Playing for Real - Book 2

Chapter 24

Quinn 

My boots crunch against the soft blanket of snow covering the ground as I walk across the Harvard campus. I just finished an exam and am confident I have aced it. I've come a long way since what Cash and I call "the incident." My head's healed, my strength is back, and Cash has been my rock through everything.

After Daniela's arrest, I decided not to press charges. Instead, I asked that she be professionally treated for her grief and any other mental health issues she may have developed. She was sent back by U.S. immigration to Thompson, Newfoundland, where she spent a few months in the mental health ward and continues to attend therapy. Once she was released, Anna and Jake, Cash's long-time friends, took her in. Cash still tries to keep in contact with Daniela, calling her every few weeks to ensure she is doing well. Recently, she told Cash she had started teaching dance classes again. I was happy to hear things were looking up for her. I do wish the best for Daniela.

I wrap my scarf around my neck and flip up the hood on my jacket to try and keep warm. It's cold even for December in Boston. I make it onto the T and grab a seat near the door. I can't wait to get home.

Cash is on the road with the Boston Hackers. He's killing it in the pros. I haven't seen him in a few weeks. We FaceTime every night, and I watch his games on TV, but it's not the same as having him here with me. We've texted a few times today, just brief exchanges of "how ya doing" and "I miss you" and not much else. He's oddly elusive but probably tired from all the travelling. I'm dying to see him. Hold him. Kiss him. Make love to him. I'm picking him up at the airport in a few hours.

It's pretty dark when I step out of the subway station. We live in the Jamaican Plan neighbourhood, where the housing stock combines grand, old Victorians, triple-deckers and single-family homes. The sprawling green space characterizes the historic area, and the Jamaica Pond is a focal point for locals. It is perfect for jogging and, of course, dog walking Bexley.

I pass the usual coffee shops, restaurants and stores, enjoying every moment of this beautiful city we've made our home. As I walk up the steps to our townhouse, I anticipate the warm taste of Cash's skin on my tongue. His hands weaving into my hair as I work his boxers down his hips. I even fantasize about the desperate relief I will see in his eyes when I pick him up at the airport—because he missed me. I'll probably melt instantly from his touch.

Counting the minutes until I see him, I push open the front door into a dark, empty foyer. I flick the light switch in the dark foyer, but nothing happens. That's weird. The lightbulb must be burnt out. I place my school bag on the floor, slide off my jacket, and kick off my snow-dusted boots.

"Bexley?" I call out, padding forward in my bare feet

Strange. Usually, she's jumping up on me as soon as I walk through the door.

A soft glow crawls across the floorboards as I round the corner. I freeze in my tracks when I step into the living room. Candles consume the entire living space. Like they would on an episode of The Bachelor, they cover the coffee table, fireplace mantel, floor, end tables, and bookcases. EVERYWHERE. I look down when I feel my toes brush against velvety rose petals sprinkled all over the floor. I'm in awe. I take a cautious step forward and see a brown box tied with pink ribbon on the table. On the top of the box, I spot words in black marker in Cash's familiar messy handwriting: OPEN ME.

What the heck is going on?

I pick up the package with trembling fingers, pulling it onto the couch. I tear through the brown paper wrapping and pink ribbon to reveal an old shoebox with a note on top.

Mittens, in you, I found a love I never believed could be real, or I'd be so lucky to have. I can't remember how I ever lived without you.

My heart races as my mind tries to figure out if this means what I think it does. Inside the shoebox is a single pink-frosted cupcake and another note.