Page 104 of Play Book

Keeping the reins on my heart is becoming impossible, and I feel like we have to talk about it sooner rather than later. Mostly, we have to talk about Ally. I’m okay with him putting her needs first for now, but there has to be some compromise.

Otherwise, what’s the point of being in a relationship?

The truth of the matter is, I’m not and never will be anyone’s afterthought. I’ve always promised myself I wouldn’t get involved with a man who didn’t treat me the way I want and deserve to be treated. For now, I can deal with what we’re doing, but there has to be an end date. At least, in general. We can give her through the summer. Maybe until Christmas. There has to be progress, though, because it’s not fair for me to put my life on hold until she decides she’s okay with me being the woman in her uncle’s life.

I started a new painting yesterday, and it’s of Ally’s mom. I asked Canyon if he had any pictures of his sister, and he showed me one of her and Ally when Ally was about a year old. I took a picture of it with my phone and now I’m re-creating it in watercolors. Normally, I paint in dark colors, with one area of brightness, whether it’s the color of someone’s eyes or a light in a window.

For this one, I’m doing the opposite. It’s all done in light pastels, swirls of pale pink, purple, and blue, but their eyes will be done in gold. I haven’t figured out exactly how I want it to look, so I’ve been practicing on another canvas, trying different looks. My thought is to give it to Canyon for Christmas, but I’ve also been thinking I could gift it to Ally. Her birthday is coming up, and that might be a way to break the ice between us.

I can’t talk to Canyon about it because I don’t know which of them I want to give it to, so I make a note in my phone to ask Stevie about it.

I’ve just gotten up to make myself some lunch when the doorbell rings.

I pull up the video feed on my phone and see a FedEx driver.

I’m not expecting any packages, but it could be anything.

“Good afternoon,” I say, opening the door.

“Here you go.” He asks me to sign something and hands me a medium-sized box. “Have a nice day.”

“You too.” I close the door and carry the box to the kitchen. Using a nearby knife, I slice through the tape and pull out some filling.

Then I gasp.

At the bottom of the box is a bouquet of dead, black roses with a note.

YOU’RE NEXT.

THIRTY-ONE

Canyon

I’ve just gotten back to my hotel room after a game when my father’s name flashes on my phone’s screen.

Great.

Just what I need.

He doesn’t call often, and if I don’t pick up, he’ll just keep calling back.

“Hey, Dad,” I say by way of greeting.

“Canyon.” His deep voice is brusque. “Where are you? On a road trip?”

“Dallas today,” I reply. “Phoenix tomorrow.”

“The team’s been playing well. You could very well make the playoffs.”

As if I don’t know.

“We’re planning on it.”

“I read somewhere you’re dating some supermodel.”

“Her name is Saylor. And yes, we’ve been seeing each other a couple of months.” That’s probably a slight exaggeration, but my father doesn’t need to know the details of my personal life.

“She’s beautiful.”

---