Page 47 of Diamonds Are a Girl’s Best Friend (Catching Feelings #1)
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
KAYLA
S cottie comes into my office holding the onyx leopard print tumbler I bought her (they were out of pink). It’s glossy and gritty and perfect for her.
“That had better be water in there,” I tell her, looking up from my computer for only a second. “You need at least eight cups a day.”
“Oh my gosh, Mom, enough,” Scottie says like an angsty teen. “It’s my life, okay!” I laugh. “It’s water. But I promise you’re going to want something a lot stronger when I tell you what Clementine heard.”
I stop typing and fix my attention fully on her. “Don’t tell me?—”
“Serena’s protesting your ownership of the team. She’s collected signatures.”
I bang my head against the desk.
“It gets worse. Aldridge has kindly offered to arrange a buyer for you secretly to ‘shield you from the embarrassment this will put on your family.’ That’s a direct quote.”
“What public embarrassment?”
“Serena’s getting her minions to arrange a public protest at the next game.”
“Good.” I get back to typing. “It’ll bring more fans out to the game. There’s no such thing as bad publicity.”
“She brought Dakota with her to a local interview …”
“I stand corrected.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “What did she say?”
“Oh, she went on and on about how you’ve ruined the family-friendly atmosphere the Mudflaps once had.”
“Family-friendly? It had all the charm of a condemned bar when I took it over. I’m the one who’s making it family friendly!”
“Not to hear her tell it. Or to see the homemade sign Dakota was holding. It said ‘Save Our Mudflaps.’”
“She used her five-year-old as a prop in a protest against me.”
“Oh yeah. She’s got a whole narrative: how the team’s losing its values, how you told a mom to take her ‘unruly toddler’ out of the stands.”
“I told her where the sensory room is! She cried and thanked me for having accommodations for neurodivergent kids!"
“Yeah, well, now it’s being spun as the opposite.”
I stare at Scottie.
“Details don’t matter when people want to be angry,” she says. “They just want someone to blame, and you’re a convenient target who had the audacity to move here.”
I feel the blood drain from my limbs, like they’re going weak, leaving me drained.
Helpless.
“What more could I have done for this town? I sponsored every single little league and pee wee league and Pop Warner league, and whatever other fake names these things have. Is there a business owner in town I haven’t reached out to?
A church potluck I’ve missed? I got in a dunk tank at Founders Day, Scottie. ”
“I know,” she says gently.
“What have I done that’s so awful? What crime did I commit?” My voice cracks. “I put everything into this place. I gave them everything I had.”
Scottie’s eyes soften behind her tortoiseshell glasses.
“Nothing you did was wrong. It’s not you—it’s absolutely them.
Jealousy makes people irrational. Think about it: you’re wealthy, sure, but you’re also smart and beautiful, and you came from outside of the town and started making all these changes with input, but not permission.
You have all this power, yet you’re still humble enough to care about people. ”
My scoff comes out half sob. “How is that threatening?”
“It reminds them of all the things they’re not. It’s not just that you’re an outsider; it’s that you’re a better insider than they’ll ever be.”
I press my palm to my sternum like I’m trying to keep myself from spilling out, and I drop my head. And that’s when I see the light through the window catch my ring.
Sean.
“How am I going to tell him?”
“You don’t have to protect him from this.”
“I know. I just … he’s been through so much already. I don’t need him to get through this.”
Scottie looks at me and her voice softens. “No, but don’t you want him? Wouldn’t it make it easier? Less lonely?”
That stops me cold, because she’s absolutely right. But?—
“You don’t think it would be a distraction?”
“I think it would show him that you love him enough to lean on him.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
“Kayla, tell him. How will he feel if he comes home and finds out his wife’s team has been taken away from her?”
“You’re right.” I sigh and look down at my phone. Then I type out a text and send my daily selfie.
KAYLA
What has two thumbs and yet another protest to her ownership?
SEAN
Tell me everything.
On Thursday night, I lie awake staring at the ceiling, dreading tomorrow. When Sean texts, my thumbs spring into action. They don’t take any problems away, but here in the dark, staring at the glow of a screen, I’m reminded that I’m not alone.
SEAN
One more skate and I’m all yours again.
KAYLA
I’m so proud of you.
SEAN
I can’t wait to see your face.
KAYLA
I’m not sure you’ll want to see my face. It might still be puce with rage.
SEAN
I’m gonna need you to tell me what puce is.
I send him a picture of a color that’s a dark purplish-brown.
