Oh,fuck.
My stomach roils as I make the choice to run. I make the choice knowing full well what might come from it. The mess I’m leaving behind for him to find in a few short hours.
That bubble I was afraid would pop does exactly that, and the puncture is gaping too wide for me to pinch it back together.
41
ROMAN
The team is celebratingamongst themselves in the clubhouse when I disappear into my office.
My first move is to text Brielle and tell her that I’ll be home as soon as I can. The game tape can wait until I’ve seen her and touched her and justexistedbeside her. I don’t want to spend another night trapped away in this dark, quiet office watching the game when I could be doing that at home with my laptop perched on my knees and a woman tucked into my chest or hunched over on the mattress beside me, sketching a design.
My life has changed so swiftly that I didn’t have the time to drag my feet, and I’ve never been so grateful for anything.
Fingers flying over my phone screen, I type a message for her, letting her know I’m heading home, and shoot it off a beat before there’s a soft, almost nervous knock on my door.
I narrowly avoid showing my surprise when I see Asher standing in the doorway, his arms crossed. He looks me dead in the eyes and pulls his shoulders back before speaking.
“Got a minute?”
“Sure. Take a seat,” I offer, leaning back against my desk.
He glances at the empty chair before disregarding it, taking a step inside the office and then stopping. With a tense arm, he shuts the door behind him.
“I’ll be quick.”
“Alright. Go ahead.”
His brown eyes seem to pale in colour. My gut pinches with nerves, expecting news that may very well throw a wrench into my evening plans.
“I need to be home for a few days.”
“Did something happen?” I ask maybe a bit too quickly, my concern too obvious.
He shifts on his feet. “My mom is—I need to stay.”
I’m already nodding my approval, not needing to debate it or hear the details he clearly doesn’t want to share. The same ones that he’s kept to himself since the moment he showed up here.
Asher seems to relax a bit at my reaction, his shoulders slumping forward just enough to betray his relief. He still stares at me with that cool, unreadable expression, but those pale eyes warm half a shade.
“Take the time you need, Asher.”
“Thank you.”
“Do you need anything else from me? The team?”
His eyes flick away to a corner of the office. “No. They don’t know . . . I don’t want questions. I shouldn’t need more than this week.”
“If you need more time, take it. Don’t tell me the details if you don’t wish to, but if this is bad, then you stay with her, Asher. Do you understand me? The team will be fine.”
“A week,” he bites back, already turning away from me, toward the door.
I stare at his back, at his shoulders and the way the tenses through his jersey, pulling the fabric taut. My eyes shut for amoment before I force them open and take one step in his direction.
“My phone is always on. For you, the team, it is always on.”
The strained fingers at his side curl into a fist. I watch the movement, unable to look away.
