Page 16 of The Run Option

“That’s okay. You just get home and rest. Do you have your purse?”

Willow shakes her head. “It’s in your room, I think.”

“Go wait by the door, I’ll bring it to you,” Aaliyah says.

I do as I’m told, waiting in the dim foyer, thankfully away from prying eyes.

“It’s annoying when you do things like this,” Willow mumbles, her eyes falling shut again.

“What do you mean?”

“It makes it hard to hate you.”

My brow furrows. “Why do you have to hate me?”

“Because you don’t remember me.”

I frown as she nuzzles into my neck. I can’t fully enjoy what’s happening because of her odd confession.

“Here’s her purse,” Aaliyah says, setting it on Willow’s stomach. “Take care of my girl now, okay? Make sure she gets home safe.”

“I will,” I promise.

She smiles. “I know.”

I walk out into the chilly October air and head to my car, wondering why the girl in my arms despises me. She must have been half-asleep for the last thing she said, because it doesn’t make any sense. I see her almost every day. I couldn’t forget hereven if I wanted to. I set her in my passenger seat, buckle her seatbelt, and gently brush away a stray lock of hair.

No, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget Willow Delmont.

I walk around the front of my car then get in. Once inside, I start the car. Before moving, I glance at Willow, who’s sleepily staring at me.

“I thought you were out already,” I tell her as I start to pull onto the road. When I got here earlier, I parked on the edge of the curb so that I didn’t get blocked in. I knew I’d be leaving before everyone else, I just never expected it would be to take Willow home.

“You don’t know where I live,” she points out.

“That’s true. Mind plugging in the address?” I fish my phone out of my pocket, keeping one hand on the wheel, and hand it to her. “Password is 0-9-0-9.”

“Your jersey number is your password? That’s not very secure,” she says and I shrug.

“I don’t have anything to hide. Feel free to snoop to your heart’s content.”

“If you’re not hiding anything, then snooping wouldn’t be very fun,” she says, making me chuckle.

“You got me there. Address?” I prod, not wanting to get too far on the drive without directions.

She starts typing, and soon enough the map appears on my dash screen. Sniffles break the silence. I glance over to find her wiping tears away with her hands.

“What’s wrong? Is it your ankle? I can take you to the emergency room.”

She shakes her head. “I’m sorry, it’s just that it might be one of the last times I give that address to someone. I won’t live there soon.”

Oh-kay.A little dramatic for her to just be moving, but hey, she’s tipsy. At least she doesn’t act the way I used to. I’ve broken one too many pieces of furniture.

“You’re moving?” I ask and her crying worsens. That was the wrong thing to ask, apparently.

“I’m being deported,” she sobs. Shock ripples through me at her words. “I didn’t get my work visa application done in time. I’ve only got sixty days left. Well, I guess tomorrow it will be fifty-nine.”

Her tears are coming fast now. When I stop at a red light, I take off my jacket and hand it to her.

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