Page 47 of On the Breakaway

“Okay.” I make a decision. “You’re coming to my place.”

Her head snaps toward me. “Your place?”

“You need water, food, and somebody making sure you don’t choke on your own vomit in your sleep.”

“Um, I’m not sure.” She looks conflicted about the idea of going to my place.

I add, “You can sleep in my spare bedroom. The bed’s already made.”

I expect another argument. Instead, she goes quiet and climbs into the passenger seat.

She spends most of the drive staring out the window, looking oddly thoughtful for somebody who spent the last hour speaking entirely in riddles. Streetlights slide across her face in soft flashes while I grip the steering wheel until my knuckles turn white.

“Are you going to explain what you meant earlier?” I ask.

“Hm?”

“The Ikea dresser thing.”

Instead of answering, she mumbles, “My ex was a guy like you.”

I frown. “Guy like me.”

“Optimist energy.” She waves vaguely in my direction without looking at me. “Big hockey captain. Nice to everybody. Made people feel safe.”

I stare harder at the road ahead. “That’s not exactly an insult.”

“It is when it was all an act.”

The words settle heavily between us after that.

Because for all the shit Avery gives me, for all the times she’s looked at me like I’m personally offending her by existing, I suddenly wonder if this has been sitting underneath all of it the entire time.

I don’t know what her ex did to her exactly. I only know that every time she talks about relationships, there’s this underlying flinch beneath the sarcasm. And selfishly, whether she hates me or not, I can’t stand that anyone would look at me and see somebody capable of making someone feel that way.

Once we park, I struggle to get her up to my apartment because she keeps stopping to comment on random things like she’s seeing them for the first time in human history.

“Your elevator is very shiny.”

“Thanks.”

“Do hockey players get issued these apartments when drafted?”

“It comes free with the ego.”

“Hm. That tracks.”

Despite myself, a smile spreads across my face by the time I unlock the front door.

I mentally remind myself that Avery drives me insane. She’s a tornado in human form, impossible to manage, and just because she’s drunk tonight doesn’t mean tomorrow she’ll be any different.

I guide her down the hall and flick on the guest bedroom light. Warm amber light spills across the made bed, catching on the dark comforter and the stack of books I tossed onto the dresser and never bothered putting away. Avery pauses in the doorway, blinking slowly like she’s trying to process the existence of the room itself.

I motion toward the bathroom across the hall. “Bathroom’s through there. Try not to fall over. I’ll grab you clothes to sleep in.”

She hums before wandering toward the bathroom across the hall with slow, unsteady steps while I head for my room.

When I shut my bedroom door behind me, I drag both hands down my face.