“My luggage is packed,” she hollers from the room. I set my glass down on the table and head toward the bedroom. Since I returned from Chicago, I haven’t slept in here, opting for the guest bedroom. I don’t want Dessie to get the wrong idea. I may be here, but I don’t have a clue about what I’m doing.
“The car will be here in an hour,” I say, turning into my room. I stare into my closet. I used to look forward to going home, especially at Christmas. When I was ten, it became my favorite holiday, and now I have no desire to go at all.
“Do you want some help?” Dessie asks. She doesn’t wait for me to answer before coming in. She starts pulling clothes out of my closet, setting them on my bed. “What do you think we’ll do while we’re there?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Well, maybe it’d be a good time to get married since we’ll be in your hometown.”
I sit down on my bed and sigh. She’s been pushing for marriage since we flew back to Portland, reminding me her friends often comment on how she’s not engaged and now she’s pregnant, this seems like the right time.
“I’m sure Beaumont is beautiful at Christmas time.”
“It is. Listen, Dessie, I haven’t told my parents yet about the baby.”
“Why not?” she asks, sitting down next to me.
I rest my elbows on my knees and sigh. “I don’t know,” I tell her honestly. “Maybe because part of me wishes it weren’t true, while the other part wishes our situations were different. It has nothing to do with you, and everything to do with me.”
“Do you want me to leave?”
I glance at her from over my shoulder and shake my head. “No, I don’t.”
“Well, what can I do?”
“Nothing, Dessie. They’re my demons I need to work through. I’ll finish packing so we can go.”
She stands and heads toward the door. “Everything will be okay, Noah.”
I nod and feign a smile, waiting until she’s gone before I pull out my phone and scroll through the calls I recently made. Each one is to Peyton. Each one unanswered. For all I know, she’s changed her number. There isn’t anyone I can ask though, except her. Everyone would question why, if she did, in fact, change her number, wasn’t it given to me. I have a feeling she won’t be in Beaumont for Christmas, which leaves me no choice but to dwell on the fact I screwed up big time and she’s not willing to speak to me.
Pocketing my phone, I try to focus my attention on packing. I throw a few dressy items in my bag, but most of what’s going in there are jeans and sweats. I purposely leave my suit hanging in my closet. Maybe if I don’t have it, she won’t bring up marriage again.
By the door, her three pieces of luggage sit. I try not to think I’m under packing with my one bag, but clearly I am. Dessie comes out of the bedroom with another suitcase being towed behind her.
“Are you moving in with my parents or something?”
“These are presents.”
Right, presents, for Christmas. I’ve been so caught up in my personal drama I completely forgot to buy presents.
“I picked up things for your parents, grandparents and your grandma, your sister, as well as Mack, Aubrey, Mack and Amelie.”
“Wow. I think you thought of everyone.” Except for Peyton, Elle and Quinn, but I can’t imagine she wants to buy them anything. “I suppose we should go?”
“Or we wait another half hour until the car arrives,” she suggests, laughing.
“I’ll start taking these down.”
I open the front door and use my foot to keep it open. Dessie helps pile luggage into my arms and follows me out to press the button for the elevator. “This is going to be a great trip, Noah,” she says. I nod, thankful for the high-pitched ding that sounds when the doors are about to open.
When I arrive downstairs, I set our stuff down near the doorman. “Taking a trip, Mr. Westbury?”
“Heading home for the holidays now that the season is over.”
“Ah, yes. Rough year, but the fans are confident.”
I wish I were. “Thanks. I’ll be back with the rest of our luggage. The car should be here in thirty minutes or so.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Westbury.”
Instead of the elevator, I opt for the stairs. It seems to be the only way I can get my aggression out these days since I’m not actually allowed to go boxing or tackle anyone during practice. The thought of one-on-one with Trey Miller, my left tackle, is very appealing right about now. After my shitty performance to end the season, he’d probably take me up on the opportunity to kick my ass without repercussion.
I reach my floor with very little time to spare. Dessie is pacing the hallway with the rest of her luggage sitting outside our door. “I thought you forgot me,” she says, rushing to give me a hug.