Forevermore

Seven

I wake up on one of the most comfortable mattresses I've ever laid on. A cold draft settles over my arms and I pull the blanket draped over me just a little tighter.

Exhaustion still hangs over me like a cloud from–

Wait. I didn't fall asleep in a bed.

My eyes shoot open and I sit up.

There is a man next to me.

A. Man. Next. To. Me.

Fear seizes my entire body, except I quickly begin to recall last night; to remember that Ezra and I will be sharing a bed again tonight.

There wasn't any other option. I wasn't–am not–going to stay at a stranger's house nor a hotel alone. Why would I force someone else to do that as well?

It's only one more night. Plus, I don't mind Ezra. This isn't that bad of a predicament to be in.

His steady breaths are currently the only sound in the room, otherwise, he sleeps like a rock. Perfectly still, not snoring, and thankfully, he keeps to his side of the bed.

Glad to have established that.

I throw off the cotton blanket that he must've pulled from a closet or something. Or maybe I got it in the middle of the night? I don't remember.

Quietly, I exit the bedroom, making sure to be careful as I close the door behind me.

The hallway that I'm now in is adorned with photos of tons of different old people. It is deeply unsettling and I have to ignore the way it feels like they're all trying to crawl into my soul while I make my way down.

I enter the main room. It's an odd mix of a living room, a dining room, and a kitchen. The counters, oven, and fridge are pushed up the white brick to the right. Two couches facing each other, and two lounge chairs on either side, sit in the middle of the living room. All that furniture is a pale yellow. Like the color of egg nog. Behind the sofa, a light brown dining table is pushed against the black wall with a bench for sitting.

That's where I see my dad sitting now, flipping through a magazine. Probably a sports magazine.

There's a few glass paneled windows that lead out to a porch with outdoor seating and a beautiful view of a garden that I couldn't see last night.

That should be fun to explore later, but the game today starts at eleven so I probably don't have much time to do so beforehand.

"Good morning," my dad says to me. "Do you want me to wake the boys up so we can go get some breakfast?"

"What time is it?"

"Eight in Atlanta. Five in Seattle."

"We probably shouldn't wake them," I say. "They took a hard loss."

1-4 was the final score. Everyone on the team was pissed afterwards, and my dad was too. Sometimes my dad does hold Lucas to an outrageous standard, but last night he really was performing awfully. As was the majority of the team.

And that's coming from someone who barely knows how to hit a baseball.

"Don't remind me." Dad lets out a sigh. "Beside the little hiccup towards the end, Ezra was the only one who had his head in the game last night. I don't know what got into those boys." My father isn't a coach, but he is Nicholas Myles, so the players always seek him out as one. "Anyway, go get ready. There's a diner just down the street I want to try out and we're heading straight to the game after."

"Okay." I turn around and go back to the bedroom.

When I open the door, Ezra is leaning against the headboard, typing on his phone.