Page 28 of Please Don’t Go (The Midnight Strike #1)

JOSEFINE

It’s weird how silence can feel so loud, so suffocating, so isolating.

It’s my fault for craving it back then. I wished for it, prayed everything would just for a moment be quiet.

And now that I have it, I hate it.

Whoever said be careful what you wish for wasn’t lying.

I wanted to stop hearing Coach Novak constantly remind me how I wasn’t as good as everyone thought I was. And that was just a grain of what he said to me. He patronizingly laughed and said it was tough love, that he meant nothing by it.

I wanted to stop hearing Bryson whine about me not wanting to have sex with him. Or when I would, it wasn’t enough.

I wanted to stop hearing Mom agree with Coach Novak. I wanted her to stop making excuses for how everyone treated me. I wanted her to stop blaming me for being so withdrawn.

I just wanted silence for one fucking second, but I got more than one.

Was it worth it?

I pull my hand away from the door handle that leads to her office. I need to go in there because I need to clean, but like every other time, I can’t bring myself to do it. If she was here, she’d be annoyed. Mad even because I can’t scrounge up the courage to just go in and dust everything off.

For as long as we’ve lived in this house, I’ve never set foot in there. She never allowed me, but now that I have nothing to stop me from going in, I can’t.

Sighing, I turn around and put all the cleaning supplies away. I almost contemplate not eating because I’m lacking the desire to do so, lacking the energy to move, but the reminder that Daniel spent all evening yesterday meal prepping stops me from doing so.

Maybe he knew that’d be the motivation I needed to eat something. It works because I’m grabbing one of the glass containers and popping it in the microwave. Just like I did this morning and during lunchtime.

He made breakfast, lunch, and dinner meals for the entire week. They’re all different things too, but for dinner they all consist of salmon, mashed potatoes, and brussels sprouts.

I don’t know how he knew but this just happens to be one of my favorite meals—something I could live off and never get tired of.

Why was I going to skip dinner again? I find myself asking as I pull the drawer where I have the forks and spoons, but the thought leaves me when I spot a pale yellow Post-it note inside.

I hope you enjoy, and I’m so happy you’re here!

With love, Garcia

I was rushing out the door this morning because I struggled to fall asleep last night. So, when I grabbed my breakfast and lunch, I didn’t take a spoon or fork, thinking I’d get one when I got to campus.

Picking up the note, I reread it and even though the microwave is beeping every few seconds, letting me know it’s finished, I don’t move from my spot.

I don’t understand why he continues to do nice things for me, but he does and it makes me feel like shit because I see him too and the only nice thing I could think of doing is giving him my house key. As if that’ll make a difference or change his life.

The last thing he needs is to spend more time with me. I’ll probably make him regret it or drain all of his energy.

When I gave him the key earlier today, he didn’t say much. I shouldn’t have ignored his silence. I should’ve known it was weird to give that to him. Why would he want to spend more time with me when he has his friends, his own house, and?—

The front door opening freezes my thoughts.

I turn at the sound of heavy footsteps and the familiar deep voice that has been consuming my thoughts.

“Honey, I’m home!” Daniel greets and I’m met with the same playful smile when he enters the kitchen. “I’ve always wanted to do that.”

I take him in, trying to absorb the fact that he’s not only here but he has a large duffle bag that looks heavy and full.

“What are you doing here?”

His eyes bulge. “Please don’t tell me that I just made a fool out of myself. Were you kidding about the key because I can leave. I—I’m sorry, I didn’t?—”

“No, wait. The key wasn’t a joke.” My thoughts are everywhere and my heart is leaping nervously but…happily. “I just didn’t think you’d come today” or ever.

“Well…” He approaches me but stands on the other side of the island. “I did and unless you don’t want me here, you should get used to seeing my hot face.”

My lips twitch. “Hot face?”

“Hot face. Hot body. Hot everything.” He raises his hands in surrender but stares at me unapologetically with a shit-eating grin on his face. “This really pretty girl said I’m hot and she’s not wrong.”

