Page 28 of Final Down

“I’ve already found an apartment,” she says the second our mouths part.

I chuckle and shift into reverse, checking the lot behind me before pulling out.

“Of course you have,” I say through a chuckle. “And let me guess . . . we need to move in this summer.”

She doesn’t respond, so when I reach the light to exit the stadium and enter the highway, I give her a curious sideways glance. Her guilty, tight-lipped grin says it all, but to punctuate things, she shrugs.

“Woman, you’re not even going to be living here full time, and you’ve got me roped into moving trucks in June,” I laugh out.

“It’s a dry heat,” she tosses in, and now we’re both laughing. I’m not sure whether it’s because we’re happy or because we’re scared. Maybe a little bit of both. But I do know there’s no one I would rather be taking this gamble with.

Three weeks later

“There is nothing dry about this.”

It’s been raining for two straight days, the same amount of time we’ve been moving boxes, sofas, and bedroom furniture into the historic brick building in the heart of downtown. My shoes are sopping wet, the soles more like well-used Mr. Clean sponges at this point, and Whiskey gave up wearing shoes about four trips ago. The big man has embraced being barefoot.

“This is the last one, guys. I promise,” Peyton swears over the expanse of the love seat she and I are carrying together. Her hair is matted to the sides of her face, and there’s no mystery to what her bra looks like. Everyone can see it through the thin gray T-shirt that’s now glued to her skin thanks to the downpour.

Whiskey pushes the button for the seventh floor on the freight elevator, then collapses into the armchair he carried by himself. I snarl at him because there isn’t enough room for me to drop my end of the sofa, plus I wouldn’t want to stick Peyton with the rest of the weight on her own. Itisher fault that we didn’t hire movers for this project of hers, though.

“Remind me again why I couldn’t have just clicked around IKEA’s website and had everything delivered?”

She levels me with a hard stare and a flat-lined mouth, and I immediately snap my mouth shut and nod.

“You’re right.” I gulp and drop my gaze to the bulky sofa arm hugged to my chest. “You will live here too,though not a lot.”

I mumble that last part, but Peyton still hears it, and she pushes the sofa into my gut. I grunt and cough out a laugh.

“Dude, this is why you don’t complain. You simply do as they say. Tasha’s gonna have us doing the same thing once she picks a rental. Only we’ve got two kids, and she wants a house, so this move will take days, and she’ll be spreading it across rooms and streets and yards.”

I exhale and lean my back into the metal wall of the elevator. Tasha and Peyton like quirky furniture, and they both like to shop. I guess I should feel lucky that Peyton was able to find the pieces she wanted in two days. I have a feeling I’ll be moving something around Whiskey’s house every few days for the next year.

We get the last two pieces of furniture through the door, and while Peyton paces through the great room deciding exactlywhich way she wants things to face, I grab two beers from the fridge and hand one to Whisk.

“It’s a nice sofa, man,” he says, bumping my arm with his elbow. I nod and let my gaze drift to my wife, who insisted on the creamy chenille piece with a chaise lounge seat. I predict I’ll be taking many naps on that thing, and when she’s gone, I might end up sleeping there. I miss her too much when the bed is big and empty.

I’m about to tip my head back and take a swig of my beer when Peyton drops down suddenly and sits on the edge of the chaise section.

“You okay, babe?”

She shakes her head and leans forward, practically tucking her head between her knees. I leave my beer on the counter and hop over the love seat to sit next to her. My hand rubs circles on her back, her shirt damp and cold.

“You overdid it today,” I say, feeling bad that I let her help in the first place. She hasn’t had muscle spasms in a while, and she’s so damn strong that I sometimes forget that physical exertion can take a toll on her.

“I’m just a little light-headed. I’ll be fine,” she says, lifting her head enough to give Whiskey a thumbs up from across the room.

“I can handle moving stuff around the room, dude. Why don’t you take off and get back to Tasha and the kids. I need to force her to quit for the day and maybe take a hot shower,” I say.

Whiskey guzzles the rest of his beer and leaves us with his belched words, “Sounds good.”

I follow him to the door, then lock it behind him.

“He’s a real romantic,” Peyton jokes, holding her arms up so I can peel her wet shirt over her head.

“I could have gotten one of the guys to help, or hell, had your dad come up for this. I’m sorry.”

Peyton shakes her head and grabs my arm as she lifts herself back to her feet.

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