Page 63 of Elevator Pitch

“No. That’s okay. I think I’ll just send Ross a text and head home.”

“Yeah. I’m certain he’ll be there shortly.”

I’m ready to argue that I don’t know what Kip is talking about or that Ross isn’t coming over, but remembering he knows our arrangement, I simply smile.

“Rough game,” I tell him.

He shrugs. “Can’t win ’em all. It’s how you play the game that matters.” He pats his chest. “Heart.” And then taps his head. “And head. That’s why Davis is a good coach. He’s got both for the game. Eyes always on the prize.”

Strange how he holds his gaze on me for a long minute, and I’m tempted to ask what the two men were discussing on the ballfield before the game started and they were looking at me.

However, I don’t ask. Instead, I say, “Safe travels back to Chicago.”

“We don’t leave until next week.”

“I know. But I leave tomorrow.”

“Oh.” His brows lift before some thought hits him and then his thick brows crease. “Oh.” He adds softly, “Oh, fuck.”

We stare at one another, while I wonder what he’s thinking before he finally says, “Safe travels to you, then, Vee. Will we see you in Chicago?”

“Maybe.” It’s the million-dollar question.

Kip warmly smiles. “Want me to walk you to your car?”

“No,” I shake my head. “I’m good.” And I step opposite Kip, taking a final moment to admire the now empty stadium and the quiet slowly surrounding it.

The silent vacancy feels strangely prophetic.

+ + +

Ross sends a slew of messages.

I’m so sorry.

Leaving now.

On my way.

Almost there.

His panic would almost be comical if it wasn’t endearing. I’d received similar, sporadic messages from Cameron when he was alive, and in hindsight learned they were platitudes. Fillers to stall my concerns when my suspicion ran deep that he was having an affair. My gut sensed the truth.

When I open my front door for Ross near seven o’clock, he’s still dressed in his coaching attire. He instantly tugs his cap from his head and spins to face me while I’m closing the door behind him.

“I’m so sorry.” The breathless apology has me chuckling.

“Relax, Ross.” But the expression on his face has me instantly concerned and my gaze lowers to a small leather duffle in his other hand. “What happened?”

“Fucking Valdez.” He shakes his head. “I don’t want to be presumptuous, but would you mind if I took a quick shower here and then I can tell you.”

“Of course. Go ahead.”

There’s no greeting kiss like we’ve had the past few nights, but I forgive him. Ross is clearly agitated by this young team member. He stalks off toward the primary bedroom and enters the bathroom while I tidy up the living room where I’d opened my laptop and my tablet, jotting down a few last-minute ideas for the next chapter in my book.

When I enter the bedroom, I set my laptop on the dresser without thinking about the fact the bathroom has no door to close off the space from the bed area.

I know this about the room. I’ve been staying here for four weeks, and yet it still throws me off sometimes, and I find myself reaching for a door to close the barrier behind me when I enter the space.