closes them as he bows his head for a beat in what seems like a silent prayer. When he opens his eyes again, they’re red.
I step into him and wrap my arms around him. He pulls me closer, clinging to me, and it doesn’t matter if they were close or not...this hurts him, which means it hurts me, too.
“I’ll get us a flight,” I murmur into his chest.
“Thank you,” he whispers, and I pull away to get to work.
I book us on the nonstop redeye since it seems like he’ll want to get there as soon as possible, and then I run upstairs to pack. I toss in his suit and a demure black dress for myself along with the essentials that’ll get us by for a few days.
“Do you want me to book us a hotel?” I ask after I finish packing.
He shakes his head. “We’ll stay at my parents’ house.” He pauses a beat, then amends his statement to, “My mom’s house.”
I push away how weird that might be for us when his family made it so clear they didn’t want us together. I look up whether it’s safe for pregnant women to travel, and I find the answer is yes.
We head toward the airport and we’re boarding a plane a few hours later. I texted my family to let them know what happened, and Josh made sure to request I send him the information on the arrangements as soon as I have it. I promised I would. I know he has a game to play out of town this Sunday, but I’m sure Luke would appreciate the support of the people he’s closest to as we say goodbye to his father.
We land in Detroit a little after three in the morning, which is a little after midnight at home. I’m exhausted, but, then, I’m always exhausted lately. I guess it comes with the whole pregnancy territory thing. I’m nauseous, too—something else that’s pretty standard these days.
We rent a car and he drives us the half hour to his mom’s place, a sprawling mansion in the Detroit suburb of Birmingham. He has a key to the house, and he lets us in. He must’ve called her to let her know we were on our way since she left a light on, but the house is mostly dark and quiet as we move quietly through it toward the stairs. Together we haul the suitcases up since neither of us can really do it alone, and then he leads me toward a bedroom.
He flips on the light, and I never really thought about what sort of room a young Luke might’ve grown up in. I wonder how long his parents have lived here, and when he last lived here, and even when he last stayed here.
The furniture is dark wood and the bedding is navy blue. The walls are painted a light blue and are covered in framed jerseys. All Dalton, all number eighty-four, but in several different colors that probably represent high school, college, and eventually the Aces.
If they weren’t proud of him...those Aces jerseys would never have made it to the wall. I refrain from pointing that out.
Instead, I wander over to his dresser, where trophies litter the entire dark wood surface. They seem to go on double in the reflection of the mirror. Each trophy has a different figure at the top, but one thing is the same on all of them: every single mini person holds a football. There are a few medals set on top of the dresser, too, and there’s no dust, which tells me that even if he hasn’t been in here for years, someone has.
The medals appear to be from marathons. I didn’t even know he was a runner.
I glance at him in the mirror, and I watch as he walks over to the entertainment center. He picks up one of the two photographs set on top and stares at it, and I’m curious enough to walk over to look with him.
I spot a young Luke, maybe early-teens, and a mid-teen Jack. In the middle is Tim, his arm around each of his son’s shoulders as Luke holds up a huge fish with a grin. They seem to be on a boat, and they look like the Three Musketeers.
“Did you catch that?” I ask.
Luke nods. “My dad was so proud of me.” His voice breaks a little at the end. “It was the summer before my brother started high school. I remember