Her eyes search me. “I’m fine.”
“Sydnee.”
“Travel is exhausting.”
“Are you sure that’s all? How is your stomach?”
“It’s off. The normal stuff.”
“Are you sure that’s all it is? There’s not something else bothering you?”
Her head tilts. “Something else like what?”
“I don’t know.” I lean against the door. The feeling that something isn’t right won’t leave. “Is this about the stuff with my parents? I know I messed up.”
Her gaze tarries. “No. It isn’t about this morning.” She sighs. “I forgave you, remember?”
Why is it that everything she says weighs heavier than the words themselves? Or am I paranoid?
Possibly. I’m fast hurtling into the realm of I-don’t-know-what-I’d-do-without-her.
“Please, Gray. I need to rest.”
“Sydnee, if we could just talk a minute.” I touch the door.
She holds it fast. “Go, Grayson.”
Can I sit on hold until morning?
Do I have a choice?
I’m terrible at waiting. Got a giant F in it in school. Check any of my report cards. Talks too much—F. Exercises self-control—F. Follows directions—F.
Morning will come. I’m an adult now. Surely I can make it until then.
I retreat. “Text if you need anything, alright?”
She’s already removing herself from the opening. “Sure.”
The sure hits my ear like a brushoff. I poke my foot in between the closing door and the jamb and land a kiss on her forehead. “Sweet dreams, Sydnee Lou.”
Chapter 35
Grayson
Shortly before seven, Sydnee’s flowy handwriting wadded in my fist, I take the carpeted steps two at a time.
Thank you for inviting me. Now I’ve seen the ocean. You’ve been very generous, but this isn’t going to work. I’ve gone home. Good luck to your team tonight. I wish you all the best, Sydnee.
Sorry, but Dear John letters are lame. If she thinks this is the end of it, she’s soon to find otherwise.
Generous? Some salt for your wound, sir?
Tripp and Avery spin out of an intense lip-lock when I sail into the kitchen.
Stupid, lucky brother of mine.
Hand at Avery’s waist, he scowls. “Slow your roll there, bro.”