“Why?” he asks, his voice so quiet I almost don’t hear him.
I let out a whoosh of a breath as I say the first thing that comes to my mind. “Because it makes me feel like I’m falling for you, and I don’t know if I’m strong enough to survive the fallout.”
Max sighs, shifting to his side, but he pulls me into his arms so my head rests on his chest. “At least that makes two of us.”
It suckswhen I know I’ve fucked up, but I don’t know how to admit to the one person who should know how badly I’ve fucked up, and the longer I wait, the worse it’s going to be.
But I can’t bring myself to admit everything to Layla.
It’s been almost a month since she moved in, and we’re in this weird sort of limbo. We steer clear of each other during the day, barely interact during games, and then I go retrieve her from the guest room, bringing her to mine. The following morning, the cycle continues.
Lather, rinse, repeat.
We’ve texted quite a bit, and I’m getting to know her on a deeper level. She loves to watch musicals and wants to go to New York City to attend as many Broadway shows as she can. We agree that cats are easier pets to have than dogs, but wish cats had the same happy disposition dogs have. When I admitted to her how I wished I was closer to my parents, she didn’t judge me. She only encouraged me to reach out.
Our road trips have been uneventful, as we haven’t had another time with our rooms connecting. Honestly, it’s probably for the best. I know I want more with Layla, but her life has basicallyimploded in the past few months. She’s not in a place to handle anything romantic with me, and that’s fine. I can be her friend, her confidant, and her cuddle buddy. Eventually, I hope I will wear her down.
The week of a series in Louisiana, the team tells us Layla will not be going with us, and I don’t know how to handle that. We honestly don’t know why, and the bosses couldn’t give us a definitive answer. My thought is that since we’re heading to New Orleans, which is only about five hours from Houston, they’re trying to avoid any kind of repeat with Morales.
I’m not too thrilled about Layla being left alone in Denver either, but I certainly can’t tell the team that. Then I’d have to admit so much that even she doesn’t know. I haven’t spoken to anyone about my true feelings, other than scratching the surface with what I’ve told Jake. In my heart, I know I have to tell Layla everything. But I fear she’ll pull away from me, both as Grace and as herself.
I laughed when she gave me her middle name, just like I did. Grace does suit her, even though she’s been spitting fire at me from the first time we met. I should have realized back then how much trouble I’d be in with her. I could never fall for a woman who doesn’t stand up for what she believes in, or someone who can’t fight her own battles. Layla Grace Holmes doesn’t need me to fight for her, but I hope someday she’ll understand that it would be my privilege to do so.
While I haven’t necessarily been confrontational or aggressive when someone has hurt a person I care about, I’m finding myself feeling slightly unhinged when it comes to Layla. In fact, my previous teammates would have described me as someone who goes with the flow. Maybe it’s my age, or possibly it’s because of her. But if someone hurts Layla, especially when I’m not in town, there’s no telling what I’ll do in retaliation.
Since today is a rare off day, I enjoyed a light workout, met Jamie and his girlfriend Audrey at one of their favorite restaurants for lunch, and caught up on a little reading. One of my teammates recommendedDungeon Crawler Carl, by Matt Dinniman, and I’mreally enjoying it. Since it’s a series, I figure it’ll take me a while to get through them all. I love the feel of a paperback in my hands, and sometimes all I want to do on a long flight is read.
Layla worked from home the majority of the day, and I left her alone. She wanted to finalize a new meal plan for one of the rookies, and mumbled something about trying a new recipe. She’s used my kitchen to make a couple of things, blissfully humming as she cooked. So, when the fragrant smell of garlic and herbs sautéing wafts into my bedroom, I meander into the kitchen to see what she’s making.
“Whatever you’re cooking smells divine,” I announce, watching as she jumps. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you. What are you making?”
“Lemon garlic chicken with angel hair pasta,” she answers, her hand on her heart. She laughs as she fans her face. “Guess I got in the zone, because I forgot you were even here. What have you been doing in your room all afternoon?”
“Reading.”
Layla’s eyes widen. “Oh. Really? I don’t think I pegged you as a reader. Are you one of those guys who read nonfiction self-development and enrichment books? No, I bet you like to read autobiographies from other athletes.”
I shrug. “I mean, I guess I don’t mind those, but I’m reading a fiction book right now that Ryder recommended.”
Layla looks warily at me. “I don’t think I’d trust Ryder with a book recommendation.”
“I was apprehensive, too. But then I read the blurb, and it sounded too outlandish. There’s a talking cat named Princess Donut and drug-dealing llamas. I can’tnotread a book like that.”
“I’ve heard of that? Caveman Carl.”
I snort as I watch Layla effortlessly combine fresh herbs, lemon juice, and the garlic to make a marinade for the chicken. “Dungeon Crawler Carl. Not a caveman.”
She waves a hand in the air. “Potato, potahto. You knew what I was talking about.”
“Well, so far it’s good, and I’m definitely enjoying it.” I pause as Layla dumps a box of angel hair pasta into boiling water. “Do you read? I have to assume you read books about recipes and cooking, but if I had to guess, I’d say you also love romance books. Not the lovey-dovey ones. You like the spicy kind.”
A tiny bit of pink creeps up her neck as Layla refuses to look me in the eyes. “There’s nothing wrong with romance books, Max.”
“I never said there was.”
“Most romance books give ordinary women a chance to live vicariously through a character. Romance books are to women as superheroes are to men. I’m sure you’ve watchedIron ManorCaptain Americaand wondered what it would be like if you were the main character.” Layla dumps the raw chicken into the marinade bowl, then sets it in the fridge. “I’ll cook the chicken in about half an hour. I’m roasting baby potatoes, and I’ll add in asparagus once the chicken is cooked. All in all, the meal will have about fifty grams of protein, and it’s really low-calorie as well. The fresh rosemary and thyme give an amazing flavor.”
“Is this just for you, or can I try some?” I find myself asking. I doubt I’ve ever had asparagus before, but something tells me I’ll eat anything Layla offers.
