Chapter 26
Twenty-Six
Lainey
I pull into the garage, hit the button to close it behind me, and wait for the metal door to slowly rumble down.
Only then do I shut off the engine and gird my loins.
Then I’m unlocking the interior door, propping it open, and unbuckling Ollie from his booster seat.
He stays asleep as I tug him free, curling him over my shoulder and carrying him inside.
I use my foot to slide the doorstop out of the way, hit the lock, then make my way through the quiet kitchen and into the hall.
I pause at the bottom of the staircase thinking the stairs and I have to stop meeting like this—as in, stop meeting with my limp, dead-to-the-world four-year-old in my arms as I climb them, his body growing heavier with each step.
But since that day is not today, I just start making my way upstairs.
Ollie sighs softly, burrows into my chest and neck.
And hell, if my heart doesn’t just melt.
God, I love this kid.
I set him onto his mattress, make quick work of taking off his shoes and swapping his clothes for pajamas so he’ll be more comfortable.
Then I tuck him under the blankets, stuffed Ollie by his side, and slip out of the room, flicking off the lights and shutting the door.
I don’t go to my room, however.
Instead, I head downstairs to my office.
The Book That Must Not (Okay, That Must) Be Written will wait for no one.
And anyway, I need to wait for Sawyer to get to the hotel, and it’ll be a few hours yet. He has to do press and post-game cooldowns then bus to the airport and fly to Utah for their game against the Rattlers. Then they’ll have one more matchup against Seattle before they’re heading home.
I wonder how his body is holding up, if his neck is hurting him.
If the loss tonight is eating at him.
He played well—at least in my book. Clearly, he was working hard and making passes and stuff. He even got another goal.
But that and another from Rip weren’t enough to secure that win for the Grizzlies.
They lost by two.
So yeah, I wonder if Sawyer will be upset, if he’ll get to the hotel and just go to sleep, forgetting all about calling me because he’s pissed about losing.
A blip of worry—and maybe of relief.
Because if he is like that…red flag.
And a red flag will mean my heart is safe.
No red flags in this house. Nor in my life or Ollie’s.
“You’re insane,” I whisper.
Because even as I’m thinking all of that nonsense, the rest of me is hoping he’ll remember, hoping he won’t forget.
That he’ll show me the last weeks of paying attention and being kind and sweet and considerate aren’t bullshit.
That he really is the man I’ve come to know.
“Yup.” I scrub at my eyes. “Insane.”
Yet, I stay up working anyway.
Not that it’s a struggle. My mind is full of ideas, and I dive into a scene about a battle gone wrong—something that devastates my heroes, makes them feel as though any chance of victory has just slipped away.
It’s heartbreaking and brutal, a battle of wills and wits and strength…
And they ultimately come up short.
I’m wiping away tears when my phone buzzes with a text.
Realizing several hours have passed, I swipe at my cheeks and unlock the screen.
SAWYER: You up, Pages?
He remembered.
I exhale, blow my nose, and hit the button to video call him.
It rings once, twice…
Then Sawyer’s tired face is on the screen.
It goes from exhausted to worried in an instant. “What’s wrong?”
I frown. “What do you mean?”
“You’ve been crying. Has something happened? Is Ollie okay? Are you okay?”
My mouth drops open and for a second, I just stare at him.
Then I fully process the worry on his face and snap out of my shock.
“I’m okay,” I say, interrupting his next question—this one about whether he needs to call Faye. “I promise,” I add when he opens his mouth again. “I was writing The Book That Shall Not Be Written and it was a sad chapter.”
His teeth snap together.
“It was a really good chapter,” I say. “One that’s going to tear hearts to shreds.” I smile. “All so I can put them back together in the last act of the book. Don’t worry,” I add. “You’ll see when you read it.”
“You’re going to let me read it?”
I hadn’t realized what I said, not until he semi-repeated it back.
But then I know—know—the truth of it.
Know that some part of this book is his. That it’s been from the first sentence.
“Of course,” I say. “If you want.”
The way his face changes—hesitant to excited to so fucking proud of me—makes my heart hurt.
Just…in the best possible way.
Right.
I need to change the subject.
“How are you doing?” I ask.
He stares at me for a moment, as though weighing what he wants to say next, whether to keep us in the soft, almost fragile—and far too emotional for the middle of the night—moment, or whether to allow the change in subject, the shift to lighter, easier things.
And I know he deliberately goes for light when he grins and says, “Well, I’m a little worried about what I’m going to owe you, Pages.”
I grin back. “You don’t have to worry.”
“I don’t?”
“Nope.” A beat. “It’s simple, really.”
“Oh yeah?”
I nod and hit save on my manuscript then close my laptop and lean back in my chair, smirking at him through the screen.
“It’s time to get naked, Cupcake.”