Kieran stopped moving.
"This. The roster spot. The contract. What it's holding up."
He didn't rush me.
"My dad got hurt at work. Years ago. Back injury—warehouse and aquarium systems, heavy lifting. He can't do what he used to. My mom teaches high school English in Rhinelander, Wisconsin, and she is the income earner . My sister does what she can, but the numbers don't work. They haven't worked for a long time."
I exhaled.
"My paycheck is the margin. Thunder Bay was super cheap. Now, this isn't, but my salary is a lot more. Without what I send home, my dad's prescriptions become a negotiation about what he can live without. That's what's underneath every shift."
Kieran kept his hand on my chest as it rose and fell with each breath.
"I haven't told anyone that since I left Thunder Bay."
"Why me?"
The words tumbled out. "Because you're in my bed and you said my name like it meant something, and if that doesn't earn the real version, I don't know what does."
"Neither can I," he said. "Lose this. But not for the same reasons."
"Tell me."
He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. "Different math. Same stakes. I'm not ready to show my work yet."
I let it be. He'd get more specific when he was ready.
"So, what are we doing?" I asked.
"Something temporary. Something that doesn't interfere with—"
"Hockey."
"Hockey. Contracts. Visibility."
"Okay."
"A release," he said. "Not a—"
"Yeah."
Clean terms. Logical.
"Okay," I said anyway.
"Okay."
His hand stayed where it was. "Five minutes," he said.
"Sure."
His eyes closed, and his breathing slowed. The hand on my chest grew heavier.
I counted the breaths. Each one slower than the last. He felt safe here. On this mattress that sagged in the middle. Safe enough to fall asleep without doing it on purpose.
Kieran Mathers was asleep in my bed, and every rule that governed us was already obsolete.
I didn't sleep, but I closed my eyes and held his hand.