I roll my lips together to stop myself from smiling. “That girl might’ve been lying to you.”

He shakes his head, his damp hair moving with the movement. “I highly doubt that really pretty girl was lying.”

My heart rampantly flutters. “You don’t get compliments often, do you? Is that why it went straight to your head?”

“I do but not from her.” His soft eyes level with mine, steadying me as if they knew I felt a little off balance from his words.

“You should take her words with a grain of salt. Her words tend to be fickle.”

“Unpredictability happens to be my middle name. So, I guess that makes the two of us fickle.”

“I’m not sure that’s how it works, and I thought it was Jesus ?”

“That too.” He grins.

I smile a little. His eyes flicker down to my mouth and stay there a little longer.

It feels like we’re encased in a bubble again, but before we can get carried away by it, the microwave beeps again, reminding me I haven’t eaten.

“Are you about to have dinner?” he asks, looking at the time on his phone.

“I am.” I reheat my food knowing it likely got cold. “Have you eaten?”

“I haven’t. I just got out of practice. I came over really quick to let you know I am going to stay before I grab something?—”

“I have a lot of food. Do you want some?” I’m asking but already taking out one of the containers from the fridge and placing it in the microwave when mine is done heating up.

“I don’t want to take your food. I made that for you,” he says, and not a second later, his stomach is grumbling loud.

I give him a pointed look, letting him know I’m not going to argue with him.

“Thanks, Jos.” He tenderly smiles at me. “I should probably go put this away.” He pats his duffle. “Same room?”

I nod. “Same room.”

“Be back, roomie.” He winks at me before he’s casually walking away as if he’s been here plenty of times before. As if this is an everyday occurrence, something he’s used to.

When he’s back, I tuck the Post-it note in the waistband of my shorts, and grab the silverware.

“How do you feel about eating outside?” He grabs his food and mine, stacking one on his forearm like a waiter, and grabs the glasses of water with the other.

“I guess it’s going to happen whether I like it or not.” I go to help him, but he doesn’t allow me. “I can grab that.”

“I know but I’ve got it.” I open the door and guide us to where the table is.

“What are you trying to do? Show off?” Once he’s set our food down, I take a seat, and he takes one next to me.

“Why? Are you impressed?”

“Maybe a little.” I act nonchalant as I stuff a brussels sprout into my mouth. I softly moan, savoring how sweet and spicy it is. “I should send your mom a thank-you card. She did a great job with you. I can’t believe how good this is.”

He chuckles. “They’re just brussels sprouts.”

“Amazing brussels sprouts. These are my?—”

“Favorite.”

My eyebrows furrow. “How’d you know.”

A simpering smile curls on his face. “Uh, in your interview you said your favorite meal after training was this. That you could live off this so…” He clears his throat.

“If you do that, just be prepared.” He cuts into his salmon and I shouldn’t but I raptly watch him place the fork between his lips, reveling in the soft hum of his satisfaction.

I’d joke about his stalker tendencies but I can’t. I’ve never had—no one has ever—I can’t believe—I don’t know what to think. But I do feel…overwhelmingly emotional.

“Why’s that?” Looking away, I drink water, and shift my thoughts from his lips and his hum to the sound of the ocean not too far from us and how warm it feels tonight.

“Because she’ll send you a Facebook friend request. Show you all my baby pictures.

Then she’ll not so discreetly ask you questions while she’s actually plotting our marriage and making fake scenarios in her head about our future with our nonexistent kids and yeah, she’s a lot.

If you think I’m annoying, just wait until you meet my mom. ”

“I don’t think you’re annoying. Relentless until you get your way and cocky but not annoying.”

“You forgot hot,” he adds.

I scoff. “You don’t have to worry about that because if your mom ever met me, she’d tell you to run.”

He studies me, taking in my words, then his eyes sweep over me.

