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“Don’t worry about it. I’m acting stupid. I was anxious because you always text me on game day, but…”
“Shit, I completely spaced out. How did the game go?”
“We won.” The corner of my mouth twitches upward. “Wiped the floor with them, actually. Forty-two to zero.”
“That’s amazing. Did you get to play?”
“Yes.”
The post-game excitement is still coursing through me, and now that I’ve managed to talk to Rebecca, I finally feel at peace. I get into describing the final touchdown when she suddenly interrupts me.
“Shit, I have to go, Miguel.”
“What?”Go? Where was she going? Didn’t she just say she was driving home?“But we just started talking.”
“I know, and I’m sorry. I’ll call you later, okay? I really need to go.”
“Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, I just… I’ll call you later.”
“Yeah, fi—” The call disconnects. “—ne.”
Now
The sliding door opens, snapping me out of my thoughts. Rebecca steps out, her eyes landing on mine. The cold indifference shining in her irises shakes me to my very core. I was used to Rebecca’s anger, hell, I expected it, but this… This was something different.
Before either of us can say anything, a phone buzzes on the table. Something flashes on her face, but it’s gone so quickly I don’t get a chance to process it before she grabs the device. “I need to take this.”
Without another word, she gets up and slips into the house.
“What is that all about?” I exchanged a look with Emmett, who just shrugged his shoulders, but from the worried expression on his face, he knew what was going on. He just didn’t want to tell me.
“I really need to go,” Rebecca says to Kate as she exits. “But if you need anything else for the party, let me know, okay?”
“Sounds good. And we have the final dress fitting next week.”
“Right, pick me up for that one?”
“You know it.”
“Call the damn doctor, Kate.” With a quick hug, Rebecca grabs the rest of her things and leaves without another glance my way.
Running my hand over my face, I let out a sigh. “I hope she didn’t leave because of the comment.”
Kate shifts her attention to me. “Not that you weren’t a jackass, but Becky just has a lot on her plate right now.”
“What does that mean?” I ask, feeling the irritation sizzle under my skin at the vague comment.
What the hell was going on with Rebecca that they felt like they needed to keep it hidden from me?
“It’s Becky’s story to tell.”
There it was again, evading the answer.
Was it just because of me and the history we shared, or would the answer be the same regardless of who was asking?
And more important than that, why couldn’t I just let it go?
