Play Along(110)

I pump my brows across the room at him.

He groans. “Literally the only thing keeping his ego in check was that you didn’t like him, Kennedy. What the hell are we supposed to do now?”

“Is my time up yet?” Cody calls out.

“Four minutes.”

The door to the training room swings open, and Dr. Fredrick stills in the threshold when he spots us. “What’s going on?”

“Ice bath,” Cody grits out.

I don’t respect him enough to look at him when I say, “Stretching out still.”

His attention swings to Kennedy. “Why didn’t you tell me there were still players in here? You were supposed to have the room emptied out and cleaned up an hour ago.”

She opens her mouth to answer, but Travis speaks up first. “We asked her to stay back and keep the room open. It’s our fault, not hers.”

Dr. Fredrick’s jaw tenses, attention on Kennedy when he speaks. “Well, since you like being in here so much, you can go ahead and be the one to mop the floors and deep clean the equipment when they’re done. Supplies are in the closet.”

Kennedy silently nods in agreement.

He looks at all three of us, then turns on his heel to leave without giving Kennedy a second glance.

I watch her shoulders loosen as soon as he’s gone. For her, I can’t wait for the day she doesn’t have to deal with him ever again.

“Sorry, Ken,” Cody apologizes.

“We’ll help you,” Trav cuts in.

She doesn’t answer, just shakes her head, and continues to scroll on her computer.

Standing from the ground, I find my way behind her, hooking an arm over the front of her shoulders and placing a kiss on top of her head. “You okay?”

“He’s such a fucking prick.”

“I know,” I soothe. “But soon, you won’t have to deal with him anymore.”

Once again, she doesn’t answer.

“What are you researching today?”

She shuts her computer, turning around to face me, her legs open on either side of mine.

Her smile is cautious, her voice hushed for only us to hear. “Actually, I was chatting to an old friend of mine from undergrad. She’s a psychologist now.”

Kennedy lets the word psychologist hang in the air as I take a seat next to her on the table, our backs to my friends.

“Chatting to her about what?”

Her eyes roam over my face, her tone apprehensive. “I was hoping she might have some techniques that could help you when . . .”

When I can’t think straight because my anxiety is telling me about the worst-case scenarios.

I swallow. “What did she say?”

“She sent some articles over. Some research about cognitive behavioral therapy that she’s found to be helpful for her patients when they’re having bouts of anxiety. I was just typing it up for you in a more digestible way.”

I chuckle. “Dumbing it down, you mean.”

“No.” She smiles. “But the last thing I want is for you to have to rifle through medical research when your mind is playing tricks on you.”

Fuck, I love this girl.

“It could be helpful. You’ve said you wanted to work on it, and I thought maybe I could use my connections to help.” She’s so unsure, overexplaining herself. “But I didn’t want to bombard you with it, so it’s here, on my computer if you ever want it, but seriously, no pressure either way. I just—”

“Kenny.”

Brows furrowed with concern, she looks up at me.

“Thank you.” I run a palm over her hair. “That means so much to me. I’ve been meaning to make it a priority, maybe even go talk to someone. I’m going to use it. And thank you for simplifying it for me. I know you love your medical shit, but that’s not my thing.”

Leaning down, I press my lips to hers.

“If you ever did want to talk to someone, and you don’t have to if you’re not ready, but she said she’d be happy to meet with you over a video call anytime. Or even get you a referral if you want to see someone local to Chicago.”

“I love you.”

The words are out of my mouth before I can overthink them, but fuck it. They’ve been true for a long time already.

Her wide eyes shoot to mine, her lips slightly parting to say something in response.

“You know I do, Kenny.”

“Kennedy Kay Rhodes, whatever the fuck your name is these days!” Cody yells from the ice bath. “Is my time up?”

“For fuck’s sake, Cody! We’re in the middle of something.”

“Shit.” She looks at the time on her phone. “Yeah, you’re good.”

Just then, as we’re staring at her phone screen and sitting in the tension of my confession, a call comes in.

With a 415 area code.

From San Francisco.

“Answer it,” I encourage.

Her attention darts from me to the phone, back to me again.

“Answer the phone, baby.”

She hops off the training table, leaving her computer behind and heading straight for the exit. Just before she pushes the door open, she answers the phone and brings it to her ear.

“Hello?”

After that, there’s nothing. I can’t hear her conversation. Can’t listen to her reaction when she’s offered the job. All I can do is watch through the small glass window as she paces the hallway with the phone pressed to her ear.