“Then go now,” He says, and the corner of his mouth pulls like a man trying to be funny under a mountain that refuses to laugh. “Before I have to dock you pay.”
“From my generous salary as assistant snack wrangler.” I laugh, and the banter lifts and falls like a wave that didn’t reachthe shore. I lean over and kiss his cheek. He catches my wrist as I pull back, holds it a second, then lets go.
In my room the light already glows because I always leave it on when the night is too heavy to navigate in the dark. I shut the door and lean my forehead against it and let the breath out of me in a long, shaky line. The jersey whispers when I pull it free of my coat, cloth catching on cloth with a soft hush. I stare at my reflection in the window and the girl looking back at me is someone I recognize and don’t—softer at the mouth, brighter at the eyes, older in a way that has nothing to do with numbers.
My phone buzzes.
Home?
I sit on the edge of the bed, the springs complaining the way they always do, and typed:
Home. Light on.
Three dots. Then:
Good. Keep it on.
I set the phone face down on the quilt like it was a hot pan I can’t hold. The room smells faintly of clean cotton and a candle I’d blown out earlier in the week; cinnamon, something darker underneath. I lay back and stare at the ceiling until it blurs. The kiss replays in my body rather than my head. The way his breath steadies mine, the way my fingers learn the exact shape of his shoulders, the solid wall behind me and the equally solid wall of him in front, and the narrow hallway of space where something dangerous and holy walks between us and refuses to choose a side.
I try to be good. I try not to touch what I shouldn’t. But my hands remember all on their own, the same way your footfinds the next stair in the dark. The pulse begins with need as my fingers find my opening and slide in. Heat gathers low and slow, not a blaze but a coal that wouldn’t go out no matter how I cupped my palms around it to starve it of air. I press my eyes shut and tell myselfdaylightlike a prayer. But the heat coils inside me as I continue to think of Triston and our kiss, his voice, his smell, while my own fingers bring me to my peak.
My phone's buzzes, half startling me. I roll onto my side to read:
You’re thinking about me.
A ridiculous laugh slips out, half scandalized, half relieved.
Arrogant.
Knowing.
I don’t answer. I can’t without handing him the keys to a door I was still telling myself I’d keep locked when the sun was up. The phone flashes again anyway.
Sleep. You’ll need it.
I stare at the words until the edges are dull. There was a promise tucked inside them and a threat, and it soothes me that he didn’t bother to separate the two. I slide the phone under my pillow like a charm.
The house moves through its nighttime rituals, a pipe ticks, the heater shudders awake and sighs itself to stillness. Wood settles, remembering the weight of all of us. I was too aware of where Dad’s steps would land if he climbed the stairs and paused outside my door. Too aware of which board creaks on the landing and how many strides it took to cross from the top stairto the rug’s edge. The map of my home was written in my nerves. The map of Triston was being inked in, line by careful line.
I must have slept because when I opened my eyes the light looked different. The soft gray before dawn that makes everything look honest. For a second I didn’t know where the burn in my chest came from. Then I did. I pull the jersey closer, as if it can dampen the ache. It makes it worse in a way that feels like relief.
I sit up and reach for the notebook in my drawer. The one with nothing but lists that help me keep the world from spinning too fast. Tonight the list I write has no boxes to check, only sentences I need to pin to paper to stop them from running wild in my head.
I stare at that last line until the inner critic that sounds like a parent and a teacher and a priest all at once start to tap its foot. I wait for shame to arrive.
My phone vibrates, the sound so small in the new morning. A single message:
Rink. Early. Our corner. If you want daylight.
No command this time. A door, open. I check the time and feel my body answer before my mind votes. I type,I can’t,then erase it because it would have been a lie. I type instead:
Fifteen. Front.
His reply was instant.
Good girl.
Heat flashes across my face. I typeDon’t,delete it, and throw the phone onto the bed to stop myself from negotiating with words I had already agreed to in the blood.
