"Five coffee cups," I said. "That's not a flex. That's a cry for help."
He laughed softly. "There might be a sixth one somewhere."
His arm tightened around me.
"I need you to know something."
My stomach clenched, but I kept my voice light. "That you're running a coffee cup pyramid scheme?"
"This is real." He turned his head, and his nose brushed my temple. "You and me. I need you to know—I need you to know this is real."
"Okay."
"There are complications. With the documentary. The network wants—" He stopped. "I'm working on something. An alternative. But I might have to make choices, and I need you to trust—"
"Trust what?"
Silence.
"Adrian. What does the network want? What choices?"
I watched as his jaw clenched and he began to build the wall back up, brick by brick.
"I can't explain yet. Not until I know if my plan will work."
"A plan for what?"
"For fixing this."
"Fixing what?"
He looked at me. "Trust me. Please. Just a little longer."
Every synapse in my brain fired warnings:this is bad, this is the pattern, this is what people do right before they leave.
"Okay," I said. "But Adrian—"
"I know."
"I mean it."
"I know." He pulled me closer and pressed his lips to my forehead. "Soon. I promise."
The goodbye at the door lasted too long.
Adrian kissed me slowly, one hand cupping the back of my neck, while the other pressed flat against my chest. "Good luck tonight," he said.
"Come find me after."
"I'll be there."
I made myself walk away. The carpet had left red marks on my knees. I could still taste him in my mouth.
***
The puck dropped, and my brain went quiet.
First shift, I won a board battle against a defenseman who had forty pounds on me. Didn't out-muscle him—out-thought him. Read where he wanted to go, got there first, and stripped the puck before he decided to protect it.