My brows scrunch together. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Because my mom would love you,” he says so matter-of-factly it sends a shiver down my spine.

“Oh yeah?” I stuff my mouth because I don’t know what else to say and instead look down at my steaming food. Jesus, this salmon is good.

“Yeah.” I feel his eyes on me and eventually when I finally cave and look up, he’s still looking at me. “She’d really love you. If you ever meet her, just be warned.”

I nod, letting the silence settle between us.

“I hope I don’t sound—you know what, let me shut up.” He scoops up another forkful and my eyes betray me as they follow it slipping in and out of his mouth.

“Tell me.” I softly kick him under the table.

He swallows. “It’s not my business and I don’t know why I thought of asking but?—”

“Daniel, just ask me.”

“Do you want to get married and have kids?”

My heart stutters and my hand tightens around my fork. Something is wrong with me for letting my mind run wild with that question. He’s not asking me. He’s just asking.

“I’ve never thought about it. Mom always said men were useless and served no purpose other than to get you pregnant and leave you,” I answer, eyes drifting to the pool.

“Mom told me that’s what happened to her when I was eight.

I made the mistake of asking about my father and…

anyway, it made me never want it or to think about it. ”

“I’m sorry,” he empathetically says.

“It’s okay.” I shrug. “Mom wasn’t in my life as much either because she was always busy with swimming and stuff.”

“You know, if you ever want to talk about her, I’m here.”

From the corner of my eye, I see him stretch his hand close to mine. His fingers flex before he fists his hand and leaves it resting next to mine.

“I know,” is all I can bring myself to say because despite not having either in my life like I would have wanted, my life wasn’t shit. I may have grown up with nannies, but they took care of me well. And I spent most of my life in swim meets and practices anyway.

But did I notice their absence? All the time.

“Do you want to get married and have kids?” I now ask.

“I never thought you’d ask.” He flashes me a haughty smile. “But listen, I’m all for women taking the lead. I’m a supporter and all, but if anyone is going to propose, it’ll be me.”

“You’re really willing to spend the rest of your life with me?” I don’t know why I play along but I do.

“Yes.” His knuckles brush against mine.

My cheeks flame. “Are you sure you want that?”

“I’m sure it’s what I need ,” he instantly replies, not missing a beat.

I should call 9-1-1. Surely, I’m hallucinating. “And the kids?”

“As many as you want to have,” he replies just as quickly.

“I was an only child and I didn’t really like it so…” I pretend to think, but pretending becomes easy as images play in my head. “Two or four. I really don’t like odd numbers.”

He drums his fingers on the table, head tilted to the side as if he were pondering it. “Four sounds nice. What are we talking, back-to-back or a little age gap in between?”

I can’t help but giggle. Did I really just giggle?

I’m losing it. “It depends…have you heard about the terrible twos? Imagine a newborn, a one-year-old, a two-year-old, and a three-year-old. I’m sure that can’t be safe anyway.

Maybe a little age gap? We’re also going to need the break to catch up on sleep. ”

“I’m not sure we’ll be getting much sleep.” I hear the innuendo loud and clear. I know I shouldn’t but I do imagine it—him and me.

“As long as you promise to help me with the kids.”

“You won’t have to worry about anything. I promise to be the best DILF.” He wiggles his brows.

“Oh God.” I roll my eyes, ignoring the way I’m burning. “So, you want to get married and have kids?”

“With you, yeah. Just tell me when and where and I’m yours forever.” Something sounds different now, but I’m sure I’m reading into it.

“Be careful what you wish for.”

“I know. That’s why I’m wishing for it.” His smile and eyes seem different. Even his voice sounds different.

I bet he’ll make it to the MLB. He’ll have babies with a woman who isn’t emotionally stunted and compared to Wednesday. A woman who has her shit together and didn’t want to kill herself because she forgot how to feel.

Yeah, he’ll find a pretty awesome woman to spend the rest of his life with, someone who isn’t me.