The word came out strangled.
He climbed the first few rungs of the scaffolding, just far enough to set a travel mug on the platform beside her. His hand brushed her ankle as he withdrew—a brief, deliberate touch that said everything his words couldn't.
Stay. Please stay.
She didn't look at him. Couldn't.
"Edie."
"I'm fine."
"You're not fine."
"I said I'm fine, Tarmek."
The sharpness in her voice surprised them both. She heard him exhale slowly, that controlled breath he used when he was swallowing something he wanted to say.
"Okay."
Just okay. No argument, no pushback, no attempt to force a conversation she wasn't ready to have. He accepted her lie and let it stand, because that's who he was—a male who respected boundaries even when they were killing him.
She felt him descend the scaffolding. Heard his footsteps retreat across the arena floor. The door opened and closed with a soft click. Only then did she let herself look.
The space where he'd stood was empty. The coffee steamed gently beside her, exactly the way she liked it—strong, slightly sweet, with just a splash of the oat milk he'd started buying specifically for her.
She picked up the mug with trembling hands and took a sip. The warmth spread through her chest, a poor substitute for the warmth she was about to leave behind.
It's better this way.
The lie tasted bitter on her tongue.
The condo felt different in the grey light of morning.
Edie stood in the doorway of the guest room—her room, the one she'd been sleeping in less and less as the weeks passed—and surveyed the chaos she'd created. Sketches pinned to walls. Paint supplies scattered across the dresser. Three different scarves draped over the chair in the corner.
Her mark was everywhere.
She'd spread herself through his space like water, seeping into every crack and corner until it was impossible to tell where she ended and he began.
No wonder this is so hard.
She started with the scarves, folding them methodically, trying to impose order on the emotional tornado raging in her chest. One was emerald green—she'd bought it after the first home game, when the team had won in overtime and the whole arena had erupted in celebration. The second was deep purple, found at a thrift store downtown while exploring with Korvash's wife. The third was hand-knitted, a gift from one of the kids in the community art program, wonky stitches and all.
Souvenirs,she thought.Evidence of a life I almost had.
The sketches came down next. Concept art for the mural. Random doodles inspired by team members. A portrait of Tarmek she'd done from memory one night while he was at an away game—his face in that rare unguarded moment right before he smiled, all the intensity softened by something that looked like tenderness.
She stared at the portrait for too long.
Throw it away. Leave it behind. Don't carry evidence of your own stupidity.
But she couldn't. Her fingers refused to crumple the paper, to destroy something she'd created with so much careful attention. She tucked it into her bag instead.
"Need boxes?"
The voice made her jump. Tarmek stood in the hallway, face carefully neutral, a stack of cardboard boxes in his arms.
"Where did you?—"
