Page 99 of The Wrong Move

No kisses. Nothing but a subtle hint to give him space. I sent another three texts and crickets. The moment I’m inside the terminal, I call his number—straight to voicemail. I send another text while waiting for my luggage.

Hi Byron. I’m home. I can’t wait to see you. G xx

Part of me wants to drive directly to his house, but I need to see my parents first and check in on Dad. Mom and Dad greet me with excitement, wanting to hear my stories and see all the photos. Dad has a spark about him that I haven’t seen in months.

Before heading to my room, Dad chats to me about Byron’s garden. I look at Mom, assuming he is mixing his words up, getting them confused.

“Byron took your father to his home last weekend and asked his advice on the garden.”

“He did?” I stare at Dad. “You were at his home?”

“He told your father he was the best in his field.” Mom looks genuinely pleased. “We mentioned you were returning today, and he said he already knew.”Yet he won’t respond to my texts or calls.“His surgery is today.”

A ball of panic grows in my chest. I should have known this.

“Did he drive here?”

“He had a driver with him.”

Right.

“If you don’t mind, I’m going to go and see him after I unpack.”

Mom hugs me. “Of course, honey. We’ll see you later. I think he’s excited for you to come home.”

Could have fooled me.

After closing my bedroom door, I call Charlotte.

“Gigi, you’re home.”

“I am. How is Byron?”

“I’m here at the hospital. He’s groggy. I just stepped out of the room. He ruptured his Achilles and ended up with screws in his ankle.”

Holding my hand over my chest, I close my eyes, imagining the pain he is suffering.

“I’ll be there soon.”

“I’ll wait for you. Don’t be surprised by his grumpiness. He refuses to accept he can’t play the remainder of the season.”

“I’ll never underestimate his stubbornness and determination.”

Charlotte groans. “It’s not always a good thing. See you soon.”

I shower, change, add a little makeup, and run downstairs to my car. In my head, I consider my words, how to show my support but not pity him. He hates pity.

Imagining him sulking, I take the elevator to the right floor, and a nurse directs me to his room. Through the glass, I seehim on the bed, his face whiter than the sheets, and my stomach plummets before rising to my throat. Overcome with nausea, I groan, and Charlotte turns. She walks out to greet me.

“Hey. He’s sleeping. Come and get a coffee with me. I have some things to tell you.”

We head to the cafeteria and find a table away from most of the people. She asks about my trip, and I tell her all the fun stuff until our coffees are delivered.

Coffee does something to our brain. It’s like a trigger to confess, to talk about our troubles. Charlotte dives straight into her and Brandon’s secret relationship.

“I already knew,” I tell her. Charlotte’s eyes pop. “About a month ago, I saw you both in the locker room.” I screw up my face. “Sorry. I ran away because… well…”

Charlotte looks bashful and lowers her gaze. “I told him that was a bad idea, but once he started touching me…” She stops talking and looks to me for understanding.

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