“You guys ever notice,” Flick says, “how sometimes we justtalk about how tired we are? We should call ourselves the Tired-All-The-Time-Crafters.”
Everyone laughs appreciatively, the tension breaking like a soap bubble. It’s exactly what I need to start feeling better again.
“I was looking at rentals for the mountains trip.” This time I don’t have to try to work up some excitement. It’s already there. “I found one with a hot tub.”
“Ugh.” Alexis groans, her hand moving to her belly again. “Hot tubs aren’t safe during pregnancy!”
“Boo!” Flick says. “We’ll need to go after the baby is born, then.”
“And bring them with us?” Alexis looks uncertain. “A newborn in the mountains?”
Flick shrugs. “Sure. I’ll help out when you need a break. How hard can taking care of a newborn be?”
Everyone bursts into laughter. “Are you serious?” Maya asks.
“You had a freak out when you had to take care of a kitten,” Hannah points out.
“Hey, and I kept the kitten.” Flick gives her a pointed look. “I’ve only lost her once, so clearly I would be great with a baby. And technically I didn’t lose her. Cat escaped out the bathroom window. Sebastian found her and brought her back. Scared the poor thing so much, she’s never tried it again.”
“Yeah. Good for Sebastian,” Alexis says dryly. “Still, you are never babysitting for me.”
Maya smiles softly at me, and I return the sentiment with another smile. She probably knows what’s on my mind, and hopefully she understands why I don’t want to bring Oliver up just yet. Things are too confusing right now, and I need some time to figure them out.
Or not. I could ignore Oliver whenever I’m at the rink. Be polite and friendly and nothing more. Professional. Let the past be the past and entertain no expectations for the future. Treathim like any other coach I work with. Keep my distance. Protect myself.
I already know that I won’t be able to do that, though. Not with so many questions unanswered and my heart never fully healed. Not when seeing him at the rink makes my pulse quicken. Not when his coffee order alone can send me spiraling into memories of everything we were and everything we lost.
This is one sleeping dog that I can’t let lie.
Chapter Ten
Oliver
Parking behind the yoga studio, I grab my new mat and water bottle, shut my car door... and freeze. My reflection stares back from the side mirror—five days of stubble, circles under my eyes that no amount of sleep seems to fix.
What am I doing? Yoga? In a class with other people?
My stomach ties itself into a knot tighter than any yoga pose could manage. Practicing at home with YouTube videos is one thing—no judgment from the laptop screen when I topple over during tree pose. But being in a group with others, even if they’re all senior citizens taking an arthritis-friendly class, feels like stepping onto ice without skates.
The only reason I’m here is because Sophie wouldn’t let up about this teacher. “She’s incredible, Oliver. Trust me. One of the best I’ve ever taken classes from. Your wrist will thank you.” She’d said it with that knowing look, the one that suggested she knew something I didn’t. I also can’t deny that I need as muchhelp as I can get with my wrist. I’m trying to do as much as I can on my own but clearly it’s not enough.
My wrist throbs, reminding me why I need this. The morning run hadn’t helped—five miles of pounding pavement in the January cold, each impact jarring up through my arm. But I’m not about to give up running. It’s the only thing keeping me sane these days, even if it’s destroying what’s left of my wrist.
“Fuck it.” The words fog in the cold air. One foot in front of the other, I stride across the salted parking lot, my shoes crunching on the ice-melt crystals. If the class sucks, I never have to come back. And if it really sucks, I can fake a leg cramp and bow out halfway through.
Even as I tell myself that, though, I know I’m skirting around the real issue. It’s not fear of downward dog or warrior pose that’s making my pulse race. It’s fear of being seen, recognized, whispered about. Three times since arriving on Pine Island—three times in two and a half weeks. The grocery store clerk who asked for a selfie. The guy at the gas station who wanted to talk about that playoff game from 2019. The teenager at the coffee shop who recognized me even with my cap pulled low. So much for my incognito life.
At some point, people will forget about me. I hope. I’ll become old news. A newer scandal will re-direct the frenzy of whispers and pointed stares. That, or I’ll age enough that no one will recognize me. I just have to hold on, figure out how to cope, until then.
I just really hope it’s sooner rather than later, as I don’t want to have to wait years for some peace.
The woman at the front desk points me toward the room on the right with a cheerful “Enjoy your practice!”
The studio surprises me. Instead of the geriatric gathering I’d imagined, there’s a woman in her twenties unrolling a purple mat, a couple in their forties stretching by the mirror, men and women scattered throughout, ranging from college-age to retirement.The knot in my stomach loosens slightly. At least I won’t be the only guy crashing what I’d worried would be a ladies-only party.
Finding a spot in the back corner—escape route noted—I unroll my mat. The rubber smell is overwhelming, that new-mat chemical scent. Some awkward stretches follow. Bend forward, feel the pull in my hamstrings. Rotate my wrist—mistake. Pain shoots up my forearm, sharp enough to make me inhale through my teeth. The class hasn’t even started yet.
The door opens again. Soft footsteps pad across the bamboo floor, barely a whisper of sound.
