Page 116 of Puck Me Back to Life

Still nothing. The apartment feels…wrong. Neglected. Like someone simply stopped caring halfway through the week.

My stomach tightens. I follow the short hallway toward the bedroom. The door stands partially open.

I push it open gently, and relief and heartbreak flood me all at once.

Kai is asleep, curled on top of the blankets, still wearing my old college hockey t-shirt. The oversized gray fabric hangs loosely from his shoulders, making him look even smaller than he already is.

His face is turned toward the window. His eyes are swollen. The pillow beneath his head is scattered with used tissues. More lie on the floor beside the bed.

It doesn't take much imagination to figure out how he spent the morning.

I walk over quietly. He looks exhausted, not the kind of tired an afternoon nap fixes. The kind that settles into someone's bones.

Carefully, I kneel beside the mattress. My hand finds his hair almost on instinct.

I brush the messy blond strands away from his forehead. “So this is where you disappeared.”

He doesn't wake. His breathing remains slow.

Only when my thumb lightly grazes his temple do I notice his hands. My chest tightens.

The skin around several fingernails is raw and bleeding, where he's picked at them until they split.

Some of the dried blood has stained the edge of the blanket.

An anxious habit.

One bad enough to leave him injured without him seeming to notice.

“Kai…”

His eyelids slowly flutter open. For a second, they're unfocused. Then they find me.

“Ash? What are you doing here?” His voice is rough from sleep and crying.

“I…” I was worried sick about you. I missed you. I needed to make sure you were okay. I needed to lay my eyes on you. I wanted to hold you and never let go.

But none of those words come out.

He blinks once. Twice. Like he's making sure I'm real.

“I missed practice.”

“I know.”

“I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I really thought I was going to go and then…” The apology barely reaches a whisper.

I smooth another strand of hair away from his forehead. “Fuck practice. You can take a day off whenever you want.”

“I…” His eyes begin drifting closed again. “You came.”

The words are so quiet I almost miss them.

“Yeah. I was worried,” I admit.

“You didn't have to.”

“I know.”