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Quinn is typing…
QUINN: Honestly, O, I guess you gotta ask yourself this: do you love him? And if you love him, do you trust him enough to believe what he’s saying, or can you trust him enough to forgive him if he’s not?
QUINN: If the answer to either of these is no, then you gotta bounce, babes.
I leave Quinn on read and she doesn’t send me anything as a follow-up. She probably knows I’m thinking.
Do I trust Reese? Could I, for love, if he’s a liar and a cheat? He seemed so earnest about proving himself to me, but what if that’s just guilt talking?
I throw my arm over my face. Tears prick at the corners of my eyes. I want to believe the best of Reese. Those parts of him that I got to know when I first got here—his vulnerability, his fear of fatherhood and his desire to just try. It was so fucking hard, but the point was that he kept on going, even with his stumbles.
Because he loves Violet.
Sniffling, I scrub the tears from my eyes and push myself up and out of the bed. Going to Reese now is probably stupid, but it’s no stupider than fucking him in the kitchen, is it? I make my way down the hall from the guest room to his room.
No, our room.
Surely it’s still ours?
He’s already in bed, lying on top of the duvet with his tablet in his lap. When he hears me at the door, he looks up.
It’s tense. Breathless. Neither of us say a word, however. I climb into bed and slip beneath the warm, silken covers. There’s no resistance from him when I press close to his side, letting my head rest on his chest.
Yeah… this is dumb.
But the beat of Reese’s heart feels like home as it lulls me to sleep.
14
REESE
The scent of strawberries and cream fills my senses. Something soft and warm presses to my side. It takes me a moment for me to realize that it’s Olivia.
Right. She came to me and stayed in our bed.
My eyes crack open. My alarm hasn’t buzzed yet, but it will soon. Before it goes off, I bask in the press of Olivia to my body. Last night was unexpected. Things aren’t fixed, but they’re on track to be. Olivia said she needed time, which is a bit shy of the perfect answer—but needing time is better than what she’d been talking about before, which was more along the lines of totally disconnecting from me entirely.
I can work with “time.” I can’t work with her completely shutting me out.
As much as I want to laze away and convince her to spend the day with me, I know that I can’t. Despite the fact that Barrett Wilde has me benched for the coming season, I still have to be a part of all the preseason press runs. Melanie sent me a roster of all the events Coach set up that I have to participate in last night before bed. Today, we’re talking about the future of the Bulls.
A future I apparently won’t be part of.
I disentangle from Olivia’s hold. Her hair spills all over our sheets, little curls of chocolate and silk. I can’t resist touching her. I run my fingers over her leg and her chin. Her cheeks are practically glowing. She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life, and she’s all mine.
I pop into the shower and, when I’m done, I get dressed. Through it all, Olivia is still sleeping the morning away. It’s still early and Violet hasn’t woken up yet.
So I let her sleep.
I stride down to the kitchen, grabbing a can of cold brew coffee from the fridge before heading to my office. Melanie has forwarded emails to me. She’s even more on point with this shit than Paula ever was. Here’s to hoping that backstabbing bitch hasn’t found gainful employment yet.
I rifle through fan mail and send a few replies. Accept and decline a couple of interviews for online sports publications. It gets lighter and lighter outside.
When I get toward the end of the forwarded emails and my can of coffee is almost done, I get a text. It’s not a number I recognize. Probably some spam bullshit. I delete the notification and am about to move on when another notification pops up. And then another.
What the fuck?
I pull up my phone to see that the unknown number has sent me a string of texts.
