Page 71 of Cherry Picking
It’s just sitting there. Unassumingly.
When I unzip it, the usual shit is inside. A few spare changes of clothes. Travel toothbrush and shower supplies.
Riley’s bleach from the bathroom that we haven’t gotten around to using.
That’s when my fingers stutter over the numbers fifty-five laid across the back of a maroon and yellow jersey.
I never put this in his away bag.
It stays in the top drawer with all ofRiley’ssuperstitious crap.
Dropping to my ass on the floor, I pull my phone from my pocket and tap Riley’s number.
Ring.
Ring.
Ring.
I take a deep breath, ready to go off in his voicemail for messing with my ritual, when?—
“Griffin.”
Riley sounds tired, and my chest deflates the tiniest bit. “‘Bout damn time, asshole.” I’m smiling though, because Riley laughs, and it fills my heart with warmth. “When are you coming back so I can beat you with this bag?”
He’s quiet, and I can hear his labored breathing, so I must have interrupted him pushing himself too damn hard.
“I could give you one of those post-workout massages that you give me? I’m not as good at it, but …”
“Griffin.”
His tone catches me off guard; it’s quiet and tired but stern.
“I’m going home.”
“Great. I’ll meet you there.”
I scramble to zip up the bag and get to my feet, but before I can sling the thing over my shoulder, Riley sighs. It doesn’t sound right, though.
It sounds shaky.
“Are you okay?”
“Griff. I’m going home. To Colorado.”
My mind goes blank. I don’t understand the words coming out of his mouth.
“My head is a goddamn mess,” he says, voice strained. “I need some time away. To figure out what’s wrong. Figure out what I need.”
My heart stops. Or it feels like it does. Like it’s trying to pump through sewer sludge.
“What happened?”
“Nothing, baby. This is all on me.”
“Riley—”
“I love you,” he butts in, and now it’s my lungs that refuse to expand. “I’m coming back. At some point. I understand if that’s not good enough.”
