Page 100 of Too Safe

Kylian was set to come with him today but got pulled into a coaching meeting this afternoon that went on for more than three hours. It may be a bye week for the players, but the coaches and support staff are in full-on planning mode.

Decker and I came to the same conclusion without discussion. Kylian was exhausted when he got home, and he needed time to unwind. Especially since there are even more parties and events to attend as Shore Week approaches.

I suggested Kylian stay behind. Decker asked me to tag along. We never discussed how this would go or what my role would actually be.

Decker doesn’t need saving.

But that doesn’t stop me from feeling compelled to help.

He’s saying goodbye to an adorable freckle-faced kid missing his four front teeth when I slip around the back of the table and brush my hand along his shoulders.

Bending low, I whisper, “It looks like you could use a break. Want to go find somewhere dark and quiet to recharge for a bit?”

He turns, and onyx eyes meet mine. He gives me a skeptical frown, which I’m learning is his default reaction in most situations. From here, he looks even more wiped. The skin around his eyes is pulled tight, and his cheeks droop just a little. Eventually, he nods, exhaling in what I think is relief, before he turns back to assess the crowd.

“The line…” he mumbles, jutting his chin toward the dozens of families still waiting.

“Believe me, Cap. You look pained at this point. You won’t like what you see in the pictures if you keep pushing it. They won’t mind waiting a bit longer.”

“Yeah, okay,” he relents, rising to his feet and stretching his arms behind his back.

He waves, and Misty click-clacks across the store and comes to stand close enough that her arm brushes against his.

Taking a step back, he gives her a pointed look. “I’m going to get some air. I’ll be back in twenty.”

Panic flares behind her eyes. “You can’t just walk out!” Her head snaps in my direction, and she hits me with a look full of accusation. She holds up a file and turns back to Decker. “We didn’t negotiate breaks in the contract, and this is a sold-out event. What am I supposed to tell everyone?”

“Isn’t that your job to figure out?” I quip. Honestly. It’s not like he’s asking her to cancel or leave early.

Decker nods once. “I’m not ditching out. I just need a break. You can handle this, Misty.”

He looks toward the next family in line, who heard the entire exchange. With a pained smile, he holds up one finger. “I’ll be back. I promise. Just need a little break.”

They grin at him and nod like bobbleheads, obviously unbothered by having to wait a little while longer.

Decker steps out from behind the table and heads toward the back of the store. I follow, and once we’ve put some space between us and the crowd, he reaches back for my hand.

A thrill zings through me when he interlaces our fingers. I suck in a breath and remind myself that it doesn’t mean anything. He’s concussed and probably dizzy. He’s just using me to steady himself.

I quicken my pace to take the lead, pushing through the back entrance. There are several doors along a narrow hallway, but the buzzing fluorescent lights are almost as intense here as they are out on the floor. The first door reveals a stock room. The next is an office. Then we come upon the equivalent of a janitor’s closet.

“In here.”

There are empty milk crates stacked against one wall. The distinct scent of lemon cleaner permeates the air. But at least it’s quiet. And dark.

I procure a water bottle I stashed in my bag before we left the house, and Decker groans appreciatively as he accepts it.

He heaves out a breath, then plops onto a short stack of crates. With his eyes closed, he rests his skull against the wall and holds the cool water to his forehead.

Now that he’s settled, I don’t know what to do with myself, and I awkwardly adjust my weight from hip to hip and scan the contents of the closet. Tight spaces don’t bother me, but there’s barely enough room for Decker among all the stuff crammed in here. I should give him some room.

“How long do you think you need? Fifteen or twenty minutes?” My hand is already resting on the door handle as I wait for him to respond.

It’s dark in here, but not so dark that I don’t see when he opens his eyes and looks from my face to the door handle.

He reaches out, but I shift, evading his touch. Even so, he snags my free hand and slowly, surely, interlaces our fingers.

“Stay.”

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