That was new.
Or maybe it was not new. Maybe I had only refused to name it before the hotel room gave everything a body.
Jace: Sleep?
I read it twice.
Not I can’t sleep.
Not are you going to tell me to sleep.
A question. A request shaped like a door left open.
Me: Soon.
Jace: Define soon.
There he was.
Me: Brush teeth. Set clothes for tomorrow. Put phone on charger across the room. Lights out in thirty.
The reply did not come right away.
I waited.
Tiny gave up on me and lumbered to the living room, where he collapsed onto his bed with a dramatic groan.
My phone vibrated.
Jace: Clothes is where this plan gets ambitious.
Me: Shoes and hoodie by the door count.
Jace: That’s not clothes.
Me: It is preparation. Do it.
Jace: Yes.
Then, a minute later:
Jace: Coach.
I did not answer immediately. I knew better than to feed every impulse. His or mine.
Me: What?
Jace: Nothing. Just wanted to type it.
The honesty landed low and heavy.
I looked toward the dark windows over the sink. My reflection looked back at me, broad shoulders, tired face, a man standing alone in a house that still held the outline of a marriage.
I should have put the phone down.
Instead, I typed with more care than the message required.
Me: Finish the list.
