Page 93 of Play Maker

Chapter18

What Have I Done?

Lo

Mickey offered to close up tomorrow night, and I told him I’d get back to him. Right now, I’m thinking no. Why? Walking into my place now, I am hit with how lonely it feels and want to throat punch or drop kick myself in the head … maybe both.

I all but pushed him back to The Stables. It’s the right thing to do, though.

Hell, I don’t know any of his routines, except I did hear he talks to himself under his breath and gets all angry in the tunnel before they take the field.

I know I did the right thing, for him, for the team … butgrrrrr.

And then, my phone chimes.

#68:

I’m not going to sleep until I know you’re home. Safe. Inside. In bed.

Me:

You’re impossible. And bossy. And I’m locking the door now.

#68:

Send proof. Not you locking the door. You. In bed.

Me:

So now you’re security and a perv? Multitasking king.

#68:

Only with you. And yeah. I’m both. Send the damn photo, Brooks.

I send a pic of one leg under the blanket, one sock half off, the edge of the pillow in the frame.

Me:

Satisfied?

#68:

Not even close. But I’ll take it. Sleep.

Me:

You, too. Lights out. Deep breaths. No pacing.

#68:

You make it sound like I’m a madman.

Me:

You’re not. It’s what I’m picturing. And I’d like to know you’re in a peaceful place.

#68:

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