“Is this all?”
“No, we can go get my furniture whenever. I still need to pay my part of the rent until October. That’s when our lease is up.”
“So are you moving in because you had to move out in six weeks anyway?” His tone hints at disappointment. He sets the baskets down and starts untangling himself from the tote bags.
“No. My boyfriend asked me to move in with him, so I said yes. Sutton said he must love me.”
He saunters into my personal space. “I do, but you cannot take over my entire closet,” he protests.
“You wear the same Dillos gear almost every day, so I’m sure you have room.”
“There's plenty of room. Now let me help get it put away.”
I roll my hard-shell suitcase, and Matt brings the rest. We survey the logistics of where things should go. Bathroom stuff in the master. Clothes, half in his closet and half in the guest room. We argue over pillows. Over where my shoes go. Then, we decide to put everything else in his office and spend some time together before I fall asleep. I’m spent from all the travel and the emotion of the day.
The kitchen is open to the living area, so I plop down onthe couch. Matt opens the fridge and pours himself a glass of almond milk. “You drink almond milk?” I ask as he pops popcorn.
“Yeah.” When the popcorn’s ready, he hands me the glass and says, “Have you tried it?”
“Yeah, and it’s not milk.”
“Just try it. It goes perfectly with popcorn.”
I take a sip, and it’s okay, but I don’t want to admit it. “It’s not good.”
“It took me a while to get used to it, but now I love it.” He winks at me like he’s no longer talking about milk. Matt grabs a bottle of water for me, and we snuggle on the couch, a bowl of popcorn in our laps.
“What do you want to watch?” he asks.
“Preseason football,” I say instantly.
He grins. “You’re perfect.”
After a few bites, we curl into each other, the TV flickering, his arm wrapped around me, my head tucked against his shoulder. For the first time in a long time, the future doesn’t feel like someone’s waiting to take everything from me. It feels like something we’re building.
Together.
THIRTY-THREE
MATT
Game days aren’t supposed to start with dialysis.
At least we’re playing at home today, which means I don’t have to pretend to feel great on a plane ride. But here I am, stepping into the Armadillos’ facility, still feeling the faint buzz in my veins while the stadium hums awake around me, die-hard fans filing in three hours early. Sutton set up a meet-and-greet for season ticket holders.
The locker room smells like sweat, tape, and anticipation. Whistles echo. Rookies stretch. Veterans move with the easy confidence of men who know where they belong.
Greyson drops into the chair beside me. “You alive?”
“Barely,” I say. “But I think that’s just game-day nerves.” I don’t say how exhausted I feel.
J.D. flops down on my other side. “So how many hours of sleep are you getting now that you live with a pregnant woman?”
I snort. “Define sleep.”
“That bad already?” J.D. asks.
“She woke me up at three a.m. because she dreamed sheate all the deviled eggs and felt guilty about it,” I deadpan. “Then she actually needed more.”
