Page 53 of Slapshot Baby

We go to the beach where the team apparently held an off-season barbecue. To the arena where he played, walking the concourse while he touches the walls like he's reading braille.

Each place gives him a feeling, a sense of having been there within the last four years.

I'm there for all of it, beside him when something connects and beside him when nothing does.

And that's the problem.

Because at some point in the midst of all of it, I stopped being Kai’s friend who helps with recovery and became the person he reaches for when the world feels unsteady.

His hand finds my arm when a memory flickers.

His fingers brush my lower back when we walk through a doorway.

He stands too close when I'm writing on the whiteboard, his breath warm against my hair.

One evening, I'm updating the whiteboard with his therapy schedule for the following week. He's behind me, leaning against the kitchen island, watching.

"You missed Thursday," he says.

"Thursday's blank. You don't have anything."

"I have you on Thursday."

I keep writing. "I'm not an appointment."

"You show up almost at the same time every day. You bring food. You have a set routine." His voice drops. "If that's not an appointment, what is it?"

I turn around. He's closer than I expected. He must have moved from the island while I was writing because he's right there.

His hand comes up and rests on my hip, fingers curving against the denim of my jeans, his thumb tracing a slow line along the waistband.

Heat spills down my side.

"You could stay for dinner," he says. "Actually sit down instead of eating standing up over the sink like you're on a timer."

"I eat standing up because sitting down feels too..."

"Comfortable?"

"Domestic."

His other hand finds my other hip, both thumbs now tracing matching lines. My body tilts toward him like he's pulling me by an invisible thread.

"What's wrong with domestic?"

"Nothing. If you're a couple."

His thumbs stop. "And we're not?"

"We're not."

"Because you decided that."

"Because it's the right call."

"For who?"

My hands land on his chest. I put them there to maintain distance but they're not pushing.