Page 40 of The Curveball
“Sit down,” he says calmly, before crouching in front of me and placing his hands on my thighs. “What were we saying about feeling overwhelmed?” He cracks a smile, but I can’t bring myself to do the same.
“What the hell am I going to do?” I eventually manage to croak out.
“Stay with me,” he replies.
“I can’t do that,” I say feebly.
“Sure you can. I have a spare bedroom set up for my siblings that you can have. And my apartment is on a bus route so you can get to work on days I can’t drive you. I know it sounds crazy, and I’m sure that beautiful head of yours is overthinking this, but you’ll be safe, and best of all, dry, at my place.”
He stands up and holds out a hand.
“Do you trust me?”
I stare up at him for a long second and it hits me.I do trust him.
“Yes.”
The corners of his eyes crinkle when he smiles.
Standing up, I take his hand, the solid strength he’s offering, and accept it.
He gives my hand a light squeeze. “Come on, let’s grab your stuff and go home.”
Everything I brought with me, with the exception of the few things I had locked in the room safe, is soaked.
I pick up the dripping wet book I was reading and drop it in the garbage can Brady just emptied of water.
When it hits the bottom of the can with a wet thump, Brady makes a noise suspiciously like a whimper. I look over to see him frowning at the garbage can that now holds the destroyed book.
“They need to make waterproof books,” he mutters, and despite the stress of everything, I find my lips curving up in a smile.
The snacks and some of my toiletry items that are ruined soon follow the book into the garbage can.
“At least shoes and clothes can be washed and dried,” Brady says as he places another bag full of my stuff by the door.
“Yeah,” I reply numbly.
Eventually, with a car full of my wet belongings, we get to Brady’s apartment.
He parks, and I climb out of the car, my feet dragging. The exhaustion of working a busy night shift, the emotional highs of our midwife appointment, and the chaotic lows of my hotel being flooded has me feeling drained in a way I don’t think I’ve ever experienced in my life.
Brady comes around the car and holds out his hand. It only feels natural to take it, something I’ll think about later when I’m not this tired.
“I’ll let you in, then come back for your stuff.”
I pull him to a stop. “No, I’ll help. Let’s take some stuff up now.”
Fixing me with a stern look, Brady shakes his head. “Sage, you’re dead on your feet. You need to rest.”
I muster up the energy to respond with a lightness I don’t actually feel. “Wow, you’ve really got dad-mode figured out, haven’t you?”
But then, a wide yawn escapes me
“Fine, you win. I am tired.”
I let Brady lead me up to the apartment building and inside, all the way to the elevators. Only then do I drop his hand and sag against the wall.
“Okay, scratch that. I’m exhausted.” Another yawn breaks free.
