And then I stand there as Beth and John do the same, loading up into their RV and slowly pulling out of the lot.
Leaving me alone.
Again.
Always.
I zipmy suitcase closed and straighten, setting it on the floor and rolling it down the hall.
It’s early. We play tomorrow but we’re flying out today in order to give the guys time to settle into the hotel for a good night’s sleep tonight, along with padding the schedule in case of any weather delays or other hiccups in our travel schedule.
I didn’t sleep well last night.
Two days with Beth and John weren’t enough, especially with work in between, but it was also too much, reminding me of…
Too many things.
Add in Damon and Kylie, brunch and wine and crying jags and sharing far too much and allowing far too many emotions to run free…and these last few days have sat heavy on my brain.
“Coffee,” I mutter.
I need caffeine and to shove all of that out of my head.
We have eighty more games this season, and if I keep doing this shit it’s going to feel even longer.
I need to keep my focus, need to do my job, need to?—
The doorbell rings.
I jump, gaze jerking to the window over the sink, the still-lightening dawn sky dimly shining through the glass.
Too early for solicitors.
And Beth and John aren’t popping in for another surprise visit.
That leaves?—
My stomach lurches as the doorbell goes again.
I grab my phone, pull up the camera app, and?—
My belly churns for a completely different reason this time.
Damon is standing on the stoop. Again.
I exhale, slap a lid on all the things I’m feeling, then move to answer the door.
“Damon,” I say, “is everything okay?”
He steps toward me and I have no choice but to back up—it’s either that or stand there and let him run into me. When he’s cleared the door, he reaches behind him and shuts it, the lock clicking closed with a softsnick.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
He jerks his head to the kitchen, starts walking that way before I can get an answer.
When I make it into the kitchen, he’s already helping himself to a cup of coffee—pouring two mugs before lifting one to his lips and drinking deeply.
“Make yourself at home, why don’t you?” I mutter, marching forward and taking the cup he holds out, drinking deeply, feeling the rough edges of sleep being sanded away.Once I’ve drank half the mug down I look back up at him, see him smiling. “What?” I ask, my tone still a little sharp.
