automatically make us real enemies.My thoughts are interrupted as the door to the entrance of the building swings open. In the doorway stands a be