Page 8 of Finally Home
My mouth drops open in shock. “Derrick, I work eighty hours a week. When would I have time to manage you?” He’s acting so weird, and my gut is screaming at me to dig deeper and get the truth out of him.
Before I can press further, he grabs his pillow and stomps out. “If you’re done with the interrogation, I’ll be in the guest room.”
I cry myself back to sleep, wondering what he’s hiding from me and how I can fix it.
The next morning, after de-puffing my tired eyes, the smell of coffee and something sweet hits me and my stomach growls on cue. I walk into the kitchen, suspicious when I see a small gift bag on the white marble counter. The bag has the logo from a local jeweler on the side and sits next to a large bouquet of roses. I lean in to politely smell them, grimacing after I’m rocked by a sudden sneeze.
“Hey, babe! You’re finally up,” Derrick kisses my cheek and hugs me from behind. “I’m sorry for how I acted last night. Practice ran late and some of the guys were harassing me about not making it off the bench again this year. I was upset and had a few drinks, but I know I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. I got you a little something as a thank you for all you do for me and for us.”
He hands me the bag with the same smile that drew me in more than three years ago. “Go on, open it.”
I feel myself softening toward him already, and I wonder if I might have overreacted last night because I was tired and stressed about my meeting today. I open the gift slowly, pulling out a pretty silver bracelet. There are three smaller bags next to the bracelet, and I open them to find three small charms.
“One for each year we’ve been married. A rose, for your favorite flower. A ladybug, for your childhood nickname. And the letter D, for your favorite person in the world,” he says with a smirk.
My smile is tight as he clasps the bracelet on my wrist, and I focus on my blurred reflection in the huge stainless-steel fridge in front of me so I don’t snap or cry. “Thanks, Derrick. I love it.”
“I also got your favorite pecan praline latte and some donuts from that shop on the corner. I have to run to the field for practice, but good luck at your meeting, babe. I’ll see you later!” The second he walks out the door, I collapse onto the barstool.
There’s a hollow pit in my stomach as I look at the bracelet and my drink. Maybe I would feel better about his apology if he hadn’t gotten everything wrong. I’m allergic to pecans, and I hate roses because they make me sneeze. My childhood nickname was never Ladybug—Daddy always called me his Starshine. And the letter D is nice but unfortunately wrong. Derrick hasn’t been my favorite person in a long time, if ever.
I left my favorite people in South Carolina.
Seven hours later, I walk up a paved driveway toward a white house taking a deep breath as I try to pull myself together. When I knock on the light-blue door, the familiar scent of lavender infiltrates my nose from the large pots on the porch, instantly settling my nerves. I’ve barely pulled my hand away when it swings open, and I’m enveloped into warm arms more familiar to me than my own mother’s ever were.
“Mama Gray, can I stay here for a while?” I ask between sniffles.
Rhodes’s mom looks at me with sympathy in her hazel eyes. “You never even have to ask, sweet girl. Welcome home.”
CHAPTER 3
RHODES
I’m rudely awoken at the ass crack of dawn on my day off when my phone blares an annoyingly catchy Taylor Swift song. Groaning, I feel around my nightstand blindly for the offending device, swiping the screen to answer.
“You do know it’s my day off, right?” I ask, my voice still thick with sleep.
“Oh, I know.” My mom’s chipper voice is even louder than usual on speaker. “I just thought you might like to know that a certain blonde beauty we’ve all been missing is sleeping in your old bedroom right now.”
I shoot up straight and stare wide-eyed at the wall. “That’s not funny, Mom.”
I can feel her rolling her eyes at me. The woman has more personality than anybody I know. “I’m well aware, my dear son. But I’m telling the truth. Wren showed up here late last night in tears and asked if she could stay for a while. Naturally I put her in your room.”
She hasn’t even finished her sentence before I trip my way out of bed and rush to throw on the first set of clean clothes I can find. My mom cackles, but I can’t find a single part of me that cares enough to stop. My girl is home, and something is wrong.
I stomp my way back to the bed to take my phone off the charger just as my mom says, “Grab her a coffee and see if you can find out what happened but do it gently. Dad and I need to head into the office, so we’ll see you tonight.” She hangs up.
I knew something was wrong when Wren never responded to my text yesterday morning. We may not talk as much anymore, but she always answers me. And now knowing she’s here? Less than five minutes down the road? My stomach churns with anxiety.
Two minutes later, I’m in my SUV, heading to the coffee shop down the road. Wren is an absolute ray of sunshine ninety-nine percent of the time, but that other one percent is always in the morning before coffee.
After picking up her favorite iced chocolate dirty chai, I push every single speed limit on the way to my parents’ house rather than enjoying the sights of downtown Charleston. I’ve lived here since being drafted more than four years ago and the incredible views of the water and colorful buildings never get old. Butterflies swarm in my gut, and my chest is so tight, I feel like I might lose my ability to breathe at any second. I haven’t seen Wren in two years, and it’s been killing me. I don’t see my parents’ cars, so I’m guessing they’ve already left.
I don’t bother knocking when I arrive, instead going around back so I can slip in through the sliding door in the kitchen and up the back staircase. From there it’s a short few feet to my old room. The door is slightly ajar, but when I knock lightly, there’s no response. Checking my watch, I see it’s only just after eight and grin. Wren is not a morning person, so this should be fun.
I open the door the rest of the way, and I swear my heart stops dead. There, on my queen-sized bed, under my blue sheets, is my dream girl. She’s curled up tight on her side facing the door, and even in sleep, she’s more gorgeous than I remembered.
Walking closer, I’m able to get my first good look at Wren in two years. Her mouth is parted slightly so her breaths come out as little snores, and I put my fist to my mouth to hold back a laugh. The early-morning sun shines brightly through the large double doors that lead to my second story terrace, highlighting dark circles under her eyes that definitely weren’t there the last time we saw each other. She also looks a bit too thin to be healthy and worry spikes in my gut the longer I stare.