He didn’t smile at that. His attention snagged on the stainless steel tray beside the sink, on the machines already broken down for the night. His jaw worked once.
“That’s not what I meant.”
I dried my hands and faced him fully. He filled the space differently tonight. Less performance, more static.
“Then what did you mean?”
His eyes flicked back to the curtain. He wasn’t subtle about it. If I’d been the type to fill in people’s blank spaces, I would’ve dragged him straight back there and finished the goddamn thing myself. Instead, I stepped in front of his line of sight without making it obvious.
“Let’s save the meaningful glances for a night when I’m not exhausted, and use our words, shall we?”
A muscle ticked in his cheek. “You said something.”
“I say a lot of things.”
“About me taking myself out of the team.”
There it was.
I folded my arms, and backed off a little. But I didn’t take the pressure off all the way. He’d done the hard part, but it was far from over. The clock on the wall ticked over to eleven. Outside, a car passed, headlights washing across the front windows before fading.
“And?” I asked.
“And it stuck.” He didn’t dress it up or deflect with a joke this time. Just stood there, hands shoved into his hoodie pocket, staring at the scuffed floor between us. “I kept thinking about it all through practice tonight.”
I studied him the way I would a stencil that wasn’t quite right yet. The version who’d shown up at my door had been all forward motion, chin up, mouth running. This one looked like he’d hit a wall.
The urge to break it down in one fell swoop rose up in me like a ratcheting ball of flames. But I grit my teeth hard against it. I was many things, but my mother’s daughter wasn’t one of them.
“You drove all the way over here because of something I said? Sounds like you took a few hits to the head during practice.”
His mouth twitched into what was almost a smile. “My head’s fine. Structurally, anyway.”
I walked toward the flash wall and adjusted one of the prints that had tilted during the day. My reflection ghosted in the glass frame, silver rings through my ear catching the low light.
“I don’t do pep talks,” I said. “And I don’t babysit grown men through existential crises.”
“I’m not having a crisis.”
“Good. Because I charge extra for those.”
That earned me a short laugh, and he took a few steps in, stopping near the center of the room. Not totally decided on it yet, but not bracing for a hasty retreat either.
“I just kept thinking about what you said,” he continued. “About me deciding I’m on the outside before anyone puts me there.”
I didn’t answer right away. I watched the way he held his shoulders, the way his fingers flexed inside the pocket of his hoodie. He looked like he wanted to be certain of something before he committed to it. Couldn’t exactly judge him too harshly on that, since I was intimately familiar with the feeling.
“And you came here to give me a personal update,” I said.
He shook his head once. “I came here because I don’t quit on things I’ve started.”
My gaze dropped to where the Cup’s unfinished outline was hidden under cotton and pride on his right bicep. “Technically, I was the one who started it.”
His eyes lifted, caught on mine. “That supposed to make me feel better?”
“It’s supposed to be accurate.”
The studio felt smaller with only half the lights on. Shadows pooled under the chairs. The curtain at the back hung still. He looked at it again, and this time I let him.
