Page 93 of Fumbled Into Love

I think I might have, but as Nathalie sips her tea and works on the puzzle, I think maybe I want to get up and try again.

CHAPTER 21

“Even if I can’t hold you like that, would you love me back?”

Love Me Back – Bebe Stockwell

Deon

“Do you have a four?” Henry asks.

I peer down at my cards, two fours stacked side by side. “Go fish.”

“Damn. I thought you had one.” Henry sighs, taking a card from the pile in the center of the coffee table in my hotel room.

Jack, Declan, Henry, and I are squished into the small space, Jack consuming the couch and Henry and Declan sitting on the floor beside my chair.

My phone dings, and I quickly drop my cards.

Nathalie:How is he doing?

My eyes covertly flit to Declan before I respond.

I think he’s okay. He’s been quiet.

I’m worried about him. He keeps telling me he’s fine. I don’t think that’s true.

Jack pulls from the pile of cards, and I assess Declan. His shoulders are slumped, and deep bags hang beneath his eyes as if sleep evades him entirely.

It’s been a week since he showed up on my doorstep. A week since Alan died. He’s shown up to practices, but this is our first game since, and I’m worried about him, too.

I often mind my business and keep to myself. It’s been my motto since I was drafted to Seattle and left my teammates in Texas. I didn’t want to form any deep connections with my teammates. They were my coworkers and nothing else. It was easier if they were only teammates, but the three goofballs sitting in my hotel room have a way of sliding past all the walls I’ve constructed.

I’m grateful they did.

If they hadn’t, I would probably have spent the night alone watching TV or reading a book. I wouldn’t have spent a week in Michigan with them placing bets and playing drinking games, and I would have never met Nathalie.

When I returned from dropping my mom and sister off at the airport, all of her belongings were back in the guest room, andmy room was in immaculate condition. The bed was made, and the towels were neatly folded in the bathroom.

The gesture was kind, but the truth is I miss her mess in my space because it made itourspace. There isn’t a spot in the house where I haven’t found a pair of her shoes. By the door. In the kitchen. Under the couch. There are shoes in hallways and closets and a few underneath my bed that she forgot in her haste.

In a single night, her skincare took over the bathroom sink, and there were more bottles in my shower than I knew could fit.

One night in my room and it felt like she belonged there.

It should bother me that she took over in a matter of minutes. That my house is an ode to Nathalie and all of the things. Her rock collection now sits next to the catch-all in the entry hallway, and her romance novels sit in piles inThe Lair.

No matter how often I think about it, there’s only affection. Her shoes are everywhere, but each one reminds me of the way she scurries around the house in the morning, looking for the perfect pair to match her outfit.

She’s weaved our lives together, and I don’t know how to untangle it all when she leaves.

A photo pops onto my phone, and Iknowmy lips quirk into a stupid, lovestruck smile as Nathalie and Gordie fill my screen. Her eyes are crinkled behind her glasses as she poses for the photo, Gordie trapped within her arms.

Gordie misses you.

He doesn't know what to do about Delcan, either.

I asked, but all he said was meow, meow, meow. I think it translated to “I miss Deon.”

---