But she always replied to Danny’s messages. Always. If he sent them after she’d gone to bed, she replied first thing in the morning. If she was training when he sent a message, she replied as soon as she picked up her phone. Not once had she made him wait longer than a few hours, and most of those times had been because of the time difference.

“Oh, princess,” he murmured, his heart swamped by a crashing wave of tenderness. “I’ll be first then. Forever, if that’s what it takes for you to feel safe.” Then he picked up his phone and sent her the emoji of a runner, adding a blast of wind behind her to indicate speed.

Just to let her know he was thinking of her.

It had been two months since Danny moved to Japan, and they’d talked every day since. Sometimes it was nothing more than a quick text, other times a longer conversation. Catie kept expecting him to get more sporadic in his communications or to leave her hanging in other ways, but he never had. Not once.

Until the day he did.

They’d made a time to meet up online and cook the same meal together—with Danny biting his tongue most of the time against her culinary crimes. Dorky, but it worked for them, was a way to stay connected that felt almost real.

Almost.

She missed touching him, missed having him around, missed his hugs most of all. But she could see how well he was doing in Japan, the stress melting off him.

Thanks to a little help from Laveni’s tech genius of a brother, she’d managed to subscribe to an online sports channel from Japan just so she could watch his games, and his last couple of games? Sparks of magic on the field, Danny doing things with his feet and the ball that stunned the opposition and had the crowd chanting his name.

Daniel Esera was on his way back to top form.

And the two of them? They seemed to be making it.

Except now as she waited for a call that was well past late. Knowing the app they used could be glitchy, she made a direct call instead.

No answer.

Her stomach dropped. He’d never bailed on her, she told herself and tried again. No response. Staring at her phone, her face hot, she thought about just leaving it and going off to do her own thing. No one got to do this to her, got to treat her as disposable.

But all those times he’d messaged her, the silly emojis, the woo-hoos after she clocked great times… it all counted. So she swallowed hard and sent him a message: Hey, hotshot, where are you?

Nothing.