Page 48 of Play Me

CHAPTER

TWENTY-NINE

Astrid

I belt out the last lyrics of a song about Jack and Diane, letting the wind whip through my hair as I head to Gray’s. The Swill is ahead on my right, and I slow down to make the turn into the neighborhood.

The late morning is beyond beautiful. The air is warm but not sweaty, and the sun is bright but not burning.

Everyone on the road seems to be in a great mood, letting each other merge in traffic and not running red lights.

I didn’t need all of that to perk me up today.

I have a whole day with Gray to look forward to since he has the day off.

“Auddie, no,” I say, laughing through the Bluetooth. “Don’t panic. I’m sure Seth hasn’t answered your message because he’s busy. A lot of athletes don’t even check their messages on Social because they get such weird ones.”

“Are you sure? Because I’m worried that I’ve made it awkward between us and now I can never set foot near my brother again.”

“I promise you haven’t made it awkward. Gianna and I both proofread your message last night.

It was friendly, slightly flirty, and made you sound like the doctor that you are .

” I pause to let that sink in. “You are a catch, girlfriend. Seth will probably see that message and panic himself because guys don’t score girls like you without trying. ”

She sighs. “Okay. Not sure I believe you, but thanks for lying to me anyway.”

“Anytime, anytime.” I pull off my sunglasses and toss them onto the passenger’s seat. “I’m pulling up to Gray’s, so I’m going to go. If you need me to talk you off a ledge later, call me. I’ll keep my phone close.”

“You’re the greatest, Astrid. Love you.”

“Bye, Auddie.”

“Bye.”

I end the call, park at the curb, and gather my things. I’m on the sidewalk walking toward Gray’s in two seconds flat.

It feels like I’m floating to his apartment, and the shit that usually weighs me down and has me trudging through the day is gone.

Well, it’s probably still there but I hardly notice it.

It’s hard to think about your problems and what could go wrong and how many goofy things you said that day when someone’s telling you how amazing you are. Talk about lie to me anyway.

The old man on the porch who I see every time I’m here, practically every day, takes his cigar out of his mouth and waves with two fingers. I smile, waving back.

I round the side of the building and start up his porch but quickly stop. This morning’s groceries are stacked all over the porch. What the hell? I step over the bag of fruit and ring Gray’s doorbell. While I wait for him to answer, I sort through the bags and find that the milk’s warm.

My stomach tightens as I ring the bell again. I listen closely, but don’t hear any footsteps. He never makes me wait this long.

I slide my phone from my pocket and press his name. He answers on the fourth ring.

“Hey,” he says, his voice eerily low.

“Hey. Are you okay?”

He hesitates. “Yeah. Why?”

“Well, I’m standing on your porch to hang out with you today—not wearing panties, as you prefer—and your groceries are piled out here.” I laugh. “I was afraid you were in there dead.”

This pause is two moments long enough to trigger a sense of dread in my gut.

I force a swallow, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. “Gray?”

“So I guess you didn’t get my text this morning, huh?”

I pull the phone away from my face and open my texts. There’s nothing since last night. What is he talking about? “The last text you sent me was at nine o’clock when you asked me if I made it home, and I said yes.”

He groans. “Fucking Wi-Fi.” His sigh is filled with frustration, and the sound of it tells me I’m going to be feeling similarly soon. “I didn’t want to panic you, but I had to leave town late last night. There’s an emergency.”

“Oh, my God. I’m sorry.” My eyes dart around the porch. “Is everything okay? What can I do to help?”

“It’ll be fine. I promise. I just need to be … here to make a couple of decisions, and then I’ll be home late tonight.”

My brain sorts through what could possibly be wrong. Is it Hartley? Brooks? Jasper? Did something happen to Cathy? I press a hand to my heart as if the pressure can keep it from beating out of my chest.

“Okay,” I say, my thoughts scrambled. “Um, is everyone okay? Hartley? Cathy?”

“Yeah, Astrid. Everyone’s okay.” He sighs again, and I can hear exhaustion in his tone. “My flight gets in late. I’ll come by and see you when I get home, all right?”

Flight? I stand a bit taller, adding that information to the mix. It’s not like I know his whole family, but I thought they were all in Sugar Creek. So, where the hell is he flying?

