Play Along(99)

“Nothing. Nothing is wrong with you.”

“Kennedy isn’t answering.”

“Did she land from her flight?”

“Yeah. She texted Miller while the game was still going on that she had just landed.”

“Okay. Do you want me and Miller to drive by her apartment and check on her?”

“No! Don’t get in the fucking car.”

“Okay.” His voice is soothing. My brother, the caretaker. Always looking out for me when I can’t do it for myself. “Call her one more time.”

“It’s been eighteen years, Kai. Why can’t I just get over it?”

He sighs on the other end. “You’ll figure out how to change your thought process, Isaiah, but no one who knows you would ever tell you to just get over it. If Mom died in a plane crash, no one would think it odd if you didn’t like flying. If Mom died by drowning, no one would shame you for being afraid of the ocean. So how is this any different? Stop being hard on yourself, and give your mind a bit of grace, will you?”

I notice my heel creating the same, continuous pattern on the rug, as if the rhythmic movement could distract me, soothe me.

“I’m trying.”

“I know in my gut that Kennedy is okay and probably left her phone somewhere out of reach. I know it’s a simple answer, but it’s all right that your mind isn’t letting you believe that yet. One day you’ll figure it out, but it’s okay that today isn’t that day.”

I nod, even though he can’t see me. “Okay.”

“I love you. Call me if you need anything.”

“Love you.”

I hang up and stand from my couch. While walking in a full and complete circle of my living room, I dial my wife.

Once again, she doesn’t fucking answer.

“Answer the fucking phone, Ken,” I mutter for no one to hear.

There’s not a thought that goes through my mind to stop me, not a moment of hesitation that stills my hand when I grab my car keys off the kitchen counter and head for my front door.

I stuff my feet into a pair of shoes and swing the door open the same time the elevator down the hall lands on my floor.

My eyes immediately lift to her.

Kennedy is standing there inside, clothes entirely soaked through, hair stuck to her face as she huffs to catch her breath. Those damn Vans are on her feet but dripping water all over the elevator floor when she looks up to catch me watching her from the doorway of my apartment, car keys in hand.

“Hi,” she says between hard-earned breaths.

I exhale for the first time since this goddamn storm started.

A tsunami-sized wave of relief settles over me, my body physically slumping from the tension unwinding itself. But I can’t move, stunned into place that she’s here. She’s okay, and it isn’t until she jogs down the hall to me that I realize that all those anxious thoughts begin to settle and rationalize.

But still, there’s nothing soft or sweet about the way I ask, “What the hell are you doing here?”

She’s breathing heavy when she stops on the other side of my door, water soaking the floor around her.

“Did you fucking drive here?” I continue.

She shakes her head no, and that settles me for only a moment before she admits, “I ran here.”

“That’s eight fucking blocks, Kennedy.”

“Yeah. I’m aware.”

I can feel myself amping up again. Can feel the nerves sparking to life, fragile and raw. Does she not understand how dangerous it is to be out in weather like this? She’s dripping from head to toe, probably going to get sick because of it, and she’s lucky something worse didn’t happen to her on the way over here.

My fear speaks for me through my raised voice. “Why the hell would you do that?”

Her shoulders are straight, no hesitation in her tone when she says, “Because I didn’t want you to be alone.”

Her words bring me down again, the constant spike of fear accompanied by the drastic come down is spiraling my emotions out of control. My eyes instantly burn. My throat constricts.

“Don’t fucking do that for me, Kenny.” My voice breaks on her name.

“I wanted to.” She shakes her head. “I don’t know why. I don’t know when it changed. But you always tell me to do what feels good, and I’ve never felt better than when I’m with you.”

I inhale a sharp breath, trying to calm myself down, trying not to let her see how much it means to me that even knowing I’m going to be at my worst, she’s here. Even when my mind plays tricks on me, she validates my fears.

Even when others would call me irrational, laugh off a silly summer storm, she ran instead of getting in her car to check on me.

She reaches out, hand wrapping around mine to uncoil my fingers. They soften in hers, dropping my car keys into her palm.

“Why do you have these?”

“Because I couldn’t get a hold of you, and I needed to make sure you were okay.”

Her head tilts, her face softening. She slips my keys into her jacket pocket the same time she pulls out her phone. Water drips from it, so she wipes the screen, allowing it to display my endless missed calls.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t hear it on my way over because of the rain.”

“You scared me.”