forever.”
I drew in a sharp breath, pulling my hand from his. My skin still felt warm, even without his fingers against mine. “I’ll think about it,” I told him finally, reaching for the door handle.
If I was going to be honest with myself, part of me wanted to go and watch Walsh pitch. But I was really good at lying to myself, so I was convinced that if I went, it’d only be because I couldn’t risk missing anything newsworthy. No other reason.
I slipped free of the car, stretching my legs. We’d been sitting in there for a long time. “Goodnight, Walsh.”
“Goodnight, Sophia,” he responded, and when I turned around to shut the door, I saw that Walsh’s hand rested on his seat buckle, as if he’d been just about to pop it free.
Chapter Twelve
Sunday morning, my phone chimed with a text from Walsh mere minutes before I headed out the door for the baseball game. I managed not to get lost in article-writing, to keep an eye on the clock so I could make it to the field before they started.
My eyes scanned my phone’s screen. I’m not playing today. Home sick. Text you later.
Much to my surprise, disappointment tugged my insides. Not about missing the baseball game.
I wasn’t going to see Walsh today, and that was what was bothering me.
I wondered how sick he had to be to miss a baseball game. For how much he loved playing, I imagine he’d have to be pretty sick. Or did he really ask Coach to put the other pitcher in? There was no way of knowing, not unless I asked.
An idea burst through my mind, and before I gave it a second thought, I headed out the door to get my bike.
* * *
Walsh’s house from the night of the party was a haunting fairytale, with lights like pixies dancing around his property, lulling music leaking from the foundation. In the daylight, it was much less dramatic, like somehow the life had bled from the walls.
I realized, as the breeze whisked across my sweaty skin, that I probably should’ve called. I didn’t know why this felt different. After our conversation in his car, something changed. Or at least it felt that way to me. And whatever that change was, it left me wondering where we stood.
Which was dumb, because this was a fake relationship, and I shouldn’t have even been caring, but here I was.
My tires skidded on the concrete when I slowed to a stop, sliding off the seat. I took the tin can out of the basket and laid the handlebars down along the pavement, turning to stare up at his house. No faces peeked out from any windows, and no doors opened. No one was coming to greet me. I guess I’d have to pull on my big girl pants.
Stepping up to the door, my breathing went shallow. The idea of knocking made me nervous—why had I done this? Putting myself out there wasn’t my thing. I should’ve just sent back a text with a frowny face and went about my day.
I pressed the little doorbell that was set into the brick, my heart jumping as the sound resonated from the other side of the door.
Not even a minute passed before the oak swung inward, revealing a short woman with graying hair. “Hello, can I help you?” She looked up at me expectantly, her voice soft.
I rolled the tin can in my hand anxiously, the contents sloshing around inside. There wasn’t any resemblance to Walsh in her features, and she wasn’t as young as I’d been expecting. She looked like she was in her early sixties. “Hi. Is Walsh home?”
“Walsh?” The woman quickly touched the hem of her shirt, straightening it almost uneasily. “He’s at his baseball game, dear.”
Uh. Did he lie to me? Had he changed his mind about wanting me to come? “I-I’m sorry. I was told he was home sick.”
“Well, hmm.” She rubbed her arm, looking around the porch. “I don’t know—”
“Hey.”
I looked up at the sound of a low voice, conjured by the mere mention of his name.
Walsh looked—off. Like he’d just rolled from bed. He really did look sick, with purple circles under his eyes, hair tousled and sticking up. He was wearing sweatpants and a graphic tee that had a hole near the collar. His skin was pale, his pale hair washing him out.
I’d never seen him so un-put together in his life. “It’s okay, Janet. I know I said not