"You hated me that week."
"I didn't hate you." He turned his head on the pillow to look at me. "I hated that you distracted me."
I traced a crack in the ceiling with my attention. The texture up there was uneven, probably a patch job from some old water damage.
"Can I ask you something?" I said.
"You're going to anyway."
"Why didn’t you come back to the rink? After that first week. When you ghosted me."
The silence went sharp. I was about to take it back when he spoke.
"My mother." Joel's voice had gone flat. "She’s an addict. Gambling."
I waited.
"I left to go deal with another one of her debts. Another one of her boyfriends." He was still staring at the ceiling. "She lets them hit her," he said. "Maybe that’s why… With Milo…"
I put my hand over his where it rested on his stomach. He didn't pull away.
We lay there for a while. The city hummed outside the window.
"My dad's got Lewy Body Dementia," I said eventually. "He's in a facility back in New Mexico. Some days he knows me. Some days I'm just a nice stranger who brings him breakfast."
His hand turned under mine, fingers lacing through.
"I put him there so I could play hockey," I said. "That's the trade I made."
Neither of us spoke for a long time.
Room service knocked. Joel threw on the robe and answered while I stayed out of sight. We ate on the bed, plates on our laps. He picked the tomato off his sandwich and held it out to me without asking if I wanted it.
I took it and added it to my own sandwich.
"How's your hip?" he asked.
"Fine. Better since I've been getting regular ice time with the trainers."
We finished eating. He stacked the plates on the nightstand and turned off the lamp, and the room went dark except for the glow of the city through the curtains.
He shifted closer, his chest against my back, his arm sliding over my waist. His nose pressed into the back of my neck.
"You smell like sex," he said.
"Whose fault is that?"
"Mine." His arm tightened around me. "I like it."
I waited for him to pull away. He didn't.
"I didn't think you did this," I said. "Stay after."
"It's my room. I'm not going anywhere."
"And what about me? Why aren't you making me leave?"
He was quiet for a moment. His breath was warm against my neck.