SEAN
Huh. I would have guessed puke green.
KAYLA
I can’t promise not to be that color, too.
SEAN
I should come home and be with you for the meeting.
KAYLA
NOT A CHANCE.
Absolutely not. You are staying and finishing your eval. If you come home early, I can’t promise not to divorce you. I’ll remarry you immediately, but boy, will those two minutes hurt.
SEAN
You’re not divorcing me. I’m too irresistible.
KAYLA
You’d stay married to me even if the haters’ conspiracy is successful and I lose residency?
SEAN
Right. Because that’s why we’re still married. For your team.
KAYLA
Duh.
SEAN
Uh huh.
KAYLA
What other reason could there be?
SEAN
How about the fact that you’re deeply in love with me and don’t want to live another second of your life without me?
KAYLA
That’s actually a pretty good reason.
SEAN
I love you, Boss. I don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow, but I love you. I’ll always be in your corner.
KAYLA
Back at you, Cap. I’ll be there in spirit tomorrow, cheering you on.
SEAN
But will your spirit be wearing face paint?
KAYLA
It always does. Why would tomorrow be any different?
SEAN
Hot.
Love you. Sleep tight.
KAYLA
Love you, too.
I arrived at the two-story red brick town auditorium an hour early and have been waiting in the lobby ever since. My fingers swipe across my screen, showing me photo after photo from my old life, a time when I was able to turn off my brain and simply go along with whatever Aldridge said.
A time when I was accepted, though not known.
Except by Meryl.
I flip back to our text thread and spot a message I haven’t had the guts to respond to.
MERYL
My 35th birthday is coming up. Literally the only thing I want is a weekend with my girl. You, me, Paris. No kids, husbands (with or without mullets). No brothers/exes in sight! It’ll be like old times! Pretty please, Kay?
It’s bizarre to be sitting here, waiting to find out how this town will decide my fate when I could be planning a trip to one of my favorite cities with one of my favorite people.
But I can’t keep pretending our friendship can go on when everything has changed.
I will never be her sister.
And I can’t keep wishing otherwise.
“Morning,” a voice says, and I look up from my phone to realize I’m not the only person here anymore.
Not that the woman who said that was talking to me. She’s setting up a table with labels and markers for the event, talking to someone who just came in. And she warmly greets the next person, too.
“Morning, Pastor!”
He grins at her.
And when he nears me, I give him a wave. “Hi, Pastor. How did the food drive go?”
He pauses and gives me a smile that’s not nearly as big as the one he just gave the other woman. “Very nice. Your contribution was appreciated. Though I’m not sure what we’ll do with a truck full of extra produce.” He gives me a half smile.
And I want to kick myself. It was too much, like always. I didn’t realize you could give out too much food at a food drive. “I’m sorry. I should have asked how much you’d need before ordering it.”
He pats my shoulder. “Your heart is in the right place, Mrs. Carville.”
That’s all he says before he walks by.
Panic spikes in my chest with every new voice and laugh. Every footstep feels like it’s part of the universe’s countdown clock, ticking away until my public humiliation is complete and the team is taken from me.
I’m pacing around in a flowy pantsuit the same deep red of the Mudflaps logo. I hope people will subtly connect the two, because heaven knows, if I were to actually wear my own jersey, people would lose their own minds about how I’m pandering or manipulating emotions, or some other nonsense.
Of course, now they get to congratulate themselves for the fact that I’m the out-of-touch billionaire wearing a three thousand dollar pantsuit.
What is wrong with me? I’m handing my firing squad ammo!
All my sincere efforts and earnest outreach has been twisted to make me look like a Disney villain, complete with a fancy car and fabulous wardrobe.
This is what I get for trying too hard to fit in:
Kicked out.
The front door opens, letting in a wave of heat, humidity, and hostility.
I spot a few of Serena’s friends, who giggle about me as they pass.
I drop to a padded bench under a faded painting of a sunrise over the ridge the town is named for.
Across from me, a folding table holds name tags and printed agendas.
Behind that, a volunteer adjusts her reading glasses and calls out greetings to nearly every person who enters.
Not many people greet me.
A group of teenagers snickers as they walk by. I doubt they’re actually tuned in to local town happenings, but they have no problem parroting whatever their parents have said.
No mind. They’re teens. Not the town council itself. It’s fine. I’m fine. Everything is freaking fine.
But when a woman in a knit cardigan looks me over like I’m covered in boils, heat climbs up my throat.