I press call.
40
CONTROLLED ENTRY (KIERAN)
I’m three miles into my run when my phone buzzes.
The Charles is quiet this early, the river flat and gray, the path still damp from last night’s rain. My stride is steady, locked in, muscles warm and loose. This is the part of the day I trust. Motion. Rhythm. Release.
I slow automatically, more habit than urgency, glance at my watch?—
—and see Wren’s name.
My breath changes. Not enough to throw me off, but enough that I notice it.
After two months of careful distance, after one lunch where I held every instinct in check, she’s calling.
I come to a stop, hands on my hips, let my pulse settle before I answer. Sweat runs down my spine, cooling in the breeze.
“Hey,” I say.
“Hi.” There’s a beat. Then, lighter than I expect, “Random question, did you ever do Boy Scouts?”
A laugh catches in my throat, not mocking, justsurprised. Of course she’d open with practical vetting, not small talk. That’s so perfectly her.
“Yeah,” I say. “A few summers. Before hockey took over.”
“Okay.” I can hear movement on her end—footsteps, a door, the soft clink of something set down. “That’s helpful.”
I don’t ask how. I don’t push for the reason. I let the silence sit where she put it.
The old version of me would’ve filled the gap, tried to turn the call into something it wasn’t. I don’t fill the silence. Instead, I listen to the ambient noise on her end of the line, the way her breathing shifts when she’s choosing words.
“I’m calling because I need to ask you something,” she says finally, straightforward and clean. “And if the answer’s no, that’s fine.”
“Okay,” I say. “Go ahead.”
She explains it efficiently. Summer camp. Senior counselor injured. They need someone athletic, comfortable outdoors, capable with water and long days.
“And you thought of me because…?” I ask, keeping my tone neutral.
“Because you said your summer plans weren’t fixed,” she says. “And because you’re…capable.”
The word lands quietly. Capable. Not charming. Not convenient. Capable.
Coming from her, that’s not nothing.
“Where is it?”
“Romania.”
The answer sparks something before I can stop it. Distance. Unknown environment. Not the easy choice. I tamp it down, let the practical part of my brain step in.
“How long?”
“Three weeks in July. You’d be one of five counselors. I’m one of them. They cover flights and a small stipend.”
I register it without comment. Another layer, revealed only when it’s relevant.
