“You haven’t seen Evelyn, have you?” he asks.
I shake my head. “No. Sorry, I haven’t.”
With a frown, he mutters, “Pretty sure she’s avoiding me.”
His barely audible words hang in the air for a moment or two. Before I can respond, he gives me a clipped nod and then keeps moving. His phone is already in his hand, thumb flying across the screen.
Once he disappears down the hall, I turn back toward the locker room. There’s still so much that needs to be done.
Practice.
Meetings.
The usual grind.
It feels more like an inconvenience when all I can think about is getting home.
And seeing the woman I just proposed to.
29
Kia
A marriage on paper.
He’d said it before I could even ask or give my thoughts time to catch up. In name only. Something practical. Sensible.
Kind of like a business arrangement.
Does he see this as more of a temporary situation?
Maybe that’s how I should be looking at it too.
Hours later, the words continue to loop through my head, refusing to loosen their grip.
As soon as I pull into the school pickup line, I spot Elody standing beside her teacher. A smile tugs at my lips at the sight of her backpack nearly swallowing her small frame. Ms. Harding opens the passenger door of the Escalade and helps buckle Elody into her seat. When she straightens, she offers me a frosty smile before shutting the door.
Okay then.
“I thought we could stop at the store and pick something up for dinner,” I say, pulling away from the curb. “Sound like a plan?”
“Yeah,” she says in a small voice.
This isn’t the Elody I’ve come to know. Usually, she fills the car with nonstop chatter the second she’s buckled in, narrating her entire day in breathless detail. These drives back to the penthouse have become something I look forward to. I love seeing the world through her sunny, unfiltered perspective.
So, I try again. “How was your day? Anything interesting happen?”
She’s quiet for a beat. Which, again, is odd. From what I’ve learned, Elody has two settings—endless commentary or falling asleep before we hit the garage.
Concern pricks at me when I glance at her in the rearview mirror. “Did something happen at school?”
There’s a pause.
“Are you really going to be my mommy?” she asks, voice barely above a whisper.
My grip tightens on the steering wheel as I meet her gaze in the mirror. Her eyes are wide and glassy, like she’s holding herself together with sheer willpower.
If it were possible to pull over and give her my full attention, I would. But we’re wedged in traffic, boxed in on all sides. Stopping isn’t an option.
