Unexpected Promotion (Feb Sucks)

Did it ever. A smattering of male friends responded with cuck-ish comments, but most of those were a good-natured way of expressing sympathy. Guys, I guess, are not good at that sort of thing. Linda's friends were about equally divided between being appalled at her behavior and congratulating her for scoring with such a stud. Most of my female acquaintances were horrified and expressed sympathy. I wondered what Linda would think of many of those responses, bound to show up on her Facebook account.

More than a few women expressed eagerness to console me 'in any way I might need,' which I found encouraging. Didn't matter, though, because I planned to move a hundred miles away in a few days. Still, it was nice to know I wasn't that unappealing to the opposite sex. I might need that in Freudenburg, who knows? Linda hopefully would get a revelation that the success of our marriage was due to more than just her awesomeness.

Next, I called my brother Doug. He hadn't responded to the Facebook post or any of the comments, so he might have been out fishing or whatever.

"Hey, bro," he said, "how's the single life?"

Guess he was up to date.

I filled him in on last night, this morning, the promotion and the move. Then I added the main reason for calling. "Hey, I need a good divorce lawyer. Who handled Natalie's divorce?" A few years earlier, his wife's sister, who still lived in our town, had caught her husband cheating and filleted him with a junkyard dog lawyer.

"You got me. Give me a few minutes and I'll text you the info. By the way, Hallie says condolences. You know she never was a big Linda fan, and she's fighting hard to not say I told you so. But she sends her love."

About half an hour later I got the text with the lawyer's info. Natalie says call her now, she's expecting your call.

I called immediately. Katie Lawson picked up after only one ring. After the introductions, I told her most of the information was in the Facebook post.

She called back after twenty minutes. "What do you want from the divorce?"

"Keeping the screwing to a minimum," I said. "I would like to have my kids, but I know the legal system will side with the scumbag cheater because she has boobs." Enough of my friends had been through the process that I pretty much knew what to expect.

"Okay, I have a slot open Monday at two. I'll text you a list of what you need to bring."

--

Saying goodbye to the crew Monday was a lot harder than I'd expected. I liked them as human beings and it seemed they felt the same. They were happy about my promotion but sad about the separation. Training my successor was quick and easy because she already knew most of everything, and already had earned respect from the rest of the crew.

The team took me to lunch at a midlevel restaurant, and my boss called and told me I didn't need to return.

After meeting the lawyer, I did the bank things and shut down our joint credit cards. Afterward, I did another run looping the park. Halfway around, my phone rang. My brother, with an invite for dinner.

--

When I arrived, Hallie, his wife, bustled in the kitchen and pointed to the patio, where Doug had the grill fired up. Three other guys had beers in their hands. Not to put too fine a point to it, they didn't look like country club types. Doug introduced us and pointed to the best dressed guy in the group, Rick.

"Reason I invited everyone is I figured you and Rick had something in common."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. LaValliere pulled the same stunt with Rick's wife. Also at Morrison's. Right after the Sharks missed the playoffs. Same thing. One night stand, dumped her the moment he could add a notch to his bedpost. But here's the thing--the notch was not for the woman he bedded, but for the guy he cuckolded and humiliated. Rick only learned that during the divorce proceedings. The asshole can get as many single women as he wants, but he avoids them because they don't come with a guy he can humiliate. I don't know if he was bullied in school or what, but he's one sick puppy."

Silence descended as Doug turned the steaks.

"Know what else?" Rick added. "Have you ever noticed how many taunting penalties he picks up when he plays? I mean, he's a tight end, not a linebacker. No reason for him to mouth off, but every time he catches the ball, it's almost like he seeks out the defender he beat to rub the guy's nose in it. He definitely has issues with other guys."

Doug turned to me. "Reason I brought y'all together is, what are you going to do about it? Are you gonna allow him to steal your women and rub your noses in it?"

That woke me up. "What do you mean? What did you have in mind?"

