“Clark—” I start.
“April, I just got hit in the head with a puck. I need to lie down. We can figure it out.”
The clerk hands us key cards, clearly relieved to avoid a pair of unhappy guests.
We ride the elevator in silence, the dogs tired from the long day, except Purdy, who remains glued to Clark’s side like a little nurse.
When we open the door to the room, we both crowd the doorway shoulder to shoulder. Do we slowly peel apart or address the problem?
Because, in the center of the room, nicely made andcomplete with mints on the pillows, is one very large, very singular bed.
“It’s fine,” I hear myself say.
“Is it?”
“We survived bunk beds at your parents’ house.”
“That was different.”
“How?”
“Those were bunk beds. This is ...” He gestures helplessly at the king-sized bed that suddenly looks enormous and terrifying. “This isonebed.”
“I don’t bite.”
“But I snuggle.” At least, that’s what I think he says. The doctor probably gave him medicine for his head.
The dogs immediately claim their territory—Moose sprawling across the foot of the bed, Scout curling up on the left side, Buster on the right, Purdy and Lulu creating a furry ball in the middle.
Clark and I stare at the bed, then at each other.
“I can take the floor,” he offers.
“Don’t be ridiculous. You have a concussion.”
“I don’t. It was a bump.”
“You need actual rest.” I square my shoulders, channeling confidence I don’t feel.
“We need space.”
I huff. “We’re adults. We can share a bed.”
“Can we?”
The question hangs between us, loaded with everything we’re not saying.
“We have to for tonight, at least.”
“Right. For tonight.”
We get ready for bed in awkward silence, except for the game report broadcasts on the sports TV channel and take turns in the bathroom. We skillfully avoid eye contact and allforms of touch. When we finally climb into bed—careful to stay on opposite sides, with five dogs between us like furry chaperones—the tension is thick enough to cut with a hockey skate blade.
“Goodnight,” Clark says into the darkness.
“Goodnight.”
I lie there, hyperaware of every sound. His breathing. The dogs’ snoring. The rustle of sheets when he shifts position.
