Page 6 of Houston, We Have a Problem
And knowing that Connor trusts me with something this big?
Unease starts to build as I realize I’m actually considering this. No, not even considering. I’m doing it. And I can’t tell Connor that I’m terrified of spending that much time away from home because a journalist who’s afraid of following a story isn’t a journalist at all. I’m going to have to pull up my big girl panties and be brave, or I’m going to lose the best job I’ve ever had. Everwillhave. Because I know deep down that any other sports news site is not going to have an editor who cares as much for his team as Connor does. He treats us like his family, and he’ll do everything he can to make sure I’m safe in Sun City. He’s rooting for me in a way no one else will, and I can’t let that go.
His final argument is the clincher: “There’s no one I would trust more with this assignment, Darcy. If anyone can get this story, you can.”
“Okay,” I breathe, feeling the word pull all of my fight out of me. It leaves me feeling like a mostly deflated balloon, misshapen and wrinkled. “When do I leave?”
Chapter Four
Houston
October 18
If there’s a sight betterthan my king size bed, I don’t know what it is. Despite what most people think, I’m not a material guy, and there’s not much in my house that I couldn’t find somewhere else. But this? I paid more for this mattress than I probably should have, but when home is the only place I can (sometimes) get a good night’s sleep now, it made sense to pay the premium. Looking at it now—after a week of dodging questions from reporters and the Red-tails owner—I’m almost in tears.
I’m so tired.
As I dump my bag in the corner, my phone starts to ring, and I groan. If that’s Roundy, so help me… He promised me at least two days off before he started bugging me again about announcing my departure from the major leagues.
But the caller ID says it’s my realtor, so I reluctantly answer the call. Maybe someone has finally bought the other half of my house. “Sheryl. Hi.”
“Am I catching you at a good time?”
“Shoot.”
“I’ve found you a renter while we wait for bids.”
Kicking off my shoes, I frown at the room in general. “A renter? We still haven’t gotten any offers?” I had hoped the high rental price would encourage a purchase over renting.
My shirt comes off next as Sheryl jumps into a long-winded explanation about the market and a townhome complex and something about beetles, and I’m glad she never wants to do video calls. I love my realtor, but she has a habit of saying way more than necessary, and I tend to get a lot done in the meantime.
In this case, it’s making my way to the shower. This had better not be a long conversation because I am exhausted and covered in airport grossness, and my glorious bed is calling to me. It might be ten in the morning, but I’ve been up since two. I desperately need to sleep.
“So I’ve allowed the three-month lease,” she finishes. “Is that acceptable?”
“Fine.” I’ve made it to the bathroom and am down to my boxers, but anything beyond this feels like too much while I’m on the phone. I need to turn the water on to give it a chance to heat up—I haven’t gotten around to replacing the outdated water heater—but Sheryl would definitely hear that. “When does the tenant move in?”
Three months isn’t ideal, and I was really hoping to get someone in there permanently. But at least the place won’t feel so empty anymore.
“They were very eager,” Sheryl says, a little warily. “They asked for Sunday. You said it’s move-in ready, right?”
I hold back a groan. That only gives me two days to get the place looking habitable after the last tenants left it an absolute mess. I should have just paid someone to clean it up, but I’ve wanted this place to be mine. Something my fame and money didn’t touch. “Right,” I say. I don’t mean it. “You saidthey. Is it a family?” I hope it is. Give me a family of five with rowdy kids who bang on the walls and scream all night, and I’ll stop feeling like the world is empty around me.
“Um, a brother and sister, I think. Their agent was vague on the details, but she passed her background check with flying colors.”
“You got a name?”
“Darcy Paxton. I emailed you all the details and the contract.”
“Thanks, Sheryl. Anything else?”
“Congratulations on your Series title. I can’t wait to see what you do next season.”
You and me both, I think with a sigh. Instead, I thank her for the update and hang up, turning on the shower and stepping inside even though the water is frigid. I am so ready for a nap.
A crunching sound wakes me, though I’m not sure if it was real or part of my dream. The details are slipping away already, but I’m pretty sure I was dreaming about waffle fries. I yawn, unsure what time it is but tempted to order in a burger and fries despite the havoc it will wreak on my intestines. I never eat fast food during the season, and my body has lost its tolerance for junk food.
Another crunch makes me stiffen.Something is in here.Slowly lifting my head, I prepare myself for some sort of creature ready to pounce—how did it get in here?—when my eyes catch sight of a human silhouette in the armchair. I jolt out of bed as panic hits, but my legs catch in the sheets and I go crashing to the floor.
