Read Online Homestands (Chicago Wind #1) by Sally Bradley - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Sally Bradley
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calling his friends. They stopped and turned. “Don’t come here again.”
“Mike, what am I supposed to—”
He held his arms out from his sides before turning and jogging away.
For the rest of the week, Meg stayed home, unable to end the nightmare.
By Saturday, she had to escape. She left home midmorning and drove to a decorating store to think. Just after one o’clock, she returned to the empty garage and carried her bags and Subway meal into the townhouse. At least Mike hadn’t cancelled their credit cards.
The moment she stepped inside, a familiar scent met her.
Mike’s cologne lingered in the air.
“Mike?” She dropped her bags on the table and ran through the first floor. “Mike?”
Maybe he was upstairs.
She rushed to the second floor, calling his name.
No answer.
In her bedroom, she stopped in the doorway, studying Mike’s side of the room.
His dresser—
Her hand clutched her throat. “No.” She stepped closer to Mike’s dresser. All of his drawers were open slightly, the way he left them that annoyed her so much. Only this time no socks stuck out. No T-shirt corners hung over the drawer’s edge. She tugged at his top drawer, knowing before it flew open that it would be empty.
They were all empty. So was his half of the closet. And his side of the bathroom.
Even his pillow was gone.
An ache spread through Meg, down her arms and legs, into her head and fingers. She sat on the edge of the bed and ran her hand over the empty spot, ignoring the tears that trickled down her face. “Why?”
He’d left without warning, without reason. Why was he doing this?
Downstairs, the doorbell rang. Hope rose within her that it was Mike, but reality gripped her. Of course it wasn’t him. If he’d forgotten something, he’d walk in and take it.
She wiped her cheeks with her hands and rubbed them dry on her shorts before taking her time down the stairs. She didn’t want to talk. Maybe by the time she got to the door, whoever it was would be gone.
But when she looked through the peephole, a man not much older than Mike still stood on the doorstep.
She shook her hair, took a deep breath, and opened the door.
“Meghan Connor?” he asked.
“Yes?”
He held out a manila envelope. “This is for you.” He waited while she opened the screen, but as soon as the envelope was in her hands, he darted for his car at the curb.
Her hands shook. She seated herself on the couch and forced herself to open the envelope.
Divorce papers.
The tears returned, building from a steady stream to sobs that sucked air from her lungs. Her stomach lurched and Meg ran to the bathroom, crying beside the toilet until she threw up.
An hour later, eyes swollen, nose plugged, and legs trembling, Meg walked from room to room, laying each picture of Mike face down in its place.
That scum.
In the living room she turned the eight-by-ten picture of them walking down the aisle, hand in hand as they grinned at each other, to the wall before sitting on the couch beneath it and calling a locksmith.
Next time he’d face her.
Chapter Fourteen
Mike could hear and feel the music before the doors to the Cleveland club opened. Eager for warmth, he trailed three teammates inside, Travis Benes, Will Hamrick, and Brett Burkholder, all as bored as he was.
Pressure built below his eyes, and Mike bit off a sneeze, then another as he looked around. A crowd packed the place—a good thing, he tried to convince himself. A crowd meant he’d be harder to notice.
Or was it more people to hassle him?
Some of the guys joked that he’d turned into a hermit, but he had his reasons. Wherever he went, people hounded him, men wanting autographs and women wanting… numerous things. Even now three women at a nearby table made no attempt to hide their availability.
He detoured away from them. Wait until they found out about his personal life. That’d send them running. “What am I doing here?” he asked.
Travis made a face.
“Mike, what am I supposed to—”
He held his arms out from his sides before turning and jogging away.
For the rest of the week, Meg stayed home, unable to end the nightmare.
By Saturday, she had to escape. She left home midmorning and drove to a decorating store to think. Just after one o’clock, she returned to the empty garage and carried her bags and Subway meal into the townhouse. At least Mike hadn’t cancelled their credit cards.
The moment she stepped inside, a familiar scent met her.
Mike’s cologne lingered in the air.
“Mike?” She dropped her bags on the table and ran through the first floor. “Mike?”
Maybe he was upstairs.
She rushed to the second floor, calling his name.
No answer.
In her bedroom, she stopped in the doorway, studying Mike’s side of the room.
His dresser—
Her hand clutched her throat. “No.” She stepped closer to Mike’s dresser. All of his drawers were open slightly, the way he left them that annoyed her so much. Only this time no socks stuck out. No T-shirt corners hung over the drawer’s edge. She tugged at his top drawer, knowing before it flew open that it would be empty.
They were all empty. So was his half of the closet. And his side of the bathroom.
Even his pillow was gone.
An ache spread through Meg, down her arms and legs, into her head and fingers. She sat on the edge of the bed and ran her hand over the empty spot, ignoring the tears that trickled down her face. “Why?”
He’d left without warning, without reason. Why was he doing this?
Downstairs, the doorbell rang. Hope rose within her that it was Mike, but reality gripped her. Of course it wasn’t him. If he’d forgotten something, he’d walk in and take it.
She wiped her cheeks with her hands and rubbed them dry on her shorts before taking her time down the stairs. She didn’t want to talk. Maybe by the time she got to the door, whoever it was would be gone.
But when she looked through the peephole, a man not much older than Mike still stood on the doorstep.
She shook her hair, took a deep breath, and opened the door.
“Meghan Connor?” he asked.
“Yes?”
He held out a manila envelope. “This is for you.” He waited while she opened the screen, but as soon as the envelope was in her hands, he darted for his car at the curb.
Her hands shook. She seated herself on the couch and forced herself to open the envelope.
Divorce papers.
The tears returned, building from a steady stream to sobs that sucked air from her lungs. Her stomach lurched and Meg ran to the bathroom, crying beside the toilet until she threw up.
An hour later, eyes swollen, nose plugged, and legs trembling, Meg walked from room to room, laying each picture of Mike face down in its place.
That scum.
In the living room she turned the eight-by-ten picture of them walking down the aisle, hand in hand as they grinned at each other, to the wall before sitting on the couch beneath it and calling a locksmith.
Next time he’d face her.
Chapter Fourteen
Mike could hear and feel the music before the doors to the Cleveland club opened. Eager for warmth, he trailed three teammates inside, Travis Benes, Will Hamrick, and Brett Burkholder, all as bored as he was.
Pressure built below his eyes, and Mike bit off a sneeze, then another as he looked around. A crowd packed the place—a good thing, he tried to convince himself. A crowd meant he’d be harder to notice.
Or was it more people to hassle him?
Some of the guys joked that he’d turned into a hermit, but he had his reasons. Wherever he went, people hounded him, men wanting autographs and women wanting… numerous things. Even now three women at a nearby table made no attempt to hide their availability.
He detoured away from them. Wait until they found out about his personal life. That’d send them running. “What am I doing here?” he asked.
Travis made a face.
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