AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I use the washroom and bump into a figure on the way out.
“Hey.” Clay catches me.
I gaze up at him, tipsy. “Mari’s in labor.”
“Shit. That’s early.”
The way he says it hits me like a wrong note.
“Only a few days,” I respond. “I’m a little sad I couldn’t be there.”
“You could’ve gone.”
My mouth falls open.
Someone comes down the hall to use the bathroom, and I step through an open door into what looks like a guest room.
Clay follows, half shutting it behind us.
“I needed to be here for you,” I say quietly enough my voice doesn’t travel into the hall.
His frown says I’m being difficult. “I’m a grown man, Nova. You don’t need to babysit me.”
“It’s not babysitting, it’s choosing where we’re going to live.”
“Maybe I won’t sign anywhere.”
My throat closes, frustration battling with helplessness.
I used to tolerate feeling like the world called all the shots. There are times, like with the trade to LA, when you have to roll with it. But this feels different.
The curtains in the bedroom are drawn to keep it from overheating in the sun. It lends to the impression that this conversation is secret.
“You won’t open up about what’s going on with you, for months now,” I say, breaking the silence. “I know you got hurt, but you’ve been injured before. This is different.”
Clay rubs both hands through his hair. “I didn’t make you come to LA.”
“I know. I thought we could be happy here,” I whisper as I reach for his wrists. “You got everything you said you wanted. The team. The win. The legacy. There’s a ring with your name on it they’re going to hand you at the first home game of the season. If you know what will make you happy, tell me. Let me in.”
He pulls away, pacing the floor beyond me. Still close, but out of reach.
“I don’t need help. I need the right offer.”
He’s mentioned that there are a few potential offers and the teams but not the details. This is the first time he’s been under contract negotiations since we’ve been together, and I guess I thought I’d be a bigger part of that.
“What does Dee think?” I ask.
“She just wants to get paid.”
Clay rubs a hand through his hair, his gaze going anywhere but me. It’s a habit lately, and I hate it. But when his attention returns to my face, I almost wish it hadn’t.
“The problem isn’t that I’m not happy—it’s that you are,” he says. “You like it here. You can do your art, make your friends, and it doesn’t fit with the shit going on in my head. You’re bright and rainbows, and I’m a storm, and you’re trying to make me something I’m not.”
It feels as if he’s slapped me. The truth of it hits me hard enough I take a step back.
When my phone buzzes, I pick it up to silence it, but the image on the screen accompanying the text makes my mouth fall open.
There’s a photo of a tiny pink baby clasped in my tired, smiling sister’s arms.
