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“I just got back in town and haven’t been home yet, but there’s a spare buried under the red-hatted gnome in the flower bed. Trust me, you’ll see it. I’ll text you the address so you can let yourself in to check it out. It’s five hundred a month and rent’s due, so if you can, leave cash on the counter. I’ll let my sister know.”
“Sister?” I arch a brow, a little intrigued. Of course, if she’s anything like her brother, I’m going to need to invest in locks and earplugs.
“Yeah, it’s me and her upstairs. You’ll be in the downstairs room. Sorry about the décor in there. Our last roommate was really into pink and she left some shit behind.”
“I can deal with pink.” My phone buzzes in the center console so I glance at the screen to see the address Matt texted.
“Cool, bro. Well, I sent the digits. I’ll see you later tonight. We can hang.” He ends the call before I can respond, not that I know how to. I guess I can live withbroif that one sticks, especially for five hundred a month.
I press for directions to the address Matt sent and head south to Center Street. I pull along the curb in front of a gray and white brick townhome with a flagstone walkway leading up to the door. The house is maybe five minutes from campus, which is nice, and from the looks of the cars all parked along the street, I’d say most of us are students renting.
I leave my Jeep and head up the walkway, stopping at the small flowerbed at the end of the concrete porch. A six-inch gnome with a red hat and holding up two middle fingers greets me and I chuckle.
“Yeah, it’s easy to notice all right,” I muse.
I bend down and lift the small statue, then dig into the soft dirt with my index finger. I feel the sharp edge of a key about an inch in the ground and work it out. Not the safest setup.Note to self—lock bedroom door.
I open the front door and pop my head inside to look around.
“Hello?” My voice echoes back at me thanks to the slick tile floor and massive entryway ceiling.
It’s a nice place, and you can tell a chick lives here. There aren’t piles of socks and random shoes around the front door like there always are at my place. I’d like to say I’ve been neater since my brothers moved out, but that would be a lie. If anything, my slob-like tendencies have increased without the competitive desire to be the best brother. At least thecleanestbrother.
I step fully into the house and close the door behind me. Holding my breath, I listen for any signal that someone’s home. It’s eerily quiet. There’s an open living room straight ahead with a large sliding glass door that leads out to a patio and what looks like some forest preserve beyond that. I slide open one of the hall closet doors to my right and eye the decent space leftover in there. Might be nice to store my gear in here rather than in my bedroom for once.
Shoving my hands into my jean pockets, I step further into the space and glance at the simple kitchen to the left. It’s a nice space with a big island and stools. I could maybe have some of the guys over, which I’m sure Matt would love. I’m not stupid—I know part of the perk of me living with him is he now has access. The guy’s good at the social media stuff, though, so what’s the harm?I might regret that thought.
I pass the stairs and walk through the living room to the hallway that abuts the garage. To one side is the laundry room and a decent-sized bathroom, to the other a dark bedroom still very much filled with someone’s crap. I flip the light switch onthe wall and step into the center of the room, stretching my arms up and dusting my fingertips against the ceiling before spinning in a slow circle to survey the stack of boxes by the foot of the bed.
“She left some things behind . . .my ass.” I unfurl one of the box’s flaps and find it filled with sweatshirts and jeans. I pick up the Tiff U gray hoodie on top and poke around the box a little, maybe a small part of me hoping to find lingerie underneath. It’s just more sweatshirts, though. From the looks of things in this room, it seems their old roommate is still packing.
“Welp, I guess I can do her that favor,” I mutter, cracking open the closet door to find dress clothes still hung up. There’s an empty box by the door, so I drag it over and grab a handful of hangers and do my best to fold the clothes into the box in a way that will make them easy to pull back out and hang. It takes me maybe ten minutes to get the closet completely cleared, and maybe a few more to empty the two drawers that were still full of things. Within an hour, I’ve got the room mostly cleared out and have this girl’s boxes stacked neatly in the foyer, ready to go. It will take me the rest of the afternoon to gather up my clothes, along with the house crap like dishes and appliances that I don’t want to put into storage.
I pat my pocket to feel for the key and glance around the bedroom one last time before I head out. I would never have paid attention to the Tiff jacket hanging on the back of the bedroom door if it weren’t for the name on the back. In bright gold stitched satin letters, it reads PRICE. And the giant volleyball logo under the name sure shrinks the odds that this is a coincidence.
I’m moving into Laney fucking Price’s old room.
That’s some ironic shit right there.
3/
laney
I’m notsure why I bothered to call my mother. She doesn’t get angry about the same things I do, which only makes me more frustrated by the end of our call.
I’ve been cleared to practice by my medical team. I feel zero pain. I’m strong, and in the unsanctioned practices I’ve had without coaches present, I’m hitting the ball hard. Maybe even harder than before. But because some person in an office at the NCAA hasn’t checked a box or submitted an email or something that says I’ve been approved to play, I had to spend the entire day today on the phone making pointless pleas with our athletic director and the various people who apparently aren’t qualified to clear me officially. And I had to do it all with my backup taking swings and earning a lot of praise a dozen or so feet away from me.
Mom’s takeaway from my thirty-minute rant as I walked home in the dark to my new residence?
“Maybe you can still get into the Chicago law program this semester. It would have been nice for them to let you know that you wouldn’t be allowed to play volleyball so you could have made an informed decision.”
I did make an informed decision. I decided that I have no desire to be a lawyer. Or to be married. My mom doesn’t even believe in marriage, but for some reason she made an exception for Cam. Because he comes from money. And he doesn’t have starry-eyed pro-sports dreams like the loser who walked out on us. Just because I love this game doesn’t mean I’m anything like my father, though. I love this game despite him. I’m good . . . despite him.
I swing my bag around to the front of my body to feel around for the key just as my phone buzzes in my palm with a text. It’s from my mom. And it’s a link to the late enrollment dates for Chicago.
“Gah!” I growl before dropping my phone into the zipper pocket of my bag as I fish out the door key.
I open the door, prepared for the empty house. Ivy told me she would be working late rounds tonight. She’s a nursing student and she’s at the bottom of the food chain. I slept like a brick last night after the bar, but I’m still exhausted tonight, so finishing unpacking is going to have to wait.
