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CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Emerson

It’s been a week. A very long week since we left Nashville.

But true to our promise to one another, Kelton and I have talked every day.

Video chats have been very interesting. I’ve gotten to see a side to a few of the players I never would have been able to.

Sometimes I’m witness to things I don’t think I should be, because they don’t realize I can see them too.

It’s been an experience, one that helps me cope with the distance. It’s almost like I am a part of his life even though I’m not right there with him.

“Where are you now?” I ask as I unload the groceries I just bought. Kelton called me about ten minutes ago and I put him on speaker, still moving around the kitchen while we talk.

“On my way to the field.”

“Practice?” I know there was no game. I haven’t missed one since we got home. If Liz and I can’t watch it live, we always tape it and watch it later.

“There’s a barbecue,” he says, “a family one the team hosts. Feels weird going to it, considering I don’t have any family to bring, but the food is good.”

My hearts aches for him. “You can take me along,” I add with a laugh.

“My virtual girl.” He chuckles, but I sense it’s forced. “I probably won’t stay long. But I don’t want to not show, ya know.”

“I get it.” I’m not really even sure what to say. “St. Louis is getting closer.”

“Or you could just come back now,” he doesn’t hesitate. When I don’t respond he moves on to eliminate the awkward silence. “Where’s Liz?”

“She has back-to-back classes on Wednesdays.”

He knows this, it’s just a way to move past the fact that I left his comment unanswered. “That’s right,” he says and I instantly hate the weirdness that has quickly settled in. It’s been a week. How are we already struggling?

“Listen, I’m pulling in now, so I better let you go.”

“Call me later?”

“Yeah, uh.” My stomach grows tight. “I’m not sure what’s happening after this, but if it gets too late, I’ll send you a text.”

“Okay.” A text. He’s called me at midnight before after a game when he’s still riding the high from winning. But I don’t want to fight, so I let it go. “Try to have a good time. I miss you.”

“Yeah.” I can hear him take a deep breath.

“I miss you too.” He ends the call and I place my hands on the edge of the counter, leaning in and hanging my head.

These would be the times I’d normally go to Liz and run on and on about what took place.

I’d vent, she’d listen and make me feel better. But now I’m left to stew.

I hate being alone with my thoughts, it always gets messy and I am my own worst enemy.

“Who’s the blonde?” I walk into the kitchen the next morning to find Alizabeth on her phone staring at her open laptop. When she sees me she clicks on the screen, closes it and gives me a forced smile.

“Mmhm,” she hums into the phone and I make my way to the coffee pot. “So that is your final answer?”

I keep my back to her, adding a little creamer to my cup. Stirring, I never once take my focus off the conversation behind me.

“It doesn’t appear so,” she adds. I know she is holding back when I spin around and lean back against the counter behind me.

She gets this look about her when she is trying to restrain herself.

Her brows furrow, her jaw tight and her shoulder tense.

“And that required,” she pauses, looking at me and her nostrils flared.

It’s almost like she is preparing her words.

Liz never prepares.

“Hands,” she adds tightly.

There is a pause.

“I’m late,” she says bitterly. Never even saying goodbye she ends the call. “Good morning.” I can’t help but laugh.

“You seem tense.”

“I’m good, are you good?” She moves around the kitchen, pent up and ready to explode.

“I’m okay, but maybe you should breathe,” I tell her, taking another sip of my coffee.

I watch as Liz angrily wipes the countertops, then rinses the sink. She even dumps her coffee, washes out her cup and then pours herself another cup. She doesn’t even take a drink, only sets it down on the counter and then turns around.

“I need a shower.” Before I can say anything in return she tosses the dishtowel to the counter and walks off with a stomp. I blink a few times, trying to clear the haze she has left me in.

When I hear the shower turn on, I walk to the end of the counter and open her laptop. Typing in her password, it wakens and there on the screen is something I could have gone without seeing.

Kelton, a big smile on his face, with a blonde on his arm.

A blonde may I add who has a barely there shirt leaving her cleavage up front and center, practically spilling out of the stretchy material.

She is close, too close, her tits resting against his side as she leans in.

Her head is laying on his shoulder, her hand on his right pec and my stomach is coiled in knots.

Headline reads…

“Tennessee Terrors, Kelton James, cozied up for a night out in Nashville with an unknown lady friend. Could this be the girl he’s been hiding?”

He never called me back last night. He also never texted.