But somehow that didn’t make the decision easier.
Wednesday night after practice, I’d run into my brother Garrett. Instead of taking the opportunity to get some brotherly advice on whether I should take the job in South Carolina, I told him about the note Pen had found. But hey, he’s a sheriff ’s deputy. That’s totally his area.
He’d agreed it was odd, but it wasn’t enough to open an investigation. That was the answer I’d expected, but mentioning it to him ahead of time meant he couldn’t get pissed at me later for not telling him.
I was free to investigate.
More accurately,wewere free to investigate. Me and my new roommate.
That was a curveball I hadn’t seen coming. I’d hoped she’d get rid of Sean—sooner rather than later—but it hadn’t occurred to me that I’d wind up being the one to give her a place to land.
And while living with her was unexpected, I wasn’t complaining. We got along great. We were work besties for a reason, and it wasn’t any different at home than at school. Even though I told her it wasn’t necessary, she insisted on sharing her meal-prep lunches with me. Sure did beat my boring sandwiches. And there was something about her being there that was just…nice.
Let’s skip over the part where I found myself staring at her bedroom door late at night, a sense of longing tugging at my chest and a very annoying hard-on keeping me awake.
Didn’t happen. We were just friends.
Thursday after practice, the temperature was dropping and the sun hung low in the sky as I watched my team head to the locker room. We were having a good season, but I’d worked them hard. Winning could spur good morale and make the next win more likely, or it could make them cocky, thinking the next win was guaranteed. I was not in the business of turning out cocky athletes.
But they were rising to the occasion, like I knew they would.
I said goodbye to Coach Lewis and was about to head to my truck when I realized I had no idea what I’d done with my phone.
Damn it.
It wasn’t in any of my pockets, and I didn’t find it in the locker room. So I went back to my classroom. Apparently I’d put it in my desk drawer. At least I hadn’t lost it. And I’d remembered it before I left for home.
My gaze drifted to the art room as I locked my classroom for the night. Penelope had already left for the day. I wasn’t sure why I was thinking about her. I’d see her at home.
I cracked a smile, thinking about how we’d successfully put sticky notes on everyone’s lunches in the fridge—with the wrong names. We’d kept mostly straight faces as we watched our coworkers’ confusion. A simple prank, but funny.
Ignoring the strange tug of longing in my chest, I headed to my truck. As soon as I got in, the real thing weighing on my mind burst in, like a loud, unwelcome guest at a party.
The Carolina job. I needed to make a decision.
My mind went through my list of pros and cons as I drove. The pros were significant. It was a great opportunity. But the cons were real, too. Particularly the distance.
Someone who wasn’t close to their family might not understand why that was such a barrier for me. But it was. My family was the ones who’d been there for me. Who’d really had my back when my life had fallen apart after my injury. I wouldn’t have admitted it when we were kids—or maybe even young adults—but my brothers were my best friends. And living in the same town, being around for them and their growing families really meant something to me.
On the other hand, the job was an incredible opportunity to do something new and even amazing.
Somewhere along the drive, I realized I wasn’t heading in the direction of home. As if my intuition had taken over, I was on the road to my parents’ place. Seemed like I ought to follow the gut feeling, so I kept going and eventually turned up their gravel driveway.
The windows glowed with soft light. I sent Pen a quick text to let her know I’d be home later. Seemed like the thing to do.
The door to their house was unlocked, so I went in without knocking.
“Hey, Mom? Dad?” I called.
Dad’s voice came from the kitchen. “Yeah.”
I went down the hallway lined with photos into the kitchen. Dad stood dressed in a dark green flannel shirt, the sleeves cuffed to his elbows, washing his hands in the sink. He glanced over his shoulder at me but didn’t say anything. Just finished rinsing his hands, turned off the water, and grabbed a towel to dry them.
“Where’s Mom?” I took a seat on one of the stools.
“Knitting group.” He finished drying his hands and set the towel on the counter. “There’s leftovers if you’re hungry.”
“No, I’m good. I…” I trailed off, not quite sure what to say. “I’m actually not sure why I’m here.”
