The Return Play: A Friends-to-Lovers Sports Romance by Mariah Dietz

Author:Mariah Dietz [Dietz, Mariah]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2022-09-11T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Three

Evelyn

Disappointment looms in my chest. I haven’t seen or heard from Hudson in three days, not since he came over and I told him I didn’t want to complicate things by kissing again.

I’m still kicking myself because I want to kiss him more than I want my next breath, but between Trinity’s constant pleas for me to come home and my uncertainties surrounding Ashland, combined with Hudson’s vague words, I know hitting the brakes was the right decision because our friendship means more than my impulses, and the severity of this heartbreak would devastate me.

Still, a petty and maybe selfish part of me had wanted him to tell me I was wrong. Insist that these feelings stirring between us, thicker than the humidity, are more than desire. I wanted him to tell me he wants me—picks me.

I release a long sigh as I finish getting ready, applying a second coat of mascara to my lashes before putting my makeup away and back under the bathroom sink. I head down the hall, brushing my fingers over the piano on my way to the kitchen. I’m dressed and ready for the day, though I’d rather still be in my pajamas, binging a show. Staying at my aunt’s makes me feel like a permanent guest, unable to get comfortable enough to relax like it’s summer break, even though the weather has me stuck inside today.

I stop at the end of the piano, the final picture catching my attention as it always does. The photograph conveys a thousand words I don’t know, yet feel, every time I look at it. My Aunt Pat is standing next to my grandma and their sister June. A hand on Aunt Pat’s shoulder has her looking to the side rather than at the camera, her smile radiant. There’s so much love and affection captured in the photo.

Footsteps on the stairs have my attention shifting to my Aunt Pat who appears with Teddy tucked under an arm, looking like an entirely different person than the version of her in the photo. I hardly see her except for each morning when she comes downstairs to get coffee and bring Teddy outside.

“Hi,” I call, setting the picture down.

She gives a slight lift of her chin, then turns the opposite way, taking the longer route to the kitchen, rather than pass by me. I tear my attention from the display of pictures and meet her in the kitchen where I give her a wide berth and start the coffeepot.

Aunt Pat fills a glass with water from the tap and moves to the cupboard, where she fills her palm with an array of colorful pills that she swallows with one drink.

“Would you like some breakfast?” I ask. “I was going to make eggs on toast like Grandma used to make.”

She closes her eyes and takes another drink, draining the glass before setting it down. “No, thanks,” she says, her voice hoarse.

I set a pan on the stove to heat up, straightening the salt and pepper shakers that don’t need to be straightened.

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