Ford-Ford. Ford-Ford. Each beat repeats his name.
And I’m not quite sure what to do about that.
CHAPTER 18: Ford Bradley
Didn’t Our Old Man Teach You Anything
When practice ends on Saturday afternoon, I think about calling Tatum.
We’ve been texting a bit—she let me know when she landed, I texted a check-in last night, and she texted me this morning to say good morning and to ask me to wish her luck on today’s wedding. But I haven’t heard her voice since she left, and I miss the hell out of her.
I did what I could to put her on the back burner of my mind at practice. I had to. I couldn’t risk Cole calling me out on more shit, and today was a little better. I’m ready for game day, anyway.
But as soon as practice is over, the ache is back.
It’s weird how quickly I got used to her being here.
My cleaning people stopped by today, and they washed her bedding and changed the sheets while I was at practice.
I’ll sleep in my own bed tonight, I guess. That room won’t smell like her anymore, but the one night I spent there was both admittedly weird and strangely comforting.
So Ithinkabout calling her, but I don’t. She’s at a wedding, and as much as I want to hear her voice, to talk to her about how the wedding went and whether the groom showed up hungover as she suspected he might, I leave her to concentrate on her own job.
Just because I had a hard time concentrating on mine doesn’t mean I should inflict the same wish upon her.
I arrive home to an empty condo, pack up my shit, and head to the team hotel earlier than usual. We always spend the night before game day at a hotel, even when we’re playing at home.
Being here is better than sitting around my place picturing her smile in one corner, her hot mess of chaos, her three cups on her desk—two now in the recycle bin since they were paper cups, and the third washed and ready for her to use when she returns since she left it here.
I look at it as insurance that she’ll be back.
I shoot her a text once I’m checked into my hotel room.
Me:Hope the wedding was a huge success and the groom wasn’t still shitfaced.
I see the bubbles appear that tell me she’s drafting a reply, and I sit and wait patiently.
Tatum:It’s about as good as I could have hoped for considering I’ve been out of town for weeks. He was only mildly hungover. [smirk face emoji]
Me:Sounds like a win.
I want to ask when she’s coming back. I want to ask if she’s seen my brother. If they got back together the way they always do when they see each other again after time apart.
I don’t. I can’t.
It’s not my place to ask any of that. She’ll give me what she wants to when the time is right for her.
The bubbles appear again, and then they stop. It’s as I’m willing them to start up again that my phone starts to ring.
I glance up at the top of my screen, and my heart starts to race as I wonder whether I might actually get some answers to those very questions…just not from Tatum.
“Archer?” I answer, shocked that my brother is calling me.
We text upon rare occasions. I can’t remember the last time I heard his voice over a phone line—at least when it wasn’t in the background of a call with Tatum. He never calls me. Never.
“Hi.” His single, short word feels like his entire personality.
“What’s up?” I ask.
