The stone on my chest presses heavier.
Chapter 23: Rose
I’m late, the handles of the bags cutting into my forearms as I kick the door with my foot. I wait, muscles burning, and when I go to kick again, Devon answers.
“Why didn’t you call up?” he asks, stepping aside, reaching awkwardly for the bags before I just set them down.
“Your doorman doesn’t like me.”
“Psh. Johnny likes everybody.”
“He thinks I’m trying to steal Winona’s job,” I say, heading straight for the kitchen.
“Why would he think that?”
I point to the groceries. Winona is Devon’s housekeeper—she does all his shopping.
“I tried to explain it’s just temporary while we sort out your diet plan, but he wasn’t having it. Muttered something about the economy.” I pause. “You’re not firing Winona, are you?”
“Hell no. That woman keeps me functional.”
“Okay, good,” I say, spreading everything on the marble countertop. I open his fridge, already knowing what’s in there from this morning. “Once we figure out what works, you can order online or have Winona grab everything.”
“You’re good at this,” he says, watching me as I sort the greens.
“Grocery shopping?” I laugh, and the familiar sting of inadequacy surfaces. It’s been there for weeks now. I’ve barely gotten my footing back, and when Devon asked me to take him on as a client—I’m already seeing Deshawn and Wilkes, two of Easton’s other teammates—I said yes. I need the money. And honestly, even if this isn’t the clientele I pictured, it’s work I’m good at. Work I actually like.
Devon’s test results had come back through his GP, and we’d gone through everything—energy levels, muscle inflammation, bowel movements. Not the most glamorous conversation, but necessary. I’d also gotten the green light from his coach to run some yoga sessions with him and a few teammates, though his head trainer had made me justify every line of my plan before signing off, which was fine. But he questioned me on everything, further denting my confidence that I knew what I was doing.
“Nah, I mean, the whole bag. You’re good at it.”
“Thank you,” I say, looking down at the work. I drag out his blender, writing down quantities, portioning out the fruits and vegetables, walking him through each step. Simple enough that he has no excuse not to do it.
“Not what you want to do, though,” he says a few minutes later, leaning his elbows on the counter. Devon is enormous—like Easton, like most professional football players. He dwarfs me completely. But also, like Easton, he’s a giant teddy bear.
“I love this,” I say honestly. “But no. I’d rather work with people who…”
He barks a laugh. “It’s okay, you can say it.”
“People who need it!” I laugh.
“I need it!”
“Do you, though?” I raise an eyebrow. “You could pay someone else to do this. I’m glad for the work, don’t get me wrong. But there are people out there who can’t afford this kind of attention and probably need it more.”
He grunts. “I don’t exactly have time to do this myself. And this time of year—I’m not on billboards or anything, but fans still get weird during the season. I can’t just walk into a grocery store.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”
“So’k. You know, you should change your biz to add this in.” He points to the groceries. I hadn’t ever thought about that, since I’d always imagined working at a center. But maybe if I built up enough clients who could pay, I could afford to offer the same thing to people who couldn’t.
We talk a bit more, and I finish up, then head home. The apartment is empty. Easton’s at the team gym. When I’m busy, I don’t think—I just move, one foot in front of the other, and it works, it’s enough. Then I get back and put my keys on the hook, and the apartment is so quiet I can hear the refrigerator hum. That’s all it takes. Too much space for my loud thoughts to blot my vision. The fissure in my heart cracks wider the second I stop moving.
I want to call Logan. I want to fight with him, laugh with him, fall asleep next to him. I want to cook for him and hear him complain about thread count like the snobby bitch he is. I want to hear his voice, I want to feel him drive into me.
I wander around the spacious apartment, realizing that as much as I love Easton, this has never been home. It’s beautiful. Modern, with clean lines, massive windows overlooking the city. At night, the view is to die for. It’s a bachelor pad, but it’shisbachelor pad, not mine.
I end up on the couch, staring at the ceiling, trying and failing to push away memories of Logan.
