Page 130 of Dancing in the Rain

He made himself another coffee in the Keurig in the kitchen, then turned on the TV in the living room to watch a sports show.

An hour later they still weren’t home. He rinsed his mug and set it in the empty dishwasher. Okay, where the hell were they?

He pulled out his phone and called Peyton’s cellphone. It went straight to voicemail. Was her phone off? That was weird.

Heaving a sigh, he left and drove home.

“They weren’t there,” he explained shortly to his parents. “And she’s not answering her phone.”

Mom’s eyebrows knit and she sank her teeth into her bottom lip briefly.

While he sprawled on the couch watching TV with Dad, he tried again a few times to call Peyton, again getting voicemail. So he sent her a text.

“Guess that’s not going to work out for this afternoon,” he told his parents, trying to be casual even though he wasn’t sure whether to be more pissed or worried.

Instead they went Black Friday shopping, pretty much his idea of hell, but Mom was all excited about the deals, even though the exchange rate sucked right now. All afternoon he was checking his phone, sending more text messages, trying not to make it obvious that he was obsessed. He finally got a response from Peyton while they were having dinner in a restaurant just off Michigan. When he read it, his blood raced hot through his veins.

What. The. Fuck.

They were in New York? Had she seriously taken Chloe and run to New York because of what he’d said?

Jesus Christ.

He was so irate he couldn’t even tell his parents. He was also so nauseated he could barely eat the prime rib he’d ordered. He set the phone down and tried to smile at what Mom was saying about Chloe and her shark finning project, while contemplating booking a flight to New York that fucking night.

But he had no idea where Peyton lived.

—

Monday morning he got the call from Step that they wanted him to work with a few players using his new plan for increasing goal scoring.

Fuck, yeah!

He pumped a fist into the air as he talked to Step in his kitchen. This was fucking fantastic! He’d have a real role, with real responsibilities, something he had to deliver on. He wouldn’t just be hanging around the arena morosely, trying to be part of something he no longer contributed to.

Excitement sizzled through his veins as they arranged a meeting for the next day.

When he ended the call, though, he sobered. He’d been giving serious thought to moving to New York, if that was what he had to do to be with Chloe and Peyton. How would he do that now? How could he lay this all out for the team and ask them to commit if he was going to pick up and leave?

His ass hit a stool and he slumped against the island. Shit. How fucked up was this timing?

—

“Before you call Drew, I need to talk to you about something.”

“Okay.” Chloe set the cordless phone back down on the kitchen counter.

It was Monday evening and they were home from their trip to New York. Peyton had cleared out her office at Sentinel. As she’d suspected, once she’d given her official notice that morning, they didn’t want her dealing with clients. So she was done there and unemployed.

She and Chloe had started packing her things to move to Chicago. She’d have to make another trip back to deal with subletting her apartment and shipping everything, but they got quite a bit done.

Chloe was excited to tell Drew that they weren’t moving to New York after all. But first…

“Would you want to live with Drew?” she asked Chloe quietly.

Chloe blinked. “I don’t know.”

She clearly hadn’t thought about that.

---