My stomach dropped but not in the way it used to. It wasn’t panic. It was anticipation. We hadn’t spoken since the diner. That was the first time in years we’d had a conversation that didn’t end with me walking away.
I answered on the second ring. “Hey.”
“Hey,” he said. His voice was steadier. “I didn’t mean to interrupt anything.”
“You didn’t.” I moved to the table and sat down. “I’m up. What’s going on?”
There was a pause.
“I saw something yesterday,” he said. “Made me think of you.”
I almost smiled. “What was it?”
“Some sports doc on YouTube. A roundtable on mental health in athletes. There was this one woman—dark hair, serious, kind of intimidating. Reminded me of you.”
I smiled despite myself. “Was she swearing at her coworkers and drinking cold brew out of a protein shaker?”
“She looked like she could.” He chuckled. “But she was good. She said some things I’ve heard you say. About building systems that don’t crush people.”
“Sounds like a smart woman.”
“Yeah. She made me miss you.”
My throat tightened. “I never left,” I said, my unresolved feelings about my brother still there.
“I know.” Another pause. “I wanted to check in, not because I had anything big to say. Just... I don’t know. I’ve been doing the group stuff. Mindfulness. It’s not a miracle, but it helps.”
I kept my voice level. “You’ve made it this far. That’s something.”
“I wanted you to know I heard you. Back at the diner. I think about it a lot.”
I stared down at the water glass in front of me. “You said something too. That you weren’t asking me to fix anything anymore. That’s the part I think about.”
“I meant that.” He cleared his throat. “You sound tired.”
I exhaled slowly. “It’s been a long week.”
“Is it the job or the guy?”
I didn’t answer right away. “Both.”
He didn’t push. “You don’t have to talk about it. I wanted to call. We said we’d try again. I’m holding up my end.”
“You are.”
“I’ll let you go, but... call me sometime, okay? I’ll pick up.”
“I will. Hey,” I said, pausing. “Thank you for calling. It’s nice to hear from you.”
He hung up first.
I set the phone down gently and sat there for a while, staring at nothing. The call hadn’t fixed anything, but it was a step forward. A flicker of hope.
I turned when I heard footsteps behind me.
Oliver walked out slowly, rubbing a hand through his hair. His hoodie was gone—now mine—and he wore a pair of soft gray sweatpants that clung to his hips. He blinked at me, eyes still heavy with sleep.
“You steal my hoodie?” he asked, voice rough.
