Page 55 of Play the Last Card

God, I am tired.

So done with today.

I need to curl up in my bed and sleep until next week.

Maybe I should. I’ve been at the hospital for more than a week. I can miss one Sunday. I can stay in bed tomorrow and sleep it all off. I can give myself a day to sit in my feelings and when I wake up on Monday, it will be all better.

But tomorrow is Sunday and on Sundays I play UNO with Pops and do the crossword puzzle with him. I bring him a pastry and coffee from Starbucks even though he isn’t supposed to be having them and we’ll half it as a compromise.

Tomorrow is Sunday and Sunday with Pops is tradition.

Whatever expression is on my face makes Scott pull me into his arms without speaking a word and I let him. I fall into his warm, strong embrace. His arms curl around me, locking me in place. My nose presses into his chest and I let the strong, masculine scent of him fog up my brain and chase away thoughts of anything and everything else.

“Hi,” I mumble into his chest. He takes my bag from my hand and I burrow deeper into him.

“Hi, yourself.” I feel his lips press into my hair and linger.

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

“You said you were coming home. I wanted to be here in case you needed anything. Is that okay?”

I am too tired to try and play it off as anything other than sheer relief that he’s here.

“Yes. Thank you,” I say. He pulls away from me, hands dragging lightly down my body until his fingers find mine. He pulls my house keys from my hand and unlocks the door, leading us inside.

Scott makes me a cup of tea and places it on the coffee table in front of me. He covers me with the throw blanket that is on the edge of the couch and fluffs the pillow behind my head.

He settles beside me and I curl into his warmth.

“You didn’t have to do this,” I say as I lean for the tea. He beats me to it, passing it over as I settle back into the couch cushions.

He only shrugs. “Wanted to.”

I smile into my tea, sipping on it slowly. When I’m done with it, he takes it from my hands and places it back on the coffee table.

“So.” He stretches an arm over the back of the couch, behind my head. “Your family is pretty much football royalty according to the local news.”

The heaviness returns instantly and I lean my head back, resting against the strong arm he has stretched there. Rolling my head against it, I look over at him.

“Is it okay if we don’t talk about my family? I think I’m all out of tears for this week.”

He nods, the fingers of the hand behind my head lifting a strand of my hair and fiddling with it. “Family can be … difficult.”

I can’t help the small scoff that leaves my lips. I let the smirk lift my lips. “Your parents sound amazing.”

“My birth mother lives here in Boston.”

Safe to say my sort of smile drops instantly and I sit up. “Oh.”

“I understand that it can be hard to hear about people that are supposed to be in your life but aren’t. I can’t imagine what it would feel like to have to seehersplashed across the screen night after night. I know it isn’t the same, but I’m still sorry. It must have been hard.”

My mouth goes dry as I try and find the words, any words, to reply with.

I can’t, so I stay quiet.

He sighs, his eyes meeting mine and it makes me sit up a little straighter. There’s a determined look on his face. Like he’s come to a decision and he wants—no, needs to get whatever it is out.

I can’t help it when my gaze drifts downward and I focus on the way his throat constricts as he swallows. The way his muscles tighten, the way his Adam’s apple bobs and his jaw line seems to become even sharper.

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