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“Are you okay?” he asks. I’m coming to learn that TJ skips all niceties and goes straight for the point of the call. There is no hello. There is the question of me being okay, which at first confuses me.
“What?”
“You, Fynn. You were in the cab too, right? I never asked…are you okay?”
I smile and exhale. The warmth floods over me and fills me up. Nobody has asked that. Not even Nandy. The paramedics, but my insistence that I was fine and general appearance at being so, had them quickly diverting their attention to Nandy. As well, they should have.
“I am.”
“Are you sure? Did you hit your head, because concussions are nothing to mess around with, and you may not notice it until later—”
“I promise, I didn’t hit my head. I’m good.”
Silence. Then noise in the background. It sounds like TJ put his hand over the phone and shouts that he’ll be a minute.
“What are you doing right now?”
“I’m in the gift shop trying to decide between an NYPD and Statue of Liberty sweatshirt.” I pause before explaining I have Nandy’s blood on my cashmere sweater. I love this sweater, dammit.
“Why would you want either? Is there a new fashion trend I’m unaware of?”
I sigh. “I thought I’d start one.” I pause when he says nothing. “There is blood on the cashmere hoodie I have on.”
“Oh.”
Silence.
“Statue of Liberty.” He says.
I chuckle. “That was decisive.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t fiddle fuck around with decisions.”
“Okay.” Someone calls out his name.
“I have to get on the plane. Please keep me updated and…Fynn, you can call me anytime. Telling me good game or sucky game is more than reason enough.”
“Do you ever have sucky games?”
I hear TJ chuckle, and God, I love that easy laugh of his. “All the time.”
“Well, like I would even have a clue what that looks like.”
“I’m fine with you thinking I always play great.”
“I think everything about you is great.” It comes out fast, before I can corral it and keep it in my head. Silence. I mean, what is he supposed to say to an asinine statement like that? He wants Nandy, not me. He belongs to Nandy, not me. Despite the photo. The proof that things are not always as they seem.
Although I have that photo saved on my phone. And I stare at it frequently, wishing, dreaming, hoping…hoping for what? A chance with TJ? There is no option for that. None.
“Thanks, Fynn.”
The call disconnects, and I pound my head with my phone. Dumbass.
Chapter thirty-four
“I get to go home today.”
“I’m so sorry I can’t be there.”
