Page 83 of The Christmas Dash

I nod, and he holds his phone to his ear and walks out of the gym.

A feeling of foreboding settles over me like a polar vortex, but I shove it aside.

Ivy and I settle into a rhythm of supervising the team and their fans. We let them have their moments and only step in when absolutely necessary . . . like when one little girl started to try to eat the hot glue from the glue gun.

A couple minutes after we get that fiasco sorted out, my phone vibrates. I fish it out to find a message from Calvin.

Calvin

Sorry I didn’t text you like I said I would. The past week has been crazy. How about this upcoming Thursday for our date?

Shoot.

I stuff my phone in my back pocket again. I’ll deal with that later.

Gabe reappears, and he’s frowning.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” He sighs. “I just have to head home for a bit.”

“Is everything okay with your mom?” I ask, ten ways Elena could have reaggravated her foot flying to my head. I pan the crowd, seeking her out, but I don’t spot her.

When my gaze lands back on Gabe, he looks puzzled. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“You just said home and I figured . . .” It dawns on me then. Not his home in Dasher Valley. His home home. In Nashburg. I feel like an idiot. “Never mind.”

Gabe doesn’t draw attention to my oversight. “The network that’s broadcasting my Christmas special insists we do some in-person blocking and rehearsal this weekend. They want me first thing in the morning, so I’ve got to catch a flight out of here.”

A cold feeling of dread seeps through my veins. This is everything I hate about fame. Gabe belongs to a different world. He goes where he’s told, when he’s told to.

“You’ll be back, though, right?” Ivy pipes up, cutting off my spiral.

Gabe nods. “Yeah. Definitely. This is just for a couple days.” He looks at me. “You okay?”

I muster up a smile. “Of course. Yeah. I’ll look in on your mom while you’re gone. Tomorrow’s my day to drop off a meal anyway.”

Gabe looks relieved. “That would be great. Thanks, Bethy.” He checks the time on his phone. “I have to go and pack. My manager got me on a ten o’clock flight out of Milwaukee.”

“I’ll walk you out.”

Gabe smiles down at me.

“Take your time.” Ivy wiggles her eyebrows at us.

Gabe grabs for my hand. “I’ve gotta pick up my guitar.”

“Of course. Yeah. Sure.” I’m on autopilot as he tugs me along, through the throngs of people. He stops to make conversation, snap a few pictures. Pretty sure Wallace takes a photo of Gabe and me together, but I don’t know for sure.

Even when Gabe has to let go of my hand to sign a fan’s receipt or grab for his guitar case, he keeps me within range—guiding me by the elbow, stepping back and placing a hand on the small of my back.

I’m buoyed by his obvious attention, but I still can’t shake the fear that all these admirers of his instill in me. That, and the fact that he’s leaving.

Just like before. Just like my parents. And, though I don’t like to lump them into this, just like my grandparents—when they moved to Florida.

He’s not leaving forever.

There’s a tiny voice of reason in the back of my mind. I wish I could figure out how to amplify it.