Page 124 of Puck Me Back to Life

I hate it.

I hate that she knows enough to ask.

I hate that she remembers I have one.

I hate that the answer is complicated in exactly the way answers become complicated when you're avoiding your own life.

“I've been busy.”

“Kai.”

“I have practice.”

She sighs. “That isn't what I asked.”

I look toward my apartment. Toward the bedroom where Ash is still asleep, or at least where I hope he's still asleep and not hearing any of this. The thought of him overhearing Angela talking about my therapist makes something in my chest panic for reasons I don't have time to examine.

“I need to get ready.”

Angela doesn't move. For a second I think she's going to argue.

Then she looks at me in that quietly devastating way she has, the one that makes me feel like she sees straight through the performance and into the mess beneath it. “Okay.”

Relief should come.

It doesn't.

“I mean it,” she says. “You don't have to talk to me about it right now, but you need to talk to someone.”

I force a smile. It feels terrible. “I'll put it on my calendar.”

“Don't be cute.”

“I'm never cute.”

The corner of her mouth lifts, but it doesn't reach her eyes. “Ash would disagree.”

My face heats immediately. “Goodbye, Ange.”

“Have a good practice.”

“I will.”

“And Kai?”

I stop with one hand on the door.

Her expression has gone serious again. “If today gets bad, don't come home and sit in it alone.”

The words follow me into the apartment long after I slide the door shut behind me.

For a moment I simply stand by the door, staring at my reflection in the glass instead of the city beyond it.

She heard me.

God.

I bury my face in one hand.