Good.
I stared at the sheet.
Then checked it again.
Then checked my phone calendar.
Then forgot why I’d opened my phone because Vanessa had texted a photo from some coffee place and asked if I wanted to grab dinner later.
Dinner.
Girlfriend.
Normal life.
I typed, Yeah, after practice. 7?
I almost added a joke. Deleted it. Added a heart. Deleted that too because it looked weird after deleting the joke, which made no sense, but my brain got stuck on it anyway.
Finally I sent, Sounds good.
Then I stood in my kitchen in compression shorts with one sock on, thinking about a man saying stop.
“Get it together,” I told myself.
My coffee maker beeped like it disagreed.
At the arena, the day did not wait for me to have a crisis.
Milo was in the players’ lounge trying to convince Lowell that he could make money streaming himself learning chess.
“You don’t know how to play chess,” Lowell said.
“That’s the hook. People love growth.”
“People love competence.”
“False. People love watching idiots struggle.”
Roman walked past with a smoothie and said, “Finally, a brand that fits you.”
Milo pointed at him. “You are afraid of my potential.”
“I’m afraid of your microphone access.”
Tessa sat at the far table with her laptop, phone, and the expression of someone mentally deleting all of us from her life.
I dropped into the chair across from her. “Morning.”
She didn’t look up. “If you are about to ask me what time your media hit is, I will throw this pen into your eye.”
“I know what time it is.”
That got her attention. “Do you?”
“Three-fifteen. With Roman and Sokolov. I confirmed in words.”
She studied me like I might be wearing a wire. “I’m proud and disturbed.”
