Play Along(111)

She’s smiling into the line as she talks to whoever just called her.

Her eyes find me, watching her from the same spot where I just told her I love her, and before I can watch anymore, she moves away from the door and out of eyesight.

“You okay, man?” Trav asks.

Through chattering teeth, Cody answers, “Cold as fuck and I can’t find my testicles, but I’ll be all right.”

“Not you, dumbass. I’m talking about Isaiah.”

“No,” I answer simply.

“Was that about the job offer?” Cody realizes.

They both cross the room to stand in front of me. I can feel them watching me with concern, but all my attention is stuck on the hallway outside this room.

I laugh to myself, but it holds no humor. “I don’t know why I thought I had more time with her.”

“Maybe they haven’t decided yet, and they’re just calling to let her know they’re not ready to make a final decision. Maybe they’ll wait until after the season is over.”

“They’re not.” I don’t even try to convince myself otherwise. I know in my gut what that call is about.

Trav pats me on the shoulder and Cody leaves me to stew during what feels like the longest five minutes of my life.

While she’s figuring out a timeline to move out of her apartment and catch a flight to the West Coast, I’m glued in my spot waiting for her to come back and tell me it’s over.

With my friends still somewhere in the room, the door finally opens.

That pretty auburn hair, those painted freckles I’m going to miss.

Kennedy stands there in the doorway, only looking at me when she says, “I didn’t get the job.”





Chapter 31


Isaiah


She didn’t get the job.

In what fucking world did she not get the job?

It’s the only question I’ve been able to ask myself over the last twenty-four hours.

I mean, did they not meet her? Notice how fucking smart that brain of hers is? Realize what an overachiever she is? How hard she works? She was so close to everything she wanted, and just like that, it’s gone.

The past twenty-four hours have been . . . strange. Between a day game today and watching Kennedy pretend she wasn’t upset while at work, to processing the outcome from that phone call and contemplating what that means for us in the future.

I barely slept.

On the other hand, she was out like a light, sleeping like a fucking baby on my chest last night. But I guess she just accepted her fate quicker than I did. Either that, or she’s never been allowed to show her disappointment growing up, and now doesn’t know how to.

I’m at a loss for how to wrap my head around it. It was never a question of whether Kennedy was going to move away. The only question I ever had was how I would survive when she did.

Everything we did was for this opportunity. The marriage, the acting that wasn’t really acting on my part. The months of being forced to share the same hotel room while waiting for her interview. The time we spent together that allowed me to really get to know her, to fall in love with her.

And I do. Fuck, do I love that woman.

And now she’s, once again, stuck working for a sexist lead doctor with no light at the end of the tunnel for getting out from under him.

Our marriage was a game, a stepping stone to better things for her.

We had a plan.

Then there’s the selfish part. My first reaction to the news and the silver lining constantly repeating itself. Contradictory to the disappointment I feel for her, I’ve also been racked with overwhelming relief.

Kennedy is staying in Chicago. I’m in Chicago. Nothing has to change between us. We can keep doing exactly what we’re doing now.

If that’s what she wants, I mean. I think that’s what she wants. I think she wants me.

No, she didn’t say anything in return when I told her I loved her, but that’s not why I said it in the first place. Besides, Kennedy has always been a few steps behind me in this relationship. I fell for her three years ago. I’m perfectly happy to wait for her to catch up.

But just because she doesn’t get to live out these new life experiences in a new city doesn’t mean I can’t keep giving them to her here. And even if she won’t admit it, I know she’s got to be upset and my specialty is making people smile. Her, specifically.

Knocking on her door, I wait for her to answer. I assumed the woman at reception would call up and let her know I was on the way, seeing as I had to be cleared by Kennedy’s list of approved guests.

Her building is bougie as fuck. White marbled floors. String music playing over the speakers in the lobby. An escort who walked me up to her floor.

“Who is it?” she calls out from behind her apartment door.

“It’s me, Ken.”

Utter confusion is the first thing I see as she opens the door. “What are you doing here? I was just packing a bag to bring to your place for the night.”

“Can I come in?”

Her eyes track my face and I watch her slender throat work through a swallow as she opens the widening into her apartment, allowing me inside.

It’s spotless, minus the handful of unfinished crossword puzzles discarded on the entryway table. As if every time she came back here, she realized she had been too preoccupied to do one so she tossed it aside, only for her to never pick it up again.