Chapter 3 Enemy

*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 takes the seat opposite me on the other side of Mom.

"How's she doing?"

"She's okay," I tell her quietly. "Thanks for stopping by, you really didn't have to."

"I thought you could use a pick-me-up," she says, pulling a bag of Chex Mix and a Twix from her purse.

"Ugh, you're the best." I wipe the tears from my face before taking the snacks from her. I don't think I can eat right now, but the gesture means the world.

I lean back in my chair, still clutching Mama's hand. There's silence for a while until I break it.

"It feels like yesterday that she was out and about, tending to the farm, taking care of me as a little girl, the whole nine yards. I remember her massive smile, which she'd save for when I got off the bus to run into her arms, or how she always smelled like flowers no matter what season it was."

Skylar listens as I relive the memories out loud.

"She always managed to make everything look so easy, you know?" I say.

"That's what moms are for right? Protecting us and paving the way so we can face the world on our own. Your mom is a beautiful soul, Ophelia. I don't doubt she wanted the world for you."

Before I can respond, there's a light knock at the door.

"Excuse me, Miss Lane?" A nurse steps into the room.

"Yes, hi," I mumble, standing up to greet her.

She smiles kindly before turning serious. "I need to talk to you about something...your mother's bill still hasn't been paid for this cycle."

I cringe, realizing she's right.

"Right, sorry," I nod, sniffing.

"Just talk to the front desk. They can get you another copy of the bill if you need it?"

I don't need it. I know exactly how much money I need to pay.

I give her a half-hearted smile-no need to cause any more conflict with this nurse. "Sure, that'd be great. I'll grab it on my way out today."

I don't want Skylar to know how much I owe or that I can't pay it. I sit back with my mom and turn to look at my bag on the floor. I ponder the money Camila threw at me last night. Mama needs the money, and that's the whole reason I'm sacrificing my voice. But all I want is that applause to be mine finally.

"I'm going to get going," Skylar says. "See you back at work later?"

I nod. "Thank you for coming."

She hugs me before leaving. I sink back into the chair and close my eyes, imagining standing in Camila's place on the stage, soaking up the recognition for being the true singer. I hear the cheers, see the camera flashes, and hear the chanting of my name echo in my head. And that alone twists my stomach up again.

I look at Mama. She needs me, and I know that.

But how much longer can I handle being in the shadows?

Later, with her bill tucked in my bag, I let myself get lost in my work as I tie the apron around my waist. Mama needs me to continue living a normal routine, which means serving these customers.

Touchdown Tavern, a staple in our town, is all about sports. Our customers are usually regulars who come by to catch the latest games. It's generally at its busiest during football and basketball season, but at the same time, I don't ever remember a sports season that left the place empty.

As usual, I'm running around and helping our customers with their food, getting them drinks, and having brief conversations with them. Skylar does what she does best: flipping through her social media as she talks.

"Oh my God, the video of Camila's performance last night is to die for!" My friend says, trying to get me to look at her phone. "I wish I could meet her. I managed to catch her singing last night."

I pretend not to care about Skylar's words, but they still wound me ever so slightly. "Yeah. I heard she's great."

"Have you NEVER heard Camila Monroe sing before, O?"

I shrug. "Can't say that I've been able to go."

Skylar smacks my arm. It's her playful way of being shocked. "Shut UP! How is that possible?"

I don't respond as I continue filling drink orders. She falls silent for a moment, no doubt putting it together that I don't have the time or funds to go to some pop concert.

"No biggie," she says without missing a beat. "She's nothing compared to your voice, anyway. I've heard the way you sing in the shower, girl. You'd give Beyonce a run for her money!"

The bell above the door dings interrupting our conversation, and Skylar groans. "Ugh. People."

"Just get them seated. I gotta hand out these orders," I tell my best friend. I quickly walk over to my table and put down the beer for him.

After I get the next table's order in, I wipe my sweat-covered forehead. Still on her phone, Skylar has sat another table in my section. Wonderful.

I love her. She's the best friend I could ask for. But one of these days, she will make me keel over and pass out from running me so rampantly.

Two men are sitting at the new table, looking at their menus. They look to be around my age and very fit.

As I approach the table and my eyes land on one of them, I go cold. It's the man from the bathroom stall.

Shit...shit!

Should I make Skylar take the table instead?

He looks up, and his eyes catch mine.

Shit.

"Seeing each other again so soon, huh? You work here?" he quips.

I smirk at him. "Are you here for a rematch? Hope my kick didn't leave you limping."

He laughs, the sound sending shivers down my spine. He shakes his head. "I'm all good. Just don't let me catch you slipping."

"Dude, this is a bar, not the john. If you're out for revenge, think twice. I can hold my own," I retort.

He chuckles dismissively, "Just say sorry, and we're square."

"As if I'd apologize to a sleazeball," I shoot back with a smile.

"Ahem," his friend clears his throat, interrupting our banter.

"Right," the first says with a glance in my direction. "Mark, you know what you want?"

His friend looks up at him, nods, then turns to me. They place their orders, and as I take the menus, it dawns on me that they look familiar.

"Are you guys famous or something?" I ask, cocking my head. "I just know I've seen you somewhere."

Mark puffs out his chest. "We just so happen to be on the Arkansas Ozarks-the greatest team to grace the American Football Association!"

Right, I have seen them before. The Mark guy is, I'm pretty sure, the team's tight end. And the other guy from the stall, his platinum blonde hair covering part of his freckled face, is the quarterback.

"Hey, maybe you know something about someone who's from here," the quarterback says. He lifts his gaze to mine, his piercing brown eyes taking me by surprise. "We were at the honky-tonk in Nashville last night, and there was this headliner that we just couldn't stop talking about."

My stomach flips. "Oh?"

"Yeah, Asher over here won't shut up about how great of a singer she is." Mark pretends to gag. "It's honestly sickening. Please, tell us you know something, so he'll shut the hell up."

Asher throws his empty straw wrapper. "Dude!" He then looks up at me. "Please forgive my idiot best friend. I think too many tackles have caused permanent brain damage."

I don't want to hear anything more about Camila. I can't get away from her "talent."

"Do you happen to know her? Her voice is just...angelic."

"Barf," Mark groans.

It seems like this Mark guy and I would get along.

"Sorry, I don't give away trade secrets to the enemy," I say. The sentence spills out of my mouth before I even realize it. It's not a lie, though. I've never been an Ozarks fan. I just know the guys from all these years watching the games.

"The enemy? What does that mean?" Asher asks.

"What I said. I don't answer the enemy's questions. Portland Shoremen fan and all."

"You have some pretty bad taste in teams then," Mark scoffs.

"No, last I checked, the Shoremen were superior in every way," I said, hands on my hips. "Now, can I get the rivals of my favorite team anything else? Or are you going to attempt to get me to switch sides?"

That's when Asher lets out a laugh, smiling up at me.

"What would you say–" he glances at my name tag. "Ophelia, to catching a movie with me later?"

"Thanks but no," I tell him with a nonchalant shrug. "I don't fraternize with the enemy."

Asher grins. "Oh, I'm sure I could convince you..."

"I'd love to see you try but unfortunately, I've got things to do. I'll get your orders put in right away," I tell them before spinning on my heel and leaving him there.