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And this desk holds too many memories.
They need to go.
PartTwo
Instinct
“The very essence of instinct is that it’s followed independently of reason.
~ Charles Darwin
ChapterFourteen
Creed
“Are you sure you’re okay?”I ask Anderson as I pull the SUV up to the football stadium at the end of what I imagine being an exhausting day for him.
It started early this morning with a tour of a new state-of-the-art medical facility, followed by a speech at a local university, a luncheon with scholarship winners from a charity he founded for at-risk youths, then a visit to an equine therapy program for vets suffering from PTSD.
“I’m fine, Creed. Just a little tired.”
I narrow my gaze at him through the rearview mirror.
While he seems okay, I still worry he’s pushing himself too hard. That he’s doing this for all the wrong reasons, either to distract him from Nora or to prove to the royal household and himself that he’s healthy.
“Do you know how difficult it is to give up coffee cold turkey? It’s bloody awful. Sure, it’s been over a month now, but there are still days I could use the caffeine.”
“I can take you home. Let your sister handle this one on her own.”
Over the past several weeks, Anderson and Esme haven’t had many engagements together, apart from the obligatory state dinners or gala. The only times I’ve seen her have been during the myriad of doctor appointments Anderson’s squeezed into his hectic schedule.
But she’ll be here tonight for the coin toss at the hometown football team’s big game. After that, they plan to watch from the royal suite.
The only thing that will make spending hours in her presence bearable is the knowledge that Tristan won’t be with her. He left several weeks ago to start shooting his next film.
“And miss the match? I’ve been looking forward to this all day. Hell, all week.”
I put the SUV in park and turn around, meeting his eyes. “I heard what the doctors said at your last appointment. You need to be careful. It could take a few more months before your treatment becomes effective. Until then, you’re at a higher risk of experiencing relapse symptoms.”
“I’m fine. I promise.”
There’s nothing about his demeanor that suggests he’s not being completely honest with me, but I still can’t shake the uneasiness in my gut.
Then again, it could be due to the prospect of spending the next several hours in close proximity to Esme.
“Okay.” I push out a breath. “If you say you’re fine, I believe you.”
“Thanks, Creed. For caring.”
“Of course.” I give him a smile, then turn around and open my door.
The instant I step outside, I transition from Anderson’s friend and confidante to his chief protection officer. My eyes sweep the area in front of the players’ entrance, assessing the vicinity for any potential threats. Finding none, I open the door for Anderson, gaze fixated on him as he climbs out.
The clicking of heels on pavement draws my attention, and I glance behind me as Esme slides out of another SUV. I ignore the fluttering in my chest as she approaches, purposefully avoiding looking directly at her when I bow. She gives me a curt nod. Facing Anderson, she kisses his cheek before turning toward a man in a tailored suit, who introduces himself as the director of operations for our local football team.
As they exchange pleasantries and the director runs down what to expect, I continue surveying my surroundings. But despite my best efforts, I can’t help but steal the occasional glance Esme’s way.
While I find her stunning whenever she’s in a dress or ball gown, I can’t ignore the stirring in my pants when I take in her long legs clad in a pair of tight-fitting jeans, sporting the jersey for the hometown team, her blonde and copper waves flowing to her mid back.