“I’ll explain everything tonight, sweetheart,” he says. “But I have to go now.”

“What about the groceries?”

“The code to the lock is four-seven-eight-six-two. I hate to ask you to take them in, but I didn’t realize you ordered me stuff.”

I frown. “Yeah, I just thought since we were going to hang out all day that I could restock you while I was there. But don’t worry. I’ll sort them. Four-seven-eight-six-two?”

“Yeah. I’ll see you tonight, okay?”

“Okay,” I say.

“And Astrid?”

“Yeah?”

He takes a breath. “You’re the only thing that will get me through this day. Remember that. See you soon.”

And the line goes dead.

“What the fuck was that?” I pull the phone from my face and look at the screen. Call ended.

Oof .

I shove the device in my pocket and punch the code in the lock before I forget it. I’m operating in a haze, my brain preoccupied with making sense of Gray’s emergency.

The door clicks open, and I step inside the apartment, propping it ajar with a bag of rice. Nothing about what he just said makes sense. But, he did sound frazzled, and he doesn’t get frazzled often. So whatever is going on must’ve blindsided him.

Poor guy.

I cart the bags into the kitchen and then close the door securely.

The apartment feels different without Gray here, but I still love it.

Maybe it’s because I can see us all over the place.

At the coffee table playing chess, having tacos on the kitchen bar …

Gray carrying me down the hall to the shower after our fun got a little messy on the couch.

That was such a great night.

I turn to grab a carton of eggs when I notice a letter laying open on the counter. A strange calm washes over me as I peer at the letter like it’s going to leap across the room and bite me. Something tells me it can … and it will.

An envelope is on top of the sheet of crisp white paper. I flip it over in my hand and see a Denver return address. It’s made out to Gray specifically, but there’s no last name on the return address.

My hands shake as I toss the envelope on the bar and pick up the paper. It’s a single sheet with no letterhead or logo, and the words are handwritten in a woman’s penmanship.

I lean against the counter for support, knowing I shouldn’t read this, but I’m unable not to.

Dear Gray,

I’ve started this several times over the last couple of months but can’t seem to get it right. There’s a lot to say, but it’s all so complicated and laced with pain and grief, and the last thing I wish to do is to bring you any more suffering.

The paper trembles as I hold it, fighting the lump in my throat so I can continue to breathe. I don’t know what I expected, but it sure as hell wasn’t this. What is going on?

First, and most importantly, I want to thank you for paying for my rehabilitation services over the last two years.

I know it was you. I just put it together over the last few months.

I can’t fathom how you found the money, Gray, and the sacrifices you’ve had to make to do this for me.

There aren't enough words to sufficiently thank you.

You are an amazing man. But we knew that before this happened.

I swallow, the action hot and nearly painful. It feels like I’m peeking into a room that I haven’t been invited into, but I can’t stop reading.

I was so angry with you for a long time.

Blaming you was easier than blaming my sister, and it was easier than blaming the weather or the other driver.

You were still living and breathing and hating you for the accident gave me a place to put my grief.

But I saw you on television late one night doing an interview, and I saw the pain in your eyes.

It was the kind of grief that those who have experienced it can identify.

I lay in my hospital room and bawled my eyes out, praying for you.

You were hurting this whole time, too. And instead of being angry at Caroline, you were figuring out how to take care of me, her baby sister.

I’ve never felt so low and like such a bad person.

Tears stream down my cheeks, staining my shirt, mixing with the snot running out of my nose. I can barely make out the words anymore. My heart aches for Gray, for whoever is writing this letter—for whatever has happened. Something horrible and tragic. But what?

Caroline loved you, Gray. I don’t know how you feel about her now, and I hope this letter isn’t bringing up unwanted memories, but I want you to know that none of this was your fault.

I hope you don’t carry around guilt for something you didn’t cause.

You are a good man, Gray Adler. And I will always root for you and will be here if you ever want to talk.

Again, thank you. You’ve given me another shot at life, and I can never repay you. I had what I hope to be my final surgery and I’m leaving the rehabilitation facility next week. I want to leave this behind me and, to do that, I had to clear the air.

Love,

Liza

I hiccup a sob, and the paper falls from my fingers, joining the rest of the mess on the floor.