Page 24 of Power Move
One from Phil:Yanni got traded. He’s on his way to New York tonight.
Followed by one from Gio:If you text Yanni, do it direct. Don’t go into the team chat right now. Trust me.
“That’s too bad, I liked Yanni.” I show Rhys the text. The PHL trade deadline is next Friday, so this week is like how last week was for the NAPH. “I’ll text him later.”
He slips his fingers through my hair. “Tell him I said good luck. What’s with the thing about the Slash group chat?”
“I don’t know. But he’s making me want to look at it.” I roll my shoulders. “They know I hate seeing pics of people’s injuries in the chat. Maybe it’s that. Like, I don’t want to see how a bruise is changing, or weird lumps, or close-ups of cuts or stitches.”
He nods. “Especially if you’re eating at the same time.”
“Exactly. But he probably would’ve said, ‘don’t go in the chat, there’s a gross injury up’, so I’m thinking it’s something else. I wonder why he didn’t say.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it.”
I tap his hand. “Have you forgotten who you’re talking to? Champion worrier, here.”
Smiling, he kisses me. “Sorry. Do you want to text Gio?”
“No, it’s okay. If something were wrong, I’d have more texts.”
We wander to the section of books that separates the record store portion from the coffeehouse. I point out biographies I’ve read of music legends and books on music genres that seem interesting. Rhys finds some books covering the history of the music industry. There’s sheet music and magazines.
A text from Soren, direct to me and not part of the housemates chat, pops up.Are you still out with Rhys?Don’t check the Slash chat.
At my groan, Rhys looks over. I show him the text. “Okay, now I think Ihaveto look. Why are they being so cryptic?”
He returns one of the books to the shelf. “Soren’s text asked if you’re still out with me. Phil and Gio know you are. Maybe it’s something that might bring you down or upset you or make you angry. Something that’s better to see if you aren’t alone.”
“That’s something they would do. Always looking out for me. And, I’m not alone. You’re here.” I watch him put another book down, and what I’ve just said hits me.
He’s here. On a date with me. And I’m obsessing over messages when I should be focusing on being with Rhys in oneof my favorite places. Sometimes, I really hate the way that I’m wired. Rhys is probably finding this frustrating too.
Rhys returns the final book in his hands to its place on the shelf. I wouldn’t blame him if he’s getting ready to make his excuses and leave. I feel like I’m the worst date ever.
An ache blooms in my stomach. I curl in on myself, shoulders slumping, and focus on a spot of paint on the floor. “I’m sorry, I’m getting fixated on this. It’s an anxiety thing. With those messages, I feel like something’s wrong and I can’t relax until I know what it is.”
Warm fingers graze under my chin, tilting my face up. His blue gaze is steady on mine, and comforting. He brushes his thumb along my lower lip. “How about I look at the chat for you?”
I gape at him. “That’s… not at all what I expected you to say.”
“What did you expect?” He slides his hand to my shoulder, and lets it rest there, anchoring me.
“That you might be annoyed.”
“Well, I’m not. You can’t help the things you worry about.”
The ache in my stomach, all of my tension, releases. I inch closer. “I don’t want to ruin tonight.”
“Not possible.” Smiling, he squeezes my shoulder and his thumb traces the skin just above my collar. “Like you said, I’m here. Let me look, see whatever it is, and we can deal with it together."
“That’s really, really nice of you.” And protective. That he’d do this for me, and want to help, and not think I’m too much, means more than I can say. I tap the yellow icon and hand him the phone. “Thank you.”
Rhys scans the chat bubbles, brows narrowing, his expression growing perturbed.
I clutch his biceps, my fingers digging into his soft sweater. “It’s bad, isn't it? I knew it. How bad? Really bad?”
He rearranges us so his arm is around me. “There’s a rumor going around that you’re being sent down.”
