Page 103 of The Keeper and I

“I want a few days to myself, that’s all.”

That didn’t feel like all it was.

“Laci, I know I disappointed you the other night, but—”

“I’m fine, Jordan, really. It’s just a couple days. You’ll hardly miss me.”

That was not true. He’d fucking ache for her while she was gone. Especially when he had something so big he needed to share with her.

“This is really what you want?” he asked.

“It is.”

“Then I’ll do it. But can you do something for me?”

“Sure.”

“Stay in touch. Let me know when you get there and if…anything happens.”

“Of course, I will. I’ll see you Sunday night when I get back, alright?”

“Alright.”

A beat passed in silence.

“Jordan?”

“Yeah?”

“Love you.”

The line went dead. He held his phone away from his ear and stared at it. His heart dropped like a sandbag. He didn't know what to feel or what to think. It was the first time she’d said it since the initial “I love you.” But that felt more like goodbye. He wondered if she was taking the next few days to figure out how to tell him she wanted to go back to being pretend, that the original plan would move forward, and they would part ways once Dane was in custody or she was safely across the ocean from him. He leaned his forehead against the wall and squeezed his eyes shut.

“Fuck!” he cried through clenched teeth and whirled around, coming face to face with a young woman holding hands with a little boy, maybe six or seven years old, in a Stanmore keeper jersey. The blood drained from Jordan’s face. “Oh. Hello. Sorry about the, uh…the fuck.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Twice. Jesus.”

The woman fiddled with the Sharpie in her hand. “I suppose this is a bad time…”

“No, not at all.”

He plastered a smile onto his face and crouched to the boy’s level. After another quick apology to the mother, he got the kid’s name, posed for a photo, and signed his kit. The boy walked away beaming, but Jordan could swear he heard him asking why fuck was such a bad word if both his father and Jordan Frawley used it. Jordan would have found it funny if his heart wasn’t breaking.

Slowly, he made his way back over to Ava and his mother.

“Jordan,” Nina said brightly. “That was so sweet, you with that wee boy. Big Stanmore fan, is he, or—” She stopped short at the look on his face. “Are you alright?”

He shook his head and locked eyes with Ava. “I fucked it up.”

Ava’s shoulders drooped. “What happened?”

He told her and Nina about the phone call. Unfortunately, neither of them had much time to give him advice before Ava had to leave. Jordan, on the cusp of losing Laci, had to say a gut-wrenching goodbye to his sister and best friend, the one person who could be there for him if he ended up getting dumped. But he had to, once again, force a smile and pleasantries. She was taking a once in a lifetime opportunity with her band, and he was happy for her. And he was going to miss her so fucking much.

If it was that hard to send Ava off, he couldn’t imagine what it would be like when Laci went.

When he got back to his flat, he went straight to his studio. The only sound was the drag of his pencil along the fresh canvas as he sketched the outline for his latest painting. He pulled a reference photo from a magazine of him and Laci at the gala, thinking he might have something to give her when she came back.

When he reached the section with him in it, he stopped, questioning. He had never painted himself before. He didn’t know how to feel about it. He wasn’t sure he deserved to be painted beside her. The longer he looked at the photo, the more convinced he became that he didn’t. Laci was elegant and graceful. He looked like a giraffe standing awkwardly beside her. She was confident and honest, and he couldn’t even muster up the courage to tell her how he felt.

Shaking his head, he erased the line that started his arm.

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