Page 10 of One Night with Number Nineteen

“I know you don’t.” His gaze drifts to my phone. “But you’re also allowed to say no to your⁠—”

“Don’t,” I mutter.

He holds my gaze for a long, long moment. Then exhales heavily. “Okay, man. I’ll leave it be. But if you want to talk…” He lets it trail off, as though half-expecting me to spill my guts here in the locker room.

“Thanks,” I say⁠—

Right as my phone rings.

I snag it, see “Mom” on the caller ID, and swipe across the screen.

Leo shakes his head as he walks into the showers.

I just put my phone to my ear and say, “Hey, Mom.”

“Are you coming?” she asks, her voice full of shrillness that tells me her anxiety is through the roof.

My chest tightens, old pressure settling just behind my ribs.

But my reply is just,

“Yeah, Mom. I’m coming.”

Four

Lainey

Okay, so maybe moving into a new house isn’t so bad.

Not when I’ve inherited friends like this.

My Christmas tree is standing in the corner of the family room, adorned with the lights that Kailey and Harper untangled a few days ago.

My kitchen is full of delicious food brought by Veronica and Vi, and the scent of freshly baked banana bread (made by—which may surprise some, but definitely not me, considering how he loves his Faye—Gray) wafts through the air.

And laughter rings out all around.

Tomorrow Ollie and I will put the ornaments on the tree and maybe I’ll steal Harper’s sugar cookie recipe so we can make and decorate some.

Ollie will like that.

And now that it’s not just the two of us any longer, I don’t have to worry about sneaking down at midnight and downing them all while in a fit of creative fury.

My lips twitch.

Ben used to call it that—when I’d wake up out of a dead sleep and have—yes, have—to get my laptop and ended up writing for hours.

Faye is a consistent writing gremlin, chipping away at her word count day in and out.

I’m…or well, I was before it became a real job with real deadlines and contracts to fulfill, a binge writer—the words rushing out of me like a flurry, like a storm, barely remembering to eat or drink, to go to the bathroom, hell, to sleep.

It was almost like my body was taken over by demons and the words had to be exorcised.

Now, things are much steadier.

Mostly because I have a four-year-old who needs me—and he won’t be happy if I just toss him a protein bar a few times a day.

And because I had a husband who needed me.