I nod.
Chloe turns and walks into the house, Brooke trailing her, chatting with her in an easy, practiced way that tells me they’ll get along fine.
I follow them at a distance, watching as my daughter does the feline introductions, as Olive and Pear make their tentative—then chaotic—approaches before tearing off like the tiny demons they are. Then I watch Chloe show Brooke her room.
And then the guest room.
Finn’sroom.
No, it’ll be Brooke’s room now.
Fuck that…
Kills.
“You hungry, Chloe?” Brooke asks.
“Yup,” Chloe says skipping down the hall. “I’m gonna make apples and peanut butter and chocolate chips. Want some?”
“That sounds delicious.”
They—mostly Chloe—make the snack and I supervise a trip to the park, but when Brooke breaks out a binder of stickers and colorful paper, I know they’ll be okay.
So I go upstairs to get ready for my game.
But all I can see is the itinerary Finn planned for us sitting on the dresser.
By the timeI get to the rink, my skin feels too tight for my body.
So tight I want to scream.
But I shove that down too.
If I shove all of it down, I’ll be okay.
Rome spots me in the hallway then falls into step beside me. He’s quiet for long enough that I think he’ll let this go, let me deal with this my own way.
Ha.
Dumb, delusional me.
He steps in front of me, stopping me before I can escape into the changing room. “You look like hell.”
“Thanks,” I mutter dryly.
He doesn’t reply, just lifts his brows.
I grunt and push by him, going to my locker and swapping my street clothes for the Eagles gear I wear under my equipment.
Rome does the same but the moment I finish he asks, “How’s Chloe doing?”
I clench my jaw, grip the locker door so tightly it groans in protest.
Then…I just shake my head.
He sighs and I feel his eyes on me, but I can’t bring myself to look at him.
Ican’t.
