Page 16

FIFTEEN

Joey

“Oh, that looks absolutely delicious!” Beth exclaims as the waitress sets the plate of fluffy buttermilk pancakes topped with whipped cream and caramelized bananas in front of her.

She’s not wrong.

It looks amazing.

Though mine—topped with Nutella and strawberries and those gorgeous mounds of whipped cream—looks better.

“It looks like a sugar coma,” John grumbles. “All three of you.”

Because Kylie got pancakes too—hers topped with lemon curd and whipped cream.

“Carbs fuel your brain,” she says without missing a beat and I can’t help but like her, can’t help but admire her exuberance and the joy for life that just exudes out of her.

Not gonna lie, though, I’m a little jealous of Kylie Connors.

She’s Beth but forty years younger—bright and joyous and with a dash of mischief thrown in.

Case in point? She ignores John’s scowl and cuts off a humungous piece of pancake with her fork, plunking it into her mouth, eyes dancing as she moans, “Mmm. Sugar.”

I bite back a giggle, turn and see that Damon has an indulgent smile on his face.

Sweet.

Loved.

My heart twinges.

Because someone hurt her, left wounds—my stomach clenches—that will never be healed. It’s proof the world is fucked up. Proof that good doesn’t always triumph over bad.

I wonder where she hides her wounds, wonder if Damon somehow managed to heal them.

But I have my doubts.

It’s not so simple…

Only when I look back at her, see the bond, the love that she and Damon share, I think that maybe sometimes miracles do happen.

That Damon might have superpowers.

That I might be healed too—if I only let him in.

My pulse speeds up and I clench my fork tighter. Damon’s superpowers don’t matter. I have so many wounds that the ones Hiller left me barely track.

And yeah, maybe that’s a lie I tell myself.

But it’s also not far from the truth.

Better to hurt me than someone else.

I can take it.

But…why do I have to?

That question hits me hard, hits me hard enough that I glance down at my pancakes and don’t feel a lick of hunger.

Nope. That’s disappeared like a whiff of smoke.

“You gonna stare at those pancakes all day?” John asks gruffly. “Or you gonna eat before it gets cold?”

I pick up my fork and take a bite, but I barely taste it.

I still force a smile, still answer, “Delicious,” when Beth asks me if it’s good.

The waitress comes back and deposits Damon’s egg white scramble with extra veggies and John’s oatmeal in front of each of them.

But Damon doesn’t start eating.

He’s watching me, staring at me.

Seeing me.

Quickly, I drop my gaze back to my pancakes.

And I start shoveling them into my mouth even though I might as well be eating sawdust.

Eventually, I choke down enough of my meal for it to not be noticeable that my stomach is churning, smiling at all the right places as Beth and Kylie chatter, chiming in when necessary. I know I should be enjoying this, should be soaking it all in and holding it close for later.

I don’t see Beth and John enough.

This is a luxury I should revel in.

But I can’t.

God, I’m so messed up.

So broken and empty and…

Pathetic.

Luckily, I don’t have time to think about that for long because Damon slips away and takes care of the bill—before John and I can argue over who’ll pay it—and much grumbling ensues, by both John and me. Meanwhile, Beth and Kylie keep chatting through it, the lights inside them not dimmed in the least as we all pile out of the restaurant.

Then…it’s time to say goodbye.

Beth hugs me tightly enough that my lungs protest, and then she’s stepping back, giving way to John, who draws me close and kisses me on the cheek. “Keep up the good work, kiddo.”

“I will.”

He smiles at me then turns to Damon, sticking out a hand as Beth and Kylie hug. I watch as the latter two whisper something in each other’s ears then exchange numbers while the former pair just nod brusquely at each other.

Damon steps back and holds my eyes for a long moment.

But before I can figure out a pithy reply, he turns and walks away, Kylie trailing behind him.

And then I stand there as Beth and John do the same, loading up into their RV and slowly pulling out of the lot.

Leaving me alone.

Again.

Always.

* * *

I zip my suitcase closed and straighten, setting it on the floor and rolling it down the hall.

It’s early. We play tomorrow but we’re flying out today in order to give the guys time to settle into the hotel for a good night’s sleep tonight, along with padding the schedule in case of any weather delays or other hiccups in our travel schedule.

I didn’t sleep well last night.

Two days with Beth and John weren’t enough, especially with work in between, but it was also too much, reminding me of…

Too many things.

Add in Damon and Kylie, brunch and wine and crying jags and sharing far too much and allowing far too many emotions to run free…and these last few days have sat heavy on my brain.

“Coffee,” I mutter.

I need caffeine and to shove all of that out of my head.

We have eighty more games this season, and if I keep doing this shit it’s going to feel even longer.

I need to keep my focus, need to do my job, need to?—

The doorbell rings.

I jump, gaze jerking to the window over the sink, the still-lightening dawn sky dimly shining through the glass.

Too early for solicitors.

And Beth and John aren’t popping in for another surprise visit.

That leaves?—

My stomach lurches as the doorbell goes again.

I grab my phone, pull up the camera app, and?—

My belly churns for a completely different reason this time.

Damon is standing on the stoop. Again.

I exhale, slap a lid on all the things I’m feeling, then move to answer the door.

“Damon,” I say, “is everything okay?”

He steps toward me and I have no choice but to back up—it’s either that or stand there and let him run into me. When he’s cleared the door, he reaches behind him and shuts it, the lock clicking closed with a soft snick .

“What’s going on?” I ask.

He jerks his head to the kitchen, starts walking that way before I can get an answer.

When I make it into the kitchen, he’s already helping himself to a cup of coffee—pouring two mugs before lifting one to his lips and drinking deeply.

“Make yourself at home, why don’t you?” I mutter, marching forward and taking the cup he holds out, drinking deeply, feeling the rough edges of sleep being sanded away. Once I’ve drank half the mug down I look back up at him, see him smiling. “What?” I ask, my tone still a little sharp.

“Now you’re awake,” he says and sets his cup down.

“What?” I ask again, brows furrowing.

He nods to my suitcase. “That everything you’re bringing?”

My frown deepens. “That and my backpack…” But I don’t finish the thought because he’s moving to the table where my knapsack is, snagging it and my suitcase. “What are you?—?”

But then he’s striding for the hall, tossing over his shoulder, “Finish your coffee.” A beat.

“Then we need to head to the airport.”