Page 24 of Colliding with Ten

AJ searched for another minute, then stepped back, hands on his hips. “No card.”

Micah was doing a terrible job of hiding another chuckle.

I looked around again at the apartment filled with beautiful roses. They looked expensive and intentional. Nothing about them felt casual. A strange warmth moved through me, then nerves right after. Only one person came to mind who might send flowers after what happened last night.

I knew the rough sound of his voice when he told me not to move and his look of mischief just before he said goodbye, but that didn’t mean I knew him enough to know he did this. I swallowed.

AJ looked at me. “Do you know who sent them?”

“No.”

It was true. I didn’t know. I suspected, but I’m sure he did too. But he was looking for any other possibility to avoid being mad today.

The rest of the afternoon became a negotiation. AJ wanted the flowers moved out of all “high traffic areas,” which included everywhere his eyes could see. Micah suggested making a floral walkway from the hallway to the couch so I could “heal like royalty.” AJ told him to stop talking. I tried to help move one vase and was immediately ordered back to the couch.

AJ placed an arrangement in my room, insisting that “at least one of these things should be in your face.” I think he would have put more in if not for the safety hazard it would cause.

When everything was laid to AJ’s best satisfaction, he said. “We’re heading out. Your prescription is on the kitchen counter.”

Micah stood. “Text me if you need anything.”

“I won’t.”

He smiled anyway.

The door closed behind them. I glanced around the apartment, curiosity getting the better of me. I looked for the card until I found a small cream envelope tucked deep in the white box on the dining table.

I ran my fingers along the envelope; my first name was written in cursive on the front. Flowers didn’t mean anything. People sent flowers to funerals or acquaintances, but it wasn’t always personal. Right? I opened the envelope. There was no message inside, just a phone number written across the center of the card. My heart tripped. There was only one thing to do now.

8

THE REVIEW ROOM

LENNOX

The flight back was rough. By the time we landed, Sunday’s adrenaline had faded, leaving the familiar post-game ache. We touched down at four in the morning, the city still dark. At my Los Angeles hillside home, I dropped my bag by the door. Strips of light glowed from under the stairs. My living room, all glass on three sides, looked out on a dark pool. I flipped on the kitchen light. The room still looked like a showroom because I wasn’t much of a cook. I made a turkey sandwich and sat down by the island.

People in New York were already eating breakfast. Not wanting to be delayed, I called a florist there before I showered. She immediately knew it was for a woman and gave me the encouragement I needed to do something unexpected.

That afternoon, after a few terrible hours of sleep, I changed into black sweats and a white compression shirt. I zipped recovery boots around my legs, pulsing pressure from my ankles to my thighs as I lay on the sectional facing the glass wall. Outside, the late sun shone over Los Angeles below.

When my phone lit up with a text from an unknown number, I sat up. I opened it without picking it up, unsure if I would answer.

Unknown Number

Not sure who this is, but I have several questions, foremost among them: why does my apartment currently qualify as a fire hazard made entirely of roses?

A second text came in with a picture of the apartment, roses everywhere. I smiled. The florist made the impossible happen within hours. When I told her I wanted to make a statement, she encouraged me, so I upped my order from two arrangements to ten. She sounded like she’d heard stranger requests from richer men and had long ago stopped being impressed.

I picked up the phone and typed.

Lennox

So they arrived.

Ayla

Arrived? No, they invaded.