I stare after her, insides hollowing out, the echo of her footsteps lodging under my skin.
I sit there frozen, watching the curve of her shoulder vanish around the corner. My chest squeezes. My hands itch to go after her, but my feet don’t move.
Space. She asked for space. Where is she even going? Outside? To walk the campus? To call him?
The thought of Jerry waiting on the other end of her phone has my hands curling into fists before I even register it.
I pace a few steps, then stop. My reflection glares back at me from the polished glass wall. I'm a pathetic man who is too stubborn to chase after her, too guttedto stay still.
After I finish my coffee alone, I head back down to the renal area and sit down across from another stranger waiting. I pull out my phone and scroll through the comments on Luke and Sanders's latest post.
After I don't know how long, just as my eyes start crossing, I walk down the dialysis room. Sanders sits cross-legged on the floor with Leigh, teaching her some complicated hand-clapping game while Luke talks to a nurse.
Lane is already here, talking to Carly. I'm suddenly nauseated, wondering if I should not have been in here, too. Another miss, and I was only feet away.
The nurse disconnects Luke's tubes with practiced efficiency. "All done for today, champ."
We gather our things and file back to the family lounge, a parade of exhausted bodies and forced smiles. Lane walks ahead with Carly, their heads bent together in conversation.
I trail behind with the kids, listening to Sanders describe a YouTube video about a guy who built an underground swimming pool using only a stick.
Luke sinks onto the couch, pale but smiling. The nurses brought juice boxes and graham crackers, and Leigh arranges them on the table like she's hosting a tea party.
Sanders suddenly spins toward me, eyes wide with inspiration. "Can I stay with Luke tonight? Please? It'll make him feel better!"
This time, I know better than to answer for her. I look up instead.
Carly laughs softly, smoothing Luke's thin hair with her palm. "It might help. He's been nervous ever since the prospect of surgery became real. While we don't have a date, he knows it's coming."
Lane hesitates only a moment before nodding. "It's fine with me if you're sure it isn't too much."
Sanders cheers, already planning their night. Carly gathers the kids, their voices fading toward the elevators.
And just like that, it’s only Lane and me left in the lounge. No Sanders between us. No excuse.
The silence presses in, thick as the hospital air.
Looks like we’ll be driving back together. Alone.
NINETEEN
Lane
The highway stretches endlessly before us. I angle myself toward the passenger window, keeping as much space between us as the car allows.
My reflection stares back, all hollow-eyed, rigid-shouldered, a stranger I barely recognize.
Every mile is like a year. Every second of silence weighs a ton.
I miss Sanders' voice filling this space. His endless chatter about video games and school drama, and whatever random fact popped into his head. Without him, there's nothing to buffer the tension crackling between Woody and me.
And then "Christmas Don't Be Late," by Alvin & The Chipmunks, comes on the radio, and I can't help but smile. Thank you, universe. I needed that.
It doesn't last long, though. I can't believe he had the gall to refer to Jerry as Jerry the Jerk. Who does he think he is?
Woody's jaw looks carved from stone, that muscle twitching beneath his stubbled cheek. The dash lights castshadows across his face, highlighting the sharp lines I once traced with my fingertips.
God, I want to hate him. I've practiced hating him for years. Hating him is so much easier than seeing things in him that are endearing.
