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“You’re doing it again,” I say.
“Over-thinking?” he asks.
I nod.
“The Dallas game is my opportunity to win back my money. Redeem my pride. Be my Lucky Charm tonight?”
“Yes,” I say, trying to keep my heart in check because I can’t play this part forever. Being with him forever, for real, just isn’t on the table. “I’ll be your Lucky Charm tonight. But you’ve got to chill out. Get grounded. Do the things we talked about.”
“Meditate before I hit the game. Center. Get grounded. I’ll do it.” He pulls me tight to him and kisses me. “I’ll do whatever you say, Evie. I’m crazy for you.”
My resolve to leave weakens. This man. This delicious man. “Ditto.”
But the clock winds down and fear, my old friend, bubbles up. I’m hitting this game to support him and then I’m going home. No more random motel rooms. No more games. No more hot sex with my hot player. I lived without him before. I’ll build a damn wall and do it again.
We wait in Baggage Claim for the carousel to dump off our luggage, his possessive, muscular arm draped over my shoulders. I text back and forth with Mom about what she thinks is going on with Ruby – when I sense someone’s eyes boring into me. A taller, ruddier, harsher version of Dylan, ambles toward us checking me out.
“Dylan,” he says.
My player swivels, and startles. “Patrick? How did you –-”
“You told the human loud speaker.” Patrick hesitates then walks the rest of the way toward us, stopping short. They regard each other awkwardly. No shaking of hands, no hugging.
“Of course, I told mom,” Dylan says. “Patrick -- meet Evie Berlinger. Patrick’s my older brother.”
“Your only brother,” he says, reaching his hand out to me. “Any friend of Dylan’s is a friend of mine, Evie.”
“Evelyn,” I say as we shake.
“Glad to see Dylan’s got a girlfriend,” Patrick says.
“Me too.” Dylan keeps his arm on lock down around my shoulders. “I told Mom to keep my visit quiet. Quick trip and all. Not a ton of time for family stuff.”
“You need to re-think that,” Patrick says. “Shit’s going down.”
Dylan frowns. “Mom didn’t mention anything.”
“She doesn’t want to worry you. She wears her poker face with you because you’re her baby.”
“What now?” My bag tumbles down the baggage chute and Dylan reaches for it, hoisting it onto the tile floor with a thud. “More bad test results?”
“You could say that,” Patrick says.
“I thought Mom’s thing was under control,” Dylan says. “Handled.”
“The doctors told her that. But they don’t know everything.”
Dylan grabs his suitcase from the carousel and sets it on the tiled floor. “We good?”
“One more,” I say.
“How bad is it, Patrick? This is a short trip, but I’ll make time--”
“Her breast cancer’s back,” Patrick says.
“Crap.” The color drains from Dylan’s face. He sways and I grab onto him, my fingers blanching on his arm. I’ve gotten into the habit of keeping this man standing and that’s not changing today.
Patrick hoists my bag off the carousel and places it on the floor.
