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Some of the girlfriends and wives, who didn’t fly to watch the game, meet their significant others on the tarmac. You can tell who has been married the longest, because their wives usually stay in their cars where it’s warm. It’s the fairly new relationships where the couple acts like they haven’t seen each other in months versus two or three days. It never crossed my mind to ask Kelsey to meet me here, but then again, why would I? Why? Because Maggie never came, even when I asked her. Even in the beginning, she never came to greet me. Her excuse never wavered—she had an early morning and would see me after work. I accepted it, each and every time, without question.
Right now, I want to see Kelsey and wished like hell she was outside waiting for me. I should’ve asked her to come, but something in my gut tells me she would’ve said no. Especially after this whole fiasco, which I need to try and fix. I like Kelsey. A lot. More than I expected, and I want to pursue a relationship with her. I don’t want her to think I’m only with her for sex or I’m simply passing the time until someone better comes along.
To me, she’s the best thing to walk into my life since I was drafted.
After getting my crap from the belly of the plane, I head to my truck, avoiding everyone.
Instead of going home, I go to Kelsey’s. It’s late, but I need to see her. I’m assuming—hoping—she wants to see me. Thankfully, there’s parking across from her building, and the night security guard doesn’t give me too much shit about going in. For the first time since I started coming here, I don’t call her. I use the code she gave me for the elevator and patiently wait for it to arrive on her floor.
When I get to her door, I hold my fist up to knock, but hesitate. Undoubtedly, she’s sleeping. We didn’t talk after the game. I couldn’t bring myself to look at my phone and read the disappointment in the texts from my family. They’d wonder what’s up and I have no idea how to explain what’s going on.
I knock lightly, conscious of Kelsey’s neighbors and the late hour. Each rap on her door gets a bit louder until I hear her shuffling around. “Kels, it’s me,” I whisper into the crack between her door and the casing although I doubt she can hear me.
Except, I can hear her and know she’s pressing against the door to look through her peephole. I swear I’m in some romance flick where I’m about to profess my undying love to her, for everyone on her floor to hear. I’m about to start apologizing until I hear her deadbolt slide out and the chain dangle. Slowly the doorknob turns, and my heart simultaneously starts to race and fall to the pit of my stomach.
“It’s late, Alex.” Kelsey only opens the door a sliver, not inviting me in. That feeling I had in my heart moments ago is definitely stronger than I expected or ever experienced. She doesn’t want me here, and I don’t blame her.
“I know. I’m sorry. I’ll go.” I turn to leave, but her voice stops me.
“No, wait.” She opens the door and invites me in. The warmth of her apartment welcomes me. I inhale deeply and then let the air out of my lungs slowly. I turn at the sound of the locks engaging, and our eyes meet. The pain all this media shit caused her is clear. I step forward to cup her cheek, just as her hand turns to kiss my palm.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“It’s okay.”
“It’s not.” I shake my head. “None of this is okay.”
Kelsey leans her head into my hand, but this isn’t enough for me. I bring her to my chest and wrap my arms around her.
“It’s late,” she repeats from earlier.
“I’ll go.”
“No, stay.” She takes my hand and leads me to her room. She waits for me to enter before shutting the door behind us. I strip down to my boxers and crawl in bed behind her.
“Come here.” I hold my arms open and wait for her to move into my cocoon. As much as I want to be with her, holding her like this is far more important to me. I bury my nose in her hair and inhale the vanilla of her shampoo. “My little spoon.”
Kelsey laughs and grips my arms with her hands. “I feel safe here.”
I have no words. Nothing witty or sincere to say back to her. I want her to feel safe, and yet the rag gossip blogs, and wannabe journalists, made her feel less than safe. They made her question whether she belongs with me or not. It’s unacceptable.
* * *
When I wake,I’m alone in Kelsey's room. I can smell freshly brewed coffee coming from the kitchen and hear soft music playing. There’s a bit of light peeking through her blinds, but it’s muted. I listen hard for the distinct sound rain makes when hitting windows, and groan. I roll onto my back and stare at the white ceiling, and then onto my side, because the view is much better. I love the art on her walls—the paintings her grandmother created. And while Kelsey’s room is white, it’s soft and homey. I feel safe here.
I’d give anything for this to be a Saturday or Sunday, where we could stay in bed all day together, and not a Monday where she has to go to work. I have the rest of today to figure out my shit before I’m called into Coach’s office. Tomorrow isn’t going to be fun. Once he rips my ass, Peyton will do the same, although her way is in the evilest way possible. She never tells us we suck. She makes us watch game film, and when we commit an error, she pauses it and then glares at us. That pint-sized devil is mean. I can’t imagine the dinner conversation after she’s had meetings with Noah. But then again, he’s married to her and I have no doubt he can sweet talk his way out of her villainous looks.
As much as I don’t want to get out of bed, I do, and make my way into the other room, wearing just my boxers. “Morning,” I say, rubbing my face and hair, and then finally my chest.
“Good morning. There’s coffee in the pot,” Kelsey says as she looks me over. I can’t tell if she’s angry with me or not.
I return to the living room with the pot and refill her cup. “Can I get you anything else?”
“No, thanks.”
After replacing the coffee pot in the kitchen, I walk back to the living room and sit facing her on the small coffee table. “About last night.”
Kelsey laughs, and while normally I’d be okay with hearing this sound come from her, I’m not right now. I’m vulnerable, sitting here in my boxers.
