Page 156 of Really Truly Yours

No. Our attempted relationship was bizarrely naïve on both our parts. I don’t fit in his world, and I have less than zero interest in being with a player—and I’m not talking the baseball variety. I’m sure it’s been tough, poor man, downshifting from the fast lane to hang with me. He must have cringed every time he made the corner onto East Fifth Street.

I only pray his relationship with Donny lasts longer than ours.

Grayson

I frown at the incoming message.

Sydnee: Not feeling well. Left with Tripp and Avery.

The hustle and bustle around me fade. My team lost. We were so close, and then a couple mistakes late cost us.

The biggest game of the year looms, yet my mind is stuck on Sydnee’s text. She’s the hardest woman to read, and now this. I’m not the most perceptive man, but the short message doesn’t sit right in my gut.

She ditched me.

I cast my gaze around the field, taking in the emptying stands. Suddenly, exhaustion overcomes me.

I slip out to my car in the players’ parking area and fight traffic along with everyone else, Sydnee’s message still niggling. No see you soon, no smiley face.

No red or pink hearts.

I’ve been waiting for those, and it appears I’ll be waiting longer.

Maybe someday?

Every time I think we’ve advanced a step, the next one whisks us back around.

That’s what her message feels like, a wrong turn.

Handsfree, I dictate a text.

Me: Talk when I get there?

I’d tack on a hopeful or lovey-dovey emoji if I knew how to do it verbally.

My phone dings almost immediately.

Sydnee: Going to bed. So tired. Goodnight.

I swear I feel the chill of an icy hand in my face. I don’t get it. Things were fine when I left this afternoon.

I prop my elbow on the door and stick my fist to my cheek. Then again, with Sydnee, it’s hard to say.

The freeway ends as the bridge to the island appears.

I have to see her.

The house is quiet and empty-feeling when I let myself in through the door. A light glows over the kitchen sink. Other than that, well-placed, sensor-activated nightlights illuminate my path up the stairs, right to the guest room door. I rap a single knuckle on the wooden panel.

A second time. A third.

The door opens. Sydnee’s face appears in the crack. She looks sleepy, though not necessarily as if I caught her asleep.

“Hey, are you alright?”

She pulls away when I lay my fingers on her cheek. “I told you I went to bed, Gray.”

“I wanted to check on you. You haven’t felt well all day, have you?”

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