I missed her energy, her presence, and I hated that she was on a damn date.
After dinner, we did the bedtime routine. Bath, pajamas, toothbrushing, the whole chaotic circus. Sassy stayed glued to us, pacing in the hallway any time we passed the front door.
“You’re restless tonight too, huh?” I asked her as I wrestled Miles into bed. “Join the club.”
“Dad—Uncle Miles,” Miles mumbled as I tucked the blanket around him. “Can Aunt Em say good night when she gets home?”
Ugh, the use of the worddadgot me. He left Nat when she was pregnant, not wanting a single thing to do with Nat or Miles. When I pressed her on who he was, she never said, just that he’d never be part of Miles’s life. That was another convo I’d have to be ready to have when Miles asked.
I rubbed my neck, hoping to ease some tension.
“If she’s not too late, sure.”
He nodded, half-asleep already. “I really like her and Sassy.”
Me too, kid.
I sat on the edge of his bed for a minute, rubbing his back, letting his soft snores and the white noise machine fill the room. My brain switched from parent mode to full-out Em stress.
My head wouldn’t shut up.
Every time I blinked, I repeated the words.
You really are such a good friend, Noah.
Friend.
Right.
I tucked the blanket around Miles, smoothing it over his little Avengers pajama shirt. He snored softly, mouth open. On the wall above him, he had his posters—superheroes, Pikachu, a game-day shot of me throwing, and right between them, the picture of him and Em from the zoo. She had sunglasses pushed on top of her head and was laughing at something he’d said. A little crease was at the corner of her eye I’d never noticed until that photo. Now I couldn’t stop seeing it when I thought about her.
I turned off the lamp and eased the door almost shut.
Sassy was waiting in the hallway, ears perked toward the front door, whole body alert.
“She’s not here yet,” I told her quietly. Sassy gave a low whine.
“Yeah,” I muttered, rubbing her head. “I know.”
I tried to do the responsible thing and focus on film. Thatwas what I was supposed to care about. Third downs. Blitz pickups. Footwork. The stuff that kept me employed.
I pulled up the tablet, sat on the couch, and hit play on last week’s game. Ran through the first series, then backed it up and ran it again. I made it maybe two snaps before my phone lit up on the coffee table, and my eyes jumped straight to it.
Group chat blowing up about some meme. Nothing from her.
I rewound, tried again. Watched myself slide in the pocket, hit Quinn on a deep out. Thought about the way Quinn had looked at Em when she said she had a date. Thought about the wayIprobably looked.
The screen blurred. I scrubbed a hand over my face and forced myself to concentrate. By the third time through the drive, I still hadn’t absorbed a damn thing.
All I could hear was her voice from last night in the kitchen.
Then why didn’t you text me after the Ferris wheel?
I could give a thousand excuses. None of them sounded good, even in my own head.
My head wouldn’t shut up. How could I explain to her, in a way that she’d believe me, that I’d wanted to text her? That’d I’d been busy and nervous, and that I waited too long before time got away from me, then I second-guessed myself.But then the lake house trip and my sister’s accident happened.
My actions made her doubt herself, and I refused to let that happen. She was perfect—chaotic, sure, but Em was my favorite person in the world. I had no idea how to fix this, whatever happened, but I had to try.
