Page 135 of Hometown Halftime

“You’re a menace, Kinsey Malone.”

Chapter fifty-five

Kinsey

Thursday morning starts in its normal slow fashion for a few blissful minutes.

I come downstairs wearing jeans, sneakers, and a Gordy’s staff T-shirt with my hair still damp from the shower. Riley’s already awake, sitting at the kitchen island with his laptop open beside a half-finished cup of coffee. His glasses rest on his nose while he types.

God, I’m weak for this man.

He glances up the second I hit the bottom stair.

“Morning, Kitten.”

“Morning.”

I move toward the coffeepot when Riley points toward the front door.

“You've got a package.”

My stomach drops as I walk toward the door. The box sits against the wall beside the entry table. Plain cardboard with an overnight shipping label.

And just like that, every good feeling from the morning disappears.

I force myself to keep my expression calm while crossing the room. Riley watches me for a second, probably noticing the shift in my mood, but thankfully doesn’t push when I crouch beside the box.

“Is it important?” he asks casually.

“Just something I ordered.”

Technically, not a lie.

My fingers curl tightly beneath the cardboard as I lift the box against my chest. It’s heavier than I expected. Or maybe everything just feels heavier right now.

“Well,” Riley says while reaching for his coffee again, “hopefully it’s something fun.”

I force a smile that feels painfully fake. “Yeah. Super fun.”

Then I carry the box upstairs before he can ask anything else.

The second my bedroom door shuts behind me, my eyes squeeze shut. The mini-fridge I bought Tuesday sits in the corner, still looking wildly out of place in my room. I sit on the edge of the bed and slowly unpack everything from the shipping box, lining the contents carefully across the comforter.

It’s everything I need to administer my arthritis medication. There are cooling packs and alcohol wipes. An instruction packet is wedged beside a brightly colored Sharps Container. Then there’s the boxes with the medication injector pens.

Seeing all of it spread across my bed makes something inside me finally crack. It feels too real now.

I stare at the box containing the injector pen sitting in my hand for a long second before opening the mini-fridge and placing the medication carefully onto the shelf inside. Then I sit there on the floor beside the bed in complete silence, trying hard not to cry before work.

Eventually, I force myself up and finish getting ready, trying to feel something close to normal.

The house is quiet that afternoon when I finally decide to do it.

Riley sent a text earlier saying he was heading to the gym with Lee and Darren, so I have about an hour before he arrives home.

Good, because I refuse to have an emotional breakdown in front of him over a shot.

My nerves start to set in while sitting on my bed staring at the injector pen for nearly twenty straight minutes. The instruction packet sits open beside me, the directions painfully simple in black and white.