“Which is what exactly?” Ellie poses the question, some underlying reason hiding in her tone.
“To find someone,” I say, dragging the words out in a growl, irritation evident as I readjust in the lobby chair. I check my watch. “Where the heck is your sister, by the way?”
As if she was a genie and that question was the act of rubbing her lamp, Emma glides through the front door of the hotel lobby. Steven, her husband, follows behind, carrying three different suitcases. I try not to eye the load, seeing as they’re only here for two nights, but he catches me and gives me a swift nod.Don’t mention the bagsis written all over his face.
“Hello, Ms. Stanley!” Emma rushes over to me, looking like she just ran a marathon—face red, sweat lining her forehead, heavy gasps occurring with each stride she takes across the lobby. Somehow, in a matter of days, her belly looks twice the size that it was when I last saw her. I pin my gaze on her face, resisting the urge to touch the sweet bump she’s failing at hiding with the oversized tunic she’s sporting. She snags the phone from my hand. “We’ve got it from here,” she informs Ellie then proceeds to disconnect the line.
Handing my phone to Steven, she walks over to the front desk to check in. Steven hands me my phone back, equally confused as to why he has it. “How’s the week been?” He forces a smile, the kind that is trying too hard to communicate that he knows absolutely nothing about what’s going on in my personal life, and he hasn’t listened to Ellie and Emma discuss it at length for the entirety of their travel.
I glare at him. “Fine,” I say through my teeth. He pats me on the shoulder before joining Emma at the desk. His dark skin puts my sun-kissed glow to shame and makes Emma’s ivory skin look like she hasn’t seen the sun in years. He wraps his hand around her waist and rubs her belly as they wait for their roomkeys. Another ping of jealousy stings my chest at the sight of someone else’s happiness. “It’s fine,” I whisper to myself.
Emma thanks the concierge, leaving the giant bags for Steven, which he gathers without hesitation. “Shall we?” She directs me to the elevators, I follow, taking one of the bags off Steven’s hands. He gives a grateful nod as exhaustion lines his face and posture. Ever since they found out they were pregnant, Steven has been working extra shifts to build a bigger nest egg so he can work less when the baby gets here, all so Emma can start as Glendale’s principal next year. It’s sweet, but the weight of stress is clinging to Steven like chains, dulling his usually perky demeanor.
We climb into the open elevator, the bags taking up half the empty space. “Steven, thanks for doing this. Dr. Reynolds had a last-minute schedule change and had to leave camp early. Without you, we wouldn’t be able to have the scrimmage today.” Steven smiles at me, pressing the floor for our rooms. Dr. Reynolds, the orthopedic doctor that takes a week off every year to be the onsite doctor for our athletes, free of charge, left yesterday afternoon on short notice. For liability purposes, we can’t have strenuous workouts or scrimmages without some type of medical professional on staff. One phone call to Emma, and Steven was loading their car. Of course, it probably wasn’t fully up to Steven to be here. I’m sure he’d rather have stayed home and slept than left the airport at 5 a.m. to get here and stand on the side of a football field in 90-degree weather all day.
As we drop off our bags, I sense a shift in the air. Silence. Weird, awkward silence. We meander back to the elevator—in silence. Suspicion creeps in as I begin to glance between the two of them leaning against the back wall of the elevator, me on the side wall. We hit the second floor when a small group of senior citizens piles on, half naked with their revealing swimsuits on. Emma’s gaze snaps to the ceiling when the only gentleman in thegroup, wearing a bright-orange Speedo leaving nothing to the imagination, gives her a wink and saddles up directly in front of her. Steven shoves his fist up to his mouth and bites his finger as he restrains his laugh. The older man shimmies his hips left and right, offbeat to the elevator music, while the older women in the group spur him on with whistles and catcalls.
“You’ve still got it, Herb,” one of the ladies says as she claps.
Herbglances over his shoulder at Emma, shimmying his shoulders at her, before shuffling off the elevator. Silently, we exit behind the group, and differing expressions mar our faces from the experience. Steven belts out a laugh, and his bright teeth shine against his dewy dark skin. Emma erratically brushes off the front of herself—shirt, arms, belly—essentially brushing off the old-man aura that must have clung to her. Steven’s laughter continues when she lets out a repulsed sigh before leading us out of the hotel. She leads like she’s the one who has been here all week.
We find our way to the field where preparation for the scrimmage has begun. “So…” I drag out, breaking the endless silence, “what’s up?” My face is apprehensive as I glare at them from the backseat when we find a parking spot.
Emma unclicks her seatbelt from the passenger seat, twisting to face me. Ungracefully, the belly is an obstacle. “Why are you kissing Malcolm but you won’t date him?”
“We didn’t kiss!” I throw myself face down into the backseat, my damp skin sticking to the leather. “We. Almost. Kissed.” The seat muffles my words as I glance out of the corner of my eye. Emma looks at me incredulously. Unconvinced.
“Semantics.” She waves me off, climbing out of the car. Steven follows suit, opening the back door for me. Emma waits for me as I peel myself off the sticky material and stumble out of the car. “The point is”—she points at me for emphasis—“why are yougetting so cozy with him if you’re not even interested in dating him?”
“I’m not—”
“Yes, you are,” she interrupts. “Malcolm is a good man, and he deserves honesty. If you don’t like him more than a friend, then this flirty nonsense”—she waves a circle around me, indicating it ismethat is causing the flirty nonsense—“needs to stop.”
“But he—”
“I don’t care who started it,” she interrupts again. Very much like her sister, she can just about read my mind. “It’s about who stops it.”
We make our way toward the gym that sits catty-corner to the field, the sun oppressive at our backs. “If you care about him or yourself, you will stop what you’re doing. Or one of you is going to get hurt. Or worse…” Emma trails off as she enters the gym without us. Steven holds the door for me as I follow.
“What’s worse than that?” I murmur to myself.
“Both of you will,” Steven says.
Chapter twenty-four
Kate
Steven’s words ring inmy ears as we spend the next hour setting up for the scrimmage. I glance around every few minutes, looking for Malcolm, but he’s nowhere to be found. He’s probably pacing the locker room in his surly, nobody-talk-to-me, pre-game mode.
Refusing to get distracted.
Notwondering where I am.
Why does that even matter, Kate?
People start to arrive twenty minutes before the game starts, filling the bleacher seats one by one. The place is almost packed when we add the finishing touches to the medical tent. Steven has changed into bright-blue scrubs, and Emma and I sport matching t-shirts that sayMedic Team. We are less than qualified for the position, but my athletic background is enough to assist with passing out water and taping up twists and sprains. Emma busies herself with organizing the medical supplies and repositioning the A-frame sign a thousand different times before deciding it looks fine in the original spot Steven put it.
“Have they had a lot of injuries at any of these things?” Steven asks, placing a piece of paper on the exam table lining the tent wall.
