Page 87 of Romancing the Grump
Finally, I call Parker. She’s on the same bus he is, so if he’s in some kind of actual physical trouble, then she is too.
“Hey,” Parker says. “What’s up?”
“Are you guys okay?” I ask without any preamble. “Is everything okay on the bus?”
“Yeah. Why wouldn’t it be?”
“I just got the weirdest text from Nathan. Are you sitting near him? Isheokay?”
“He’s nothere,” Parker says. “He has the flu.”
“What?” I stand up and start pacing around my living room.
“You didn’t know?”
“I haven’t heard from him. Not until just now.”
“He must really be feeling awful if he isn’t even textingyou,”Parker says.
Except he did just text me. And he clearly needs my help.
“Do you know if he’s seen a doctor?” I ask as I head to my room to grab my shoes.
“The team doctor went to check on him this morning,” Parker says. “She declared him absolutely too sick to play or travel—the guys are super pissed about that part—but she said he should be fine in a few days. What did his text say?”
“It just sayshelp,” I say, as I wrestle my foot into a sock.
“That’s not good,” Parker says. “Did you try to call him?”
“I did, but he didn’t answer. Do you know his address?” Somewhere in my online files, I probablyhavehis address, but if Parker can send it without me having to dig for it, that would be a lot easier.
“I don’t know it, but someone will. Let me see what I can find out. I’ll text you.”
“Please hurry,” I say. “I’m leaving my apartment right now.”
“I’m glad you’re going over to check, but I’m sure he’s okay,” Parker says. “It hasn’t been that long since the doctor was with him.”
“Yeah, I hope so,” I say, but her reassurance doesn’t do much to calm my racing heart.
“I’ll text later to check in on you,” Parker says.
I end the call and grab my keys off the counter. By the time I reach my car, Felix has texted Nathan's address, as well as the code to get through his front door in case he doesn’t answer.
Luckily, my GPS tells me I’m only a mile or so down the road from Nathan, so I’m there in less than five minutes. I try to call him again on the drive over, but he doesn’t pick up.
Nathan’s place is one half of what looks like a very nice duplex, at least from what I can see in the dark. There aren’t any lights on outside, but the neighbor’s lights revealstamped concrete sidewalks, a nice front porch, and pretty landscaping.
I ring Nathan’s doorbell, then knock twice, but I don’t hear any sounds coming from inside. After thirty seconds of nervously bouncing on my toes, I pull out my phone to find the code Felix texted over.
“I hope you don’t hate me for this, Nathan Sanders,” I say under my breath.
And then I open his front door and let myself inside.
I move through the entryway and into an open living area, resisting the urge to look around. You can learn a lot about a man from the way he decorates his home, but I don’t have time to snoop. Right now, all I want to do is find Nathan. Make sure he’s okay.
The master bedroom is at the back of the house, past the kitchen. At first glance, the room appears to be empty. There’s an enormous king-sized bed in the center of the back wall, and it looks like it’s been recently slept in, but Nathan is nowhere to be found.
To the left of the bed, there’s a short hallway that runs past what I assume is Nathan’s closet and into the bathroom. The door is cracked, and there’s a light on overhead.
