Page 61 of Finding Our Reality

Will’s voice catches me off guard. I didn’t even see him walk up. “Huh?”

“You’re frowning.”

“I’m not frowning.”

“I’m married. And I have a five-year-old. I know a frown when I see it.”

I pick up my beer. “Is Lulu out of town?”

“No, why?”

“She hasn’t been to the station the last couple of days. She finally texted me yesterday to say she wouldn’t be back in until next week, but she didn’t say why. Did she pick up a job out of town? Something from an attorney or one of the TV shows?”

Will tries to hide his smirk, but he’s not very successful at it. “Missing her?”

There’s no point in lying. “You already know the answer to that.”

He doesn’t make fun of me. I always knew Will was a smart man.

Nodding, he hands a couple of drinks to the people beside me. “She’s sick.”

My ears perk and my stomach drops. “Sick?”

“She’s fine. It’s just a bad cold.”

I take one more glance around the bar. “Is that where Holt is? Taking care of her?”

“Holt’s been in North Carolina since last Friday. He closed on the sale of his condo today. He has some meetings with his financial people and the NFL folks. He won’t be back until Monday.”

My brow furrows. “Well, who’s taking care of her?”

Will laughs. “She’s a thirty-year-old woman, Crutch. I think she can fight a cold all by herself.”

I’m not even paying attention by this point. I’m tossing some money on the bar and rushing out the door.

“Crutch, wait! There’s something you should—”

The door to the bar closes, keeping Will’s parting words locked in with him.

***

I knock on the door, pounding a little harder in case she’s back in her bedroom and can’t hear as easily. Enjoying the warmer nights, bugs fly around the lightbulb hanging above the threshold. I’m about to pull out my phone and call her when the door opens wide.

And I lose my damn mind.

Standing in front of me is a half-naked man. The guy’s dressed in jeans and is holding a T-shirt in his hands. He’s a couple of inches shorter than me but still tall. I can’t even focus on his face because his chest and dumbass man nipples are flashing in my face.

Seriously?

He couldn’t take an extra five seconds and slide the shirt over his headbeforeanswering the door?

This has to be the guy—the ‘friend’ from the coffee shop, the ‘friend’ who dropped off her notebook. And he’s walking around my woman’s house.

Half-naked.

Anger runs ice cold through my body, freezing the worried thoughts in my brain.

What did I expect? I did this to myself. Nearly twelve years ago, I walked away, and I’m still paying the price. I’ll be paying it until the day I die. Trapped in a purgatory of my own making.

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