Page 111 of The Score We Never Settled

“Mornin’, Short Stop.”

It’s that nonchalant way he just said it that refuels my anger because, if he wanted to shower so bad, I have one. My home may be on the small side, but not so tiny as to not have the basic necessities needed for hygiene.

“Briggs Kerrigan,” I grind out through a tight jaw. “You must be the stupidest man I’ve ever had the misfortune to know. You think sleepin’ with me several times then leavin’ without saying a damn word was going to send you into a secure spot mentally with me? You must be out of your absolute mind if?—”

“Woman, you must forget that you sleep like thedead. I tried waking you up several times before I left. I even stayed for an hour to see if, eventually, you’d open your eyes and become conscious again, but you were exhausted.”

Because of you, you absolute moron of a man.

“So, what?” I press when he pushes open his screen door. “You left, and I was just supposed to continue with my day as if nothing happened?”

He quirks a damn brow at me with his stupid face and his dumb calmness. “I texted you, didn’t you look?”

No.

A small sliver of embarrassment tries to seep into my anger, but I lock in because that doesn’t matter.

Ish.

“Forwhat?”

“To tell you I was going to be back after I got some things sorted,” he replies. “I didn’t want to wake you and your near-death sleep.”

“That, accordin’ to you, I wasn’t comin’ out of, so why couldn’t you?—”

“I left my phone here.”

Oh.

Just like I left mine at home.

Shifting my weight, I draw in a deep breath to calm down, but then he cuts in with words that cut sharper like a knife, and I stagger back a step.

“I gotta head back to Memphis, Short Stop.”

My face twists in sheer devastation over the news, but I shouldn’t be nearly as surprised as I am.

For a second, maybe since last night, I forgot about it.

He has a life outside of Magnolia Ridge, a massive career, and I’m here.

Hot tears brim behind my eyes, and I tuck my chin into my chest to try my best to get myself under control, but Briggs messes it up and reaches for me, pulling me toward him and within his grasp.

“I got a call from my coach this mornin’. They want me to come in and start warmin’ up and get back into the swing of things tomorrow.” I nod because I get that. “I’d love for you to come with me, but?—”

“I have the bakery. And I—” My words strangle a sob from my lips, and Briggs drags me tighter against his naked skin.

“I know,” he replies composedly. “And that’s okay. You can come out for the important games. I’ll fly you out. We’re gonna hit the playoffs, and I’d like you to be there when that happens.”

Pulling my chin up to look at him, I’m immediately bobbing my head. “Of course, I’ll be there. But…tomorrow? That’s not a lot of time, and you just got here?—”

“I was suspended,” he gently reminds me. “Eight days, remember?”

“It’s been six.”

He chortles lightly. “You’ve been counting.” His thumb comes up and brushes away a lonely tear on my cheek. “Don’tcry, Layla Jean. I’m not going anywhere where you’d have to worry?—”

“I’m not worried…about that. I just…”