Page 158 of Slapshot Baby

She stills then continues rubbing my back.

“Things will be fine. What do you want to do about it?”

I shake my head. "I don’t know. I don’t want to talk about it."

"Okay," she says softly.

She stays with me until my eyes grow heavy and I'm hovering somewhere between awake and asleep.

"I'm in the guest room if you need me."

A moment later, the hallway light clicks off.

I reach under my pillow and pull out Kai's hoodie. The cedar scent has faded, but it's still there when I press my nose into the collar and breathe deep enough.

I bunch it against my chest and close my eyes, like a child with a stuffed animal she's too old for but can't give up.

My face is swollen. My pulse is still too fast. My throat feels like I swallowed sandpaper.

But I'm handling it.

***

The next morning, I eat half a banana on the counter while Lucy pours coffee. Her hazel eyes scan my face.

"You look awful."

"Inspiring. Thank you. That's exactly the energy I needed at seven-thirty."

She doesn't laugh. I take the coffee, drink it standing, and check my phone.

Nothing from Kai.

He'll text today. He was angry. People say things when they're angry. He'll cool off and reach out because that's who he is.

I put the phone in my back pocket and drive to the studio.

The studio Kai bought with honey oak floors he had refinished before he handed me the key on its leather tag while watching my face like my reaction mattered more to him than the gift.

I set my iPad on the drafting table and pull up Laura's renovation file.

The kitchen layout needs refining. I sketch sightline options for the island placement, adjusting angles to give Laura the view of the living room she wants. Pendant heights. Counter depths. The workflow triangle between stove, sink, and fridge.

My stylus moves clean and certain. My lines are precise.

My phone sits face-up on the drafting table beside my elbow, the screen still dark.

By noon I've finished the kitchen plan, started the guest room ceiling proposal, and picked up my phone eleven times. Not that I’m counting.

My thumb hits the power button before I even register the impulse, like a reflex that skips my brain entirely.

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

Fine! He's at practice. He's busy.

I eat a granola bar. I call it lunch.

Day two. Quiet.