Page 3 of Timelessly Ours

Shit. I’m not alone.

My eyes fly open, fearing the worst. But it’s not the worst. Not…entirely.

It’s him. He’s here.

Coach Collins.

My vision is still a bit blurry, but from what I can tell, he's sitting in a blue leather armchair a few feet from the bed I lie on. His eyes are fixed on my face. His expression hard. Or just…empty.

It’s almost like one of those many…many dreams I’ve had of him. Where he stares at me from a distance, and I wait for him to come to me. It usually ends around there. He never does come to me.

But this…is no dream. I never feel anything when I’m dreaming. Blinking past the pain in my head, I focus on him.

And nearly wince.

There isn't that… hint of a warm smile I’m typically gifted with whenever his eyes would find mine. There’s nothing but a cold, hard…glare.

He’s fully dressed in navy pants and a white dress shirt. His fingers are entwined as he leans back…probably waiting for me to come to.

“R-Royce.” Not many can call him by his first name, and I wonder if I'm still allowed such a privilege.Since everyone else calls him "Coach".

I'm not sure what I expect…but he doesn't respond. He looks at the nightstand and then back at me.

Frowning, I follow and find a glass of water, which looks heavenly right now, and a small bottle of aspirin.

I sit up slowly, and from the corner of my eye, I see him flinch. Like he wants to come help me but stops himself.

My head is pounding hard. So hard that I try not to make it worse by wracking my brain as to where he might have found me.

Lying in a ditch? No, that's not like me. My twin brother, Nick, once found me unconscious, but at least I was in my own apartment.

I take the aspirin and gulp down the entire glass of water. Royce rises and approaches the bed. He swipes the small bottle from the nightstand. Smart man. Never leave a recovering addict with access to a means of overdose.

“I’ll be back when that sets in a little. There’s a bathroom through that door if you need.”

“Where am I?” I ask. I mean to ask with more force, demanding in fact, but I’m so weak, I come off sounding like a lost fairytale princess rather than a five-foot brunette with a sharp tongue and a black belt.

“One of my guest rooms.”

I nod slowly and sit up a bit more. Hesitant to pull the covers off me.

He moves to the door. “I’ll give you some privacy. I’m just downstairs if you need me.”

Once he’s gone, I shift my gaze to the windows. A gentle glow filters through the blue curtains, so I can tell it’s morning. But I don’t race to them. I don’t tear the heavy drapes apart like Cinderella to welcome the flood of light.

I don’t want it.

I’m more of a Wednesday Adams.

So instead, I peek outside to the driveway. It’s not a house I’m unfamiliar with. I’ve been here several times before.

My best friend Angel, Coach’s older daughter, used to live here until earlier this year when she moved in with her boyfriend. Now, this enormous, five-bedroom, beautifully modern home is reserved for him and his six-year-old daughter, Rory.

I’m not surprised my car isn’t in the driveway. I wouldn’t have driven here. Couldn’t even tell you where my car is right now…

Which means…he found me.

My stomach sinks and I swallow hard. I reek of my least favorite scent.