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I reply right away.
Me: Might have?
The one after is from Gabriella.
Gabby: I hope you know what you’re doing. I would hate to have to kick her ass for hurting you or your ass for hurting her. Love you.
Then Ryleigh.
Gorgeous: FYI, cat is out of the bag and my brother knows. Hope you landed safe!
Me: Yeah, figured he was going to find out. My cousins texted me before I landed. Text you when we get to the hotel.
I put my phone away as we get off the plane. It takes an hour to get to the hotel, and when I try to call Ryleigh, it goes straight to voice mail, so I know her phone is off.
I collapse on the bed and crash, only waking at three o’clock in the morning to undress. I grab my phone and see she sent me a message after eleven.
Gorgeous: Sorry, I was trial prepping, and we shut it down. I’ll call you tomorrow. Sleep tight.
I call her the following morning, and the conversation is literally five seconds long because she gets another phone call. That night, the game is horrible, and I mean horrible. We end up losing seven to two. Loading up right after the game and heading over to Columbus, we walk into the hotel room at three o’clock in the morning. I kick my shoes off and undress before sliding into bed.
The next day, I wake up after noon and call her.
“Well, well, well,” she says. I swear the minute I hear her voice, I miss her more than I thought I did.
“Morning, gorgeous,” I mumble.
“Did you just get up?” she asks me softly.
“I did. We got in last night after three. Today is an off day, so I plan on chilling in my room. I wish you were here.”
“You and me both.” She exhales.
“Did you get a chance to check your schedule?”
She pauses, and I know it’s probably not good news. “I did, and I don’t think I can swing it.”
“Fuck,” I swear, trying not to sound like a whiny kid. “Okay.” I pretend it doesn’t bother me. “We’ll check again when I get home.”
“Why don’t you get some food, go relax, and call me later?”
“Okay. Miss you, gorgeous,” I say right before I hang up.
The next night is even worse than the last game. We get handed our asses on a platter, five to zero. At this point, we aren’t even going to make it into the playoffs, and it sucks hard. We rush to get on the plane, thankful that it’s only a two-hour flight time.
We get in at midnight, and I text her.
Me: Good night.
My phone rings right away, and it’s her.
“Hey,” I answer, lying on the bed with an arm outstretched and another on my chest.
“Hey, you,” she says softly. “I was just getting into bed.”
“Same.” I turn to look out the window at the night.
“How’re you feeling?” she asks, and I hear blankets rustle on her side.
