Despite everything, Solo laughed. The easy banter, the ridiculousness of Woody’s competitive streak, and the normalcy of it all was what she’d needed. “All right,” she said, rolling her shoulders and forcing herself into the moment. “Let’s do this.”
RB rejoined them, and the game started with the usual chaos as Woody tried to organize them into a 6-2 system. Yen’s team served first, a respectable attempt Gabe bumped with casual precision, making it look effortless. Shay set the ball, and Woody smashed it into the open court on Yen’s weak side.
Gabe collected the ball to serve, and Solo positioned herself mid-court, still fighting to shake off the heaviness that had settled in her chest since lunch with Janie.My mother wants custody of the triplets.The words kept replaying in her mind. Janie had looked so defeated and small in a way that made Solo want to punch something. Preferably Janie’s mother’s face.
“Solo, heads up,” RB shouted.
The ball was coming straight at her. Solo’s body reacted before her brain caught up, and she bumped it high, sending it toward Woody at the net. Woody spiked it hard, and it hit the floor on the other side with a satisfying thwack.
“Yes!” Woody pumped her fist in the air. “That’s what I’m talking about.”
They fell into the rhythm of the game, and some of the tension drained from Solo’s shoulders. This was good. This was normal. This was?—
The ball came back over toward her, and Solo moved to receive it, but her foot caught on something, and she stumbled. Shay was beside her instantly, saving the play and sending the ball back over the net with a smooth set.
“You good?” Shay pulled Solo to her feet, concern clear in her expression.
“Yeah, just clumsy.” But it wasn’t clumsiness: it was distraction. Her body was here, but her mind was still at the garage with Janie, watching her explain how her parents were threateningeverything they’d built.
The game continued, with points traded back and forth. Lori and Rosie cheered enthusiastically from the sidelines, and Solo noticed how Shay constantly looked at her, somehow managing to keep her head in the game at the same time, and how Rosie blew kisses that made Shay grin like a teenager. They were so new, so wrapped up in each other. As were Gabe and Lori, who exchanged little glances during plays, communicating in that wordless way new couples had before life got complicated and communication required actual words and effort and?—
Solo’s serve went long, sailing past the back line. “Damn it,” she muttered.
“It’s okay,” RB shouted. “Shake it off.”
But Solo couldn’t shake it off. She couldn’t shake off the fear, the desperation, the darkness. During a break for an injury on the other team, RB pulled Solo to the sideline to grab some water from Van. She still looked uncertain but less like she might bolt at any moment.
“Solo, this is Van,” RB said. “Van, this is Solo. She’s our artist-in-residence.”
Van’s handshake was firm but brief. “Nice to meet you.”
“You play?” Solo asked, grateful for the distraction from her own spiraling thoughts.
“Nah, not since high school,” Van said, her gaze darting from court to court, still assessing. “RB said it’s pretty casual here.”
“It’sverycasual,” Solo said. “Half of us have no idea what we’re doing, and the other half pretends they do.”
Van laughed lightly. “Which half are you?”
“Depends on the day.” Solo took a swig of water. “Today I’m firmly in the ‘no idea’ category.”
“She’s being modest,” RB said. “Solo’s actually good. She’s just,” her eyes met Solo’s, “distracted.”
Van nodded like she got it, which maybe she did. Whatever had hollowed out her eyes, whatever had her couch-surfing and scanning for exits, Van probably understood distraction betterthan most.
“You should bring your gear next week,” Solo said.
“Great idea,” RB said. “You can rotate with Woody’s girlfriend.”
Solo raised her eyebrow. “Woody doesn’t do girlfriends. What are you talking about?”
“Maybe I don’t, but I’ll happily do her,” Woody said from behind them.
She motioned beyond them toward the entrance, and Solo turned to see a muscular woman making her way across the gym. She was wearing workout gear that showed off arms covered in intricate ink of florals mixed with geometric patterns. It was beautifully done and reminded her of the rose on Janie’s shoulder.
“That’s Tate,” Woody said. “She works as a personal trainer at the gym down the street. We met last week when I was checking out their weight room.”
“And you invited her to volleyball,” Shay said as Rosie handed her a water bottle. “Smooth.”
