The camper's ready whenever you want it.
He'd meant to say I don't want you to go. He'd meant to say stay with me. He'd meant to say I know I'm rigid and difficult and terrible at expressing emotions, but I've never felt this way about anyone, and the thought of you leaving makes me feel like I'm drowning.
What came out was logistics.
What came out was permission to leave.
What came out was nothing.
"She's not a mind reader," Volkov continued, relentless. "None of them are. You can't just do things for someone and expect them to understand what it means. You have to tell them. Use your words, even when it's hard. Especially when it's hard."
"I don't—" Tarmek's voice was barely audible. "I don't know how."
"You learn." Volkov's tone softened slightly. "You think I came out of the womb knowing how to communicate with my wife? First five years of marriage were a disaster. I thought fixing things around the house meant 'I love you.' She thought I was avoiding her. Nearly divorced twice before I figured out that feelings need words, not just actions."
"She doesn't want words from me."
"Did she say that? Specifically? Or are you assuming because it's more comfortable than finding out the truth?"
Tarmek had no answer.
Because Edie hadn't said anything. She'd just... pulled away. Gone quiet. Started packing.
And he'd helped her carry boxes instead of asking what was wrong.
Coward.
"Let me tell you what I see," Volkov said. "I see a woman who moved into your space and stayed. Who learned your routines instead of mocking them. Who somehow made you smile more in two months than I've seen in five years of playing together. That's not someone who wants to leave. That's someone who's scared of wanting to stay."
"You don't know that."
"No. But neither do you." Volkov stood, his knees cracking audibly. "You've built your whole life around control, Stonefist. Controlling your schedule, your performance, your emotions. Works great for hockey. Works like shit for love." He reached out and gripped Tarmek's shoulder—a heavy, steadying weight. "Sometimes you have to let go of the outcome. Say what you feel and accept that you can't control how she responds. The risk is terrifying, but so is spending the rest of your life wondering 'what if.'"
The other players had gone quiet, watching this exchange with expressions ranging from sympathetic to uncomfortable.
"She's still here," Makron added quietly. "Camper's still parked out back. Mural's not finished yet. You've got time."
Time.
Did he?
The mural was almost complete—Tarmek had walked past it enough times to know. A few more days of work, maybe a weekat most, and then the unveiling ceremony Sam had planned. After that...
After that, Edie had no reason to stay.
Unless he gave her one.
"I let her go," Tarmek said, the words tearing out of him like broken glass. "I stood there and watched her pack and I didn't say anything. I didn't tell her I wanted her to stay. I didn't tell her that my apartment feels like a tomb without her. I didn't tell her that she's the first person who's ever made me want to break my own routines, who's made chaos feel like something beautiful instead of something to control."
"So tell her now."
"It's too late."
"It's not too late until she's driving away," Volkov said firmly. "And even then, there's always 'chase her down the highway like a dramatic idiot.' Not my preferred method, but I've seen it work."
A surprised laugh escaped Tarmek—rough and broken, but genuine.
"What if she says no?"
