"I figured."
"Got benched. Couldn't focus. Took a hit I should've seen coming."
"You okay?"
"Shoulder's gonna be spectacular tomorrow." I shifted the ice pack. "Not the point, though."
He didn't respond. I could hear myself breathe while he waited.
"I keep waiting for you to leave," I said finally. The words came out flat. "I know you said you're staying. I believe you meant it, but I also keep thinking—what if tomorrow you wake up and unchose it? What if your mom pushes harder? What if you realize I'm too much work?"
More silence.
His voice was still warm when he finally spoke. "Can I come over?"
"What?"
"To your place. Can I come over? This feels like the kind of conversation we should have in person."
My heart hammered. "You don't have to—"
"I know. I want to." A pause. "Unless you'd rather I didn't."
"Yeah," I said. "Okay. Yeah."
"Give me twenty minutes."
***
I had ten minutes left when I got home. My apartment needed cleaning. There was a yarn explosion on the couch, half-eaten banana bread on the counter, and three pairs of sweatpants draped over various furniture.
My hands shook as I tried to clear a sitting space on the couch.
I'd shoved most of the yarn into a basket and put the banana bread in the fridge by the time Rhett knocked.
When I opened the door, he stood there in his work jacket, snow melting in his hair, and he held two paper bags.
"Thai food," he said. "From that place you like on Red River. Figured you probably didn't eat."
He was right. I hadn't.
"Come in." I stepped back.
He came in, set the bags on my counter, and turned to look at me.
"Your shoulder?"
"It's fine."
"I know better."
I pulled my shirt to the side. The bruise had spread—purple-black with green edges.
Rhett winced. "Jesus."
"Yeah."
He moved closer, fingers hovering near the bruise without touching. "Did you ice it?"