A sly smile split his face. "What would happen if, by some sad coincidence, something would cause his knees to become useless? By accident, of course."

One of Rick's friends grinned. "That's right, his contract is up, he's a free agent. If suddenly he was unable to play, what would happen to the $10 million a year paycheck he's trying to negotiate this offseason?"

--

I left on Tuesday and slept at my parent's house. The next day I reported to the regional office in Freudenburg and checked into their apartment.

Nobody knew me at the office, and all I did was work for the next few weeks, starting early and leaving very late.

One Friday afternoon I left early, telling everyone I wanted to research condos and homes to buy.

--

That Saturday morning, ESPN and the local media were dominated by news that Marc LaValliere was assaulted and robbed in the parking lot of Morrison's. Evidently, several thugs, clothed and masked in black, attacked him when he found all four his Ferrari's tires flat, and waited for some lackey to bring his Escalade. Apparently the security cameras were disabled. Nobody would confirm whether that happened every Friday and Saturday night when he came. That way the club could maintain plausible deniability in case an aggrieved husband would accuse them of collusion with a serial predator.

The muggers reportedly took everything he had, including his Rolex and wallet, reportedly with a few thousand dollars in it. Seems he thought he'd be able to beat down his assailants, until they blew out both of his knees with a rubber mallet. A woman, married to someone else, had accompanied him to his car, but when he had to call for his other car and a tow truck, she'd returned to the club. She saw nothing of the assault. Police were still investigating.

On Sunday, a local newspaper exposed Asshole's long history of seducing married women, and asked the wives, or their husbands, to come forward. Monday, they reported that seven couples had come forward, either the husband or the wife, or both. That apparently encouraged more to step forward. I felt safe to add my statistic, and by the following Friday they had fifteen cases. By then, all manner of national media and big name lawyers had stepped forward. It being the offseason for football, all the media outlets covering football had swooped in, happy to have something to feed the nation's insatiable hunger for football news.

--

The following week, I stopped before my parents' house. It felt good be in the company of people who truly cared for me.

Before going to bed, I checked my voicemail as usual. And as usual Linda had left another message conveying her outrage that I had the nerve to not allow her the fantasy-fuck she felt entitled to. No remorse, no apology and no understanding.

Epilogue

The divorce, surprisingly, went through with no hiccups. The news reports apparently convinced the judge that counseling would do no good. Yeah, it sucked that the system shows its ass to dads, but at least I got away from the slut.

Asshole LaValliere's playing days were over, both kinds. I see his face from time to time on late-night infomercials, hawking a new kind of walker. Looks damn convincing as he limps around with it. He apparently tried selling used cars, but limping around with a walker somehow doesn't inspire confidence in buyers. Not with his Friday Night Lights victims, either.

The publicity blew back on Linda, and the school fired her. Most parents, it transpired, vehemently disagreed with her notion of a married mother being entitled to screw celebrities at will, and did not want their kids taught by what amounted to an irresponsible groupie with no morals. She did have the memory of a single night's orgasms by her now crippled fuckbuddy. Hard to tell, though, if they made up for the daily slog of single motherhood on a waitress's income.

News of the debacle reached Freudenburg and I had no shortage of women willing to console me. It took more than a year to regain a sense of self-respect and trust, but as I progressed, the process became more and more fun.

Surprisingly, being a weekend dad bolstered my relationship with Emma and Tommy. They were happy to escape the pit of gloom their home had become, and we had a blast doing fun things like camping, hiking, and cycling. We also tried other things like archery, fencing, painting classes, and many more. They learned from kids at school how their mom broke up their family with her narcissism, so their sympathy always leaned toward me.

And, as life goes, I eventually ended with one of my coworkers' sister as a companion, then friend and eventually a roommate with benefits. Neither of us are too much in a hurry to put paper to the relationship, so we live happy for now.

And she is totally cool with celebrating Valentine's Day 11 months a year, but never in February, because as we all know by now... February sucks.