Something in his face twists. Like he’s holding too many things at once and none of them fit together properly.
“You look like a storm in a teacup right now,” I say softly. “What can I do?”
His expression eases for half a second, before the storm closes back in.
“Nothing,” he says. “You’ve got to take care of your grandmother.”
“That doesn’t mean we don’t?—”
“I don’t want to put my worries on you,” he cuts in, shaking his head. “Not right now.”
“Ty, let’s just?—”
“No,” he says, quieter this time, but final. “I’ll talk to you soon, okay?”
I swallow. Nothing I say is going to help right now, and to be honest I’m tired. Exhausted. So I nod, because I don’t know what else there is to say.
He stands, already pulling back, already putting distance between us. Before I can say anything else, he moves to the window and pauses there for half a second, like he might turn back. But he doesn’t. He disappears through the window, back onto the roof, and is gone.
I stand there for a second, staring at the empty space wherehe was, my thoughts trying to catch up and failing completely. Then I sit down right on the edge of my grandmother’s bed and stare at the wall.
I press my hands into my lap, trying to stay present, centered.
Because, I can see the pain he’s in.
But that doesn’t make it hurt any less.
CHAPTER 26
TY
There is no denying it. My place smells like stale air and something faintly sour, like time itself has been left sitting out for too long.
I’m on the couch, or I have been for what feels like weeks. It’s only been days, but it’s hard to tell how long. The TV is on, muted, throwing flickering light across the room, but I couldn’t tell you what’s playing. Something moves on the screen. People probably talking. Laugh track, maybe. It doesn’t reach me.
Everything feels dulled. Like I’m wrapped in something thick and heavy, and every thought has to push its way through just to exist. I drag a hand over my face, fingers catching on the scruff along my jaw. Two days. Maybe more. I can’t quite remember the last time I stood under hot water and let it hit the back of my neck. The idea of it feels distant. Like something other people do. Functional people.
I shift forward, elbows on my knees, staring at the floor. There’s a water bottle tipped on its side near my foot. Empty. I don’t remember finishing it. I don’t remember much of anything from the last few days except the way everything cracked open and didn’t put itself back together.
Somewhere in the middle of it all, I’d managed to text one ofthe fill-in coaches for Emma’s team. Pure luck that he’d just gotten back into town from vacation and could cover the two practices this week I couldn’t do. Otherwise, those girls would’ve been standing on the ice waiting for a coach who never showed. The thought sits ugly in my chest. I need to get it together before Saturday, so I can show up for Emma, but I don’t know if I can.
I press my palms together, hard enough to feel the bones, like maybe if I push hard enough, I’ll feel something sharp and real, but nothing. Just that same heavy, dragging fog.
There’s a stretch of silence before I hear the sound of keys at the door. It cuts through everything.
My head snaps up, heart kicking hard and sudden, like it’s been waiting for something to do. For a second, I don’t move. I just listen.
Keys. In the lock. My stomach drops.
No one has keys. The thought hits fast and sharp, slicing clean through the fog. I’m on my feet before I fully register the movement, pulse spiking now, real adrenaline burning through my system.
No one has keys.
The lock turns. “Hey, Ty?”
The door opens, and I’m already halfway across the room, tension wound tight in every muscle.
My sister steps inside, shoulders hiked up to her ears. I watch them visibly relax when Emma sees me, and she shuts the door behind her with a solid click.
