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“I’m okay,” I say, answering her question. “Just feeling raw, I guess.”
“I know what you mean.” Her heels click softly on the floor as she shifts. “You know, my father was a football player.”
“Really?” In all my years of knowing this woman, she’s had her nose in everyone else’s business. I never thought to wonder about hers. “Anyone I’d know?”
“Jack Frankie.”
“Jack Fran—” I stop, stunned. “Your father was Jack Frankie? The Jack Frankie?”
“The Jack Frankie,” she confirms, amused. “He always loved it when people added the The, but star athletes and narcissism go hand-in-hand. Not sure if you’ve noticed.”
“I might have.”
“The Jack Frankie,” she says. “The Cary Pierce. The Junior Morgan.” Her head tilts as she regards me. “The John Kirby.”
I nod slowly, wondering exactly where she’s going. “Uh-huh.”
She clears her throat. “Conny, it’s not any of my business?—”
“When’s that ever stopped you?” I quip.
Trisha chuckles. “Take it from me. As someone who didn’t realize it until after he was gone.” She presses her painted lips together, then sighs. “They really are trying their best.”
She takes a step closer and gives my shoulder a firm squeeze. I nod a silent thank you and she smiles before letting go and walking through the locker room toward the stadium. Big night for her. Lots of work still to do.
But there’s only one place I want to be.
CHAPTER 39
CONNOR
I park in the driveway behind Dana’s blue car. A quick peek in the garage windows and I see her mother’s little white car. Her father’s truck is gone, along with Alex and Ben’s cars, too.
She’s home alone. Good.
I stash the small plastic bag in my jacket pocket and walk around the house to the big tree. I remember a time when it used to be hard to reach the bottom limbs, but I jump and grab them with both hands. Pulling myself up, I climb to her window. I carefully balance on a limb that used to be way sturdier than it is now, but it’ll do.
Easing forward, I peek through her window.
There she is.
Dana. Beautiful Dana Kirby.
She’s sitting at her desk near the door, her laptop open in front of her. Open books lie scattered on the desk, their covers thin and worn. Old plays and scripts.
I knock twice on the window. She flinches, spinning around in her chair, but she doesn’t look scared. It’s excitement in her eyes as she stands and rushes to the window.
“Connor,” she says as she opens the window. “Hey.”
“Hey,” I say, climbing inside.
She steps back to let me in. “Shouldn’t you be at the game?”
I don’t answer. I take her into my arms instead and kiss her. She relaxes, her arms curling around me as she kisses me back.
Breaking the kiss, I stay close, touching my forehead to hers. “I needed to see you,” I say with closed eyes.
“I’m glad you’re here,” she whispers.
