Page 7 of Catching Our Moment
I stared at the front door and let my gaze linger over the house. It was no longer home to me.
I straightened, took in a deep, cleansing breath, and made a mental list of what to do next.
I needed to shower, pack…and plan.
But first, I needed to make a few calls.
3
Shaw
I disconnected the call with one of my oldest friends, Wyatt Fortner, and paced the floor, staring out the palladium window overlooking Los Angeles, digesting the news he’d given me.
“How soon can you make it back home?” he had asked.
Home. He didn’t mean Charlotte, my current residence where I played for the professional football team. He meant Keysville, Maryland, where we all were tethered. Kelcie, Wyatt, Grace, Aliya, and Tyler. Our friendship and experiences together were the foundations upon which we built our futures. I would never be where I was without them, especially Kelcie.
Grace had called Wyatt with the news, and Wyatt called me because Kelcie wasn’t about to pick up the phone and tell me her husband was leaving her. The world could have been on fire, and she wouldn’t make that call.
But I was in Los Angeles—on the other side of the United States—and something was going on with Kelcie. My Kelcie. The person who was once my best friend.
Hell, she wasn’t answering my calls.
I slide my cell phone back into my pocket to resist crushing it with the hand that palms footballs for a living.
This was bullshit.
I needed to get home.
I needed to get my girlfriend out the door.
“Riles, the car is downstairs waiting for us. We gotta go.”
“I’m almost done,” Riley, my girlfriend who considered Charlotte living in the boonies, called back from the bathroom.
“Is your bag ready? I’ll take it down?—”
“Almost…”
I rechecked my watch and flicked my wrist, stretching my neck and shoulders as I continued to pace.
Knock-knock.
“Riles, the guy is here to take the luggage. We gotta go.”
“Okay, take the suitcases… Just finishing my face.”
“We’re just going to be on a plane,” I said, striving for patience, but the irritation was seeping through.
She poked her head out the door, her long, freshly styled blonde hair falling forward, reminiscent of a shampoo commercial. Actually, I think she was in a shampoo commercial.
“Yes, but baby, this is LA. LA has paps swarming the airport. You never know when you’re going to be photographed. I always have to be perfect when I am in LA. I’ve told you.” She popped back into the room. “This isn’t Charlotte.”
I turned my back so she missed my eyeroll. “No, it is not.”
I would not miss LA.
“I’m going to miss LA,” she sighed. “Are you sure we can’t stay any longer? Spring training doesn’t start for a few weeks yet.”
