“That’s mine.” She smiled, tapping Watson’s nose. His instant purr made her smile. “At least you love me. Don’t you?” Watson meowed, then leapt off the table and darted beneath a couch.
Was she too trusting? Stupid might be more appropriate.
She’d written, deleted, and rewritten more than a dozen texts to him but hadn’t been able to hit send.
Brock had always protected his privacy. Aunt Mo had said as much at the hospital.
But that was before his ACL tear and Ricky Ames.
For all of Krystal’s and Travis’s teasing, she respected the power of social media—of a devoted fandom. Momma said his agent had big plans for him. Plans on and off the field, Momma had said.
It wasn’t that long ago that her family had watched the rise of Mickey Graham. He had no talent or class or creativity, but he’d dated Krystal for one hot minute. Mickey Graham and his manager had milked his heartbreak long and hard enough to earn him a platinum alb
um.
Was she really just a part of his career plan? It hurt to think that was what this was about.
“Morning,” Travis said. “Food?”
“Tea.” She held up her mug. “And coffee. Help yourself to food.”
He flopped down onto one of the leather couches and sighed. “My head is killing me.”
“Sorry, Trav.” Her phone vibrated.
He peered at her with bloodshot eyes. “What’s wrong with you?” He held up a finger. “Wait.” He pushed himself up, made a cup of coffee, shuffled to the table, and collapsed onto the bench again. “You look like shit.”
“If you’re trying to cheer me up, it’s working.” She blew on her tea.
“Was that sarcasm?” He rubbed his eyes. “You? You are Emmy, right?”
“Good morning?” Krystal came down the hall, holding hands with Jace.
Clementine trailed behind, looking all over until she spied Watson. Watson ran to her, meowed once, and the two of them began their morning ritual of racing back and forth down the hallway.
“That’s not helping my hangover.” Travis groaned.
“Go back to your own bus.” Krystal rolled her eyes. “Want some coffee, babe?”
Jace nodded, kissing her cheek.
“Babe?” Travis rested his head on the seat. “Krys, come on. Knock that shit off. Focus. We have a problem. Look at Emmy. Just look at her.”
Jace and Krystal both turned to look at her.
“What’s up, Em?” Krystal asked, her brow furrowing. “You’re all…frowny?”
Emmy shook her head, ignoring yet another ping from her phone. “Tired.”
Travis grabbed it, turned it over, and swiped through the screen. “Does it have something to do with this?” He handed the phone to Krystal. “I’d be upset over having Bremmy as my hashtag, too.” He shuddered. “As a man, that’s painful to say.”
“I didn’t start it. Why would I?” Emmy Lou hadn’t meant to snap, but she did.
And everyone noticed.
“Whoa, so—” Travis was interrupted by Clementine and Watson’s circuit around the seating area before thundering back down the hallway. “That’s gotta stop.” Travis pressed his fingers to his temple.
“Shush.” Krystal slid into the booth beside him, dismissing Travis with a wave of her hand. “Now, spill.” She finished scrolling through the pictures. “Who took all of these? Was someone wearing a spy camera or something?” She handed off Emmy’s phone to Jace.