Page 47 of A Whole New Play

Her eyes dart to the bathroom door. She pitches her voice lower, “You know what it means.”

I do.

And the fact she’s regretting what’s happened between us doesn’t sit right. I want to talk about it, but we don’t have time. Andy is going to come out at any moment. This conversation will have to wait, but it will happen. I’ll make sure of it.

“Let me walk you out.”

She blinks, surprised that I changed the subject, but she doesn’t object. “Okay.”

I follow her down the stairs and wait silently as she retrieves her personal items, sparing a glance at the disheveled fridge as we pass and walk to the front door. A smile tugs on my lips.

I step ahead and open the front door for her.

“Thanks,” she murmurs as she walks past.

I step outside, leaving the door open behind me. “Text me when you get home, please.”

Her eyes search mine. “I will.”

She expects me to say more, and God knows I want to, but Andy is waiting for me.

After a few seconds, she nods and quietly says, “Goodnight, Carter.”

“Goodnight, Valerie.”

I watch her get in her car and drive away before heading back inside to Andy.

As I lay in my son’s twin-sized bed, listening to him breathe deeply with his head resting on my chest, I think of what I will say to Valerie to make sure what happened today isn’t a one-time occurrence.

Tonight confirmed what I’ve long suspected. You can’t deny a connection like ours, and I have no plans to try.

Not anymore.

13

CARTER

It’s the middle of the night when my cell phone rings in my pants pocket, yanking me out of a pleasant dream involving me and a certain nanny in a beachside cabana under a star-filled night sky.

I quickly silence the device and then look down at Andy. I exhale in relief when I see he’s still sleeping. His mouth is open and he snuggles his teddy bear. Careful not to jostle the mattress, I slide off the bed and tiptoe out of the room.

I close the bedroom door with a soft click when my phone rings for a second time. Unease flows through me as I dig in my pockets for the device. Unless Dane is drunk somewhere and butt-dialed me, I can’t think of a reason someone would be calling this late that doesn’t fill me with eerie foreboding.

The negative emotion intensifies when Coach Palmer’s name flashes across the screen.

Did Valerie tell him what happened between us?

No, she wouldn’t.

It has to be something else.

I move into the loft, away from the kids’ bedroom doors, and answer in a quiet voice, “Coach?”

“Jones. I’m sorry for calling, but I didn’t know who else to call.”

I’ve known Palmer for years, and I’ve never heard him sound shaken up. “What’s going on? Is everything alright?”

“No. It’s Valerie.” He chokes on his daughter’s name and then says five words that rock me to my core, “She’s been in an accident.”

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