That third knock never came.
Drake never got up to check – they both needed time to miss each other and to recognize if this was going to work or not.
“I sure hope it does…” he whispered painfully, still staring at the front door as he began popping his knuckles once more… waiting.
Drake wasin a hotel near Wrigley Field, mourning so many losses. His team noticed he wasn’t in his groove, the reporters commented on him losing his ‘mojo’, and they lost the game. All of that paled in comparison to what he was dealing with on the inside.
Showering, he tried to pick himself up by singing at the top of his lungs – but that didn’t work. Getting out of the shower, he texted his brothers and his mom, just a general thing – proof of life, as Pete would say, and then he got this weird look on his face. His brother had nearly died, and that little comment was a brutal reminder of harsher moments from the past.
Chi-townnn…
And you lost.
Sheesh – tough crowd.
Y’all be sweet to each other – family is everything.
Mom, we’re just teasing Drake, and he knows it.
Do I? Do I really? Maybe I’m in the dumps because we lost…
Maybe we should add Steffi on here?
Ohhh, I like this idea!
You would, Mama…
Watch it, young man.
Yes ma’am…
*cough* whuuuped
*cough* mama’s boy…
Ha ha ha – funny (actually not funny)
Drake sighed and then exited the screen, ignoring the flurry of beeps where he was already positive he was the butt of some joke between the family – and texted Steffi.
Hey
And saw three dots appear almost immediately.
Hey yourself
Drawing in a deep breath, Drake immediately clicked the FaceTime request and saw her appear. She looked tired, had bags under her eyes, and was curled up in that recliner wearing that ratty flannel nightgown he hated – and said as much.
“I’m gonna burn that nightgown.”
“Why are you calling me when you’re naked?”
The lack of enthusiasm in her voice and the way her eyes glistened hit home – hard. He looked down, looked at the phone, and then gave a small, weak, scared laugh as he shrugged. Her wan smile was enough to cause a flicker of happiness in his soul.
“Wishful thinking on your part, maybe?” Drake teased softly, carefully. “I’m wearing a bath towel because I just got out of the shower, harassed my brothers a little bit, and then bailed on the conversation. What’s your excuse?”
“I’m sitting here, pouting, and trying to figure out how to apologize to my best friend,” she admitted softly – and his heart clenched in his chest. Her eyes were large, soulful, like she was some ethereal creature unsure if it was safe to emerge from her flower.
There was no safer place, he thought emotionally, and cleared his throat before speaking, keeping his voice even and not accusatory in the slightest.