Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
I put the phone in my pocket before I can type anything that will offend Maddie’s boundaries. Lucky watches me with that knowing smirk and wisely says nothing. We peel off—him to the cold tub, me to the showers.
Hot water hammers my shoulders, steam erasing the last grit of the rink. I brace a hand against the tile and let the spray beat the thoughts into line.
I want Maddie. Not just in my bed, not just on an agreed-upon schedule that keeps her heart from feeling too exposed. But I know I can’t bulldoze her walls.
On the other hand, I don’t have to pretend they’re my walls too.
Hold the middle. Communicate. Patience with teeth.
I’ll give her time. But I won’t keep lying to myself that I can sleep in a bed she leaves every night and call that acceptable forever.
CHAPTER 23
Maddie
The house has a late-afternoon hush I’ve come to love… the soft tick of the thermostat, the occasional tiny thud when Grayce drops a toy and then laughs like a villain in a cartoon. Sunlight pulls long rectangles across the floor, and I track dust motes drifting like flakes in a snow globe.
My phone lies face down on the counter.
I turn it over. Nothing.
Turn it back again like it offended me.
I’m not a person who waits for texts. Nor am I a person whose heart pops up into her throat every time the chime echoes and then curses when it’s just spam from a mattress store I never signed up for.
Except… I am apparently, exactly that person.
Grayce is deep into her architecture era—two blocks stacked, third one just touching when her hand wobbles and the tower collapses. She throws her head back and howls with scandalized delight. Then she claps for herself. I clap too, because not clapping feels like betrayal.
“Engineers don’t quit,” I inform her solemnly. “We dust ourselves off, we try again, and we also do not eat the blocks.”
She sticks the corner one into her mouth while looking me dead in the eye, which is less a mistake and more a manifesto.
“Okay, fine,” I concede, and swap the block for her rabbit, the one with one ear permanently flattened and a faint stain that no detergent can tempt out. She gurgles “da-da-da” at the rabbit like she’s filing a complaint with management.
“Your timing is rude,” I tell her. “He’s still at work.”
Atlas responded to my text an hour ago. Our exchange was fun, in no way flirty, but left me feeling giddy. We bantered about Grayce’s core strength and I demanded snacks.
Then he went quiet, which is normal—practice, meetings, the thousand rituals that make up hockey’s religion—but admittedly, the quiet feels sharp today.
Or maybe I do.
I mindlessly stack two blocks and Grayce knocks them over with a flourish. She looks deeply satisfied and I love her confidence. It’s her world and we’re just living in it.
I glance around the living room and realize I’ve completely settled in this house. I’m not sure when that happened, but it bothers me.
The last time I dared to let a house feel like mine, it disappeared under my feet and I spent a year convincing myself a group home cot could be an actual home if you fall asleep fast enough.
My phone lights and I grab it too fast.
It’s an email and the subject line says, New Careers Posting: Allegheny County Department of Human Services.
“Oh,” I breathe out, a thrill of excitement skittering up my spine.
I push my thumb to open it, pulse ticking.
The posting is almost a one-to-one of my old job back in Chicago as a child welfare caseworker. I scan the description. Caseload management, home visits, court reports, interdisciplinary coordination. The language makes my bones hum with delightful recognition. The responsibilities are the same but more importantly, the stakes are the same. Same jungle, new vines.
I scroll, then stop, breathing carefully like the words themselves might spook. I could totally do this. I could be a person who matters again.
Grayce slaps my calf with her palm to remind me she exists. “Daaa,” she chirps, and throws herself onto my foot like a passionate fan.
“Your timing is perfect,” I tell her, scooping her into my lap. She tucks her face under my chin and breathes warm against my skin. The rabbit ear presses into the side of my neck, damp and slightly gross, but I don’t care.
“I might apply for a job,” I whisper into her hair. It smells like apple shampoo and the clean sweat of babies who wage war on gravity all day. “It’s nothing yet. An idea. But… I might.”
She leans back, considers me with a seriousness that makes me choke on a laugh, then pats my cheek as if to say, “I approve.”
“Okay,” I say, dizzy with a fizz of hope that makes me want to sit down and also sprint a mile. “Okay.”