21. Kai
KAI
By the time I pull into her driveway, the porch light is on, and the front curtains are half-open. I sit in my truck for a second with both hands on the wheel.
I’ve done this a hundred times over the years. Still, my heart beats too hard when I climb out.
The door opens before I knock.
Daisy stands there in pajamas with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders like a royal cape.
“Hockey Kai,” she says solemnly. “Lily is diseased.”
“Good to know.”
“She coughed on my unicorn cup, so it’s in the dishwasher.”
I can’t help but smile. “Oof, that’s rough.”
She looks so heartbroken that I have to work hard not to laugh. “Now it has the germs.”
Behind her, Wren appears in leggings and an oversized sweatshirt, hair twisted up messily, cheeks flushed from the kind of day that has probably not given her five minutes to breathe. She takes in the bags in my hands, then my face.
Her expression changes from curious to relieved in seconds, and by the slump of her shoulders, I can tell she’s tired. Exhausted, really.
“You came with supplies.”
“I panicked in aisle four.”
Daisy gasps. “Did you bring medicine to make Lily better?”
“And dinner.”
“Ice cream?”
“No.”
Her face falls, and I can’t help but chuckle.
Wren points down the hall. “Daisy, go tell Lily that Kai brought a dog.”
Daisy’s eyes go huge. “A real one?”
“A stuffed one.”
“That’s not as cool, but still good.” She takes off running.
Wren looks back at me. “You didn’t have to do this.”
“I know.”
“You keep saying that.”
“You keep telling me things I already know.” I shrug. “I wanted to see you, so here I am.”
The flush of her cheeks deepens as she tries to hide the small smile.
I hold up the sandwich bag. “I brought sandwiches. And yes, your pickles are on the side.”
That stops her, and her eyes flick to the bag, then back to me, and something in her face shifts.
“You remembered that?”
“Of course I did.”
Wren looks at me like she doesn’t know whether to shut the door or let me the rest of the way in. Maybe this scares her as much as it does me, but I hope she thinks the risk is worth it.
Then Lily calls, weak but furious, “Daisy says Kai brought her a dog, but I’m the one who has germs.”
Wren closes her eyes, leaning her forehead against the door. “Welcome to hell.”
“Oh, come on.” I step inside. “At least I brought food.”
“That may upgrade you to purgatory.”
We make our way into the house, and I place the bags on the kitchen counter before looking into the living room.
Lily is on the couch with pink cheeks and glassy eyes. You can tell she doesn’t feel very good. Daisy sits on the floor beside her.
“Hey, Kai. Did I hear you mention food?” Justin comes barreling into the kitchen, peering into the bag and finding his name on one of the wrapped sandwiches. He plops down and rips it open before nodding. “Italian. I respect it. Thanks, man.”
Holden appears behind him, eyes on the medicine bag first, then me. “Hey.”
“Hey.”
His gaze drops to the food. “You feeding an army?”
“I’ve met Justin.”
Justin, already halfway through his sandwich, points at me. “That’s fair.”
Wren moves around the kitchen like she’s trying to do six things at once. Plates, drinks, napkins, thermometer, medicine dosage, a text to her mom, a reminder for Justin to finish his homework, another for Daisy not to sit on Lily’s feet.
I turn toward the sink, which I find to be full of dishes. I roll up my sleeves, but Wren gives me a look.
“What?”
“You’re a guest.”
I give her a grin. “I’m a one-stop-shop assistant today.”
“You’re a hockey captain with cleaning issues.”
“Also true.”
Holden snorts from across the counter.
Wren glares at him. “Don’t encourage him.”
He shrugs, popping a chip into his mouth. “He brought food.”
“Traitor.”
Holden looks at me. “Is that a side of pickles?”
“Yeah, they’re for your sister.”
His eyebrow does the thing again, but this time it’s less judgment and more assessment. Like he’s fitting another piece into a picture he doesn’t fully understand yet. Am I back? Are we back? Is it serious or just a coincidence?
Dinner happens around the coffee table because Lily refuses to move from the couch, and Daisy refuses to leave her side. Wren tries to object, but Justin is already sitting cross-legged with his sandwich, and Holden joins the chaos quickly, grabbing a few extra napkins just in case.
So we eat there.
Lily takes three bites of grilled cheese, then curls into Wren’s side. Daisy narrates every bite of her own food and tells Lily all the first-grade “tea” she missed at school. Justin tells me about a kid in his class who thinks hockey players only fight because they get bored.
Wren sits on the couch with a blanket on her lap and looks more and more exhausted by the second.
And still, when Daisy drops half her sandwich, Wren reaches for a napkin before anyone else moves.
When Justin asks where his calculator is, she tells him exactly which backpack pocket without looking.
When Holden quietly brings a dose of the medicine for Lily, she lets him give it to her, but only after checking the label one more time.
I watch all of it, and something aches behind my ribs.
This is her reality right now, and it’s a lot for one person, especially one person who’s juggling more than she should have to.
A sick little girl sweating against her shoulder. A brother trying to grow up too fast. Another brother hiding stress under sarcasm. Wren holding the whole room together with two hands and a sandwich she’s barely touched.
“You need to eat,” I say quietly.
Her eyes cut to mine.
I expect the glare, but at least she picks up her sandwich.
Later, Justin does homework at the kitchen table while Holden quizzes him with the patience of a saint.
Daisy falls asleep first, folded sideways in the armchair with the blanket cape still over one shoulder.
Lily fights it longer, insisting she is “resting her eyeballs” until she drops off against Wren’s side.
I help carry Daisy upstairs.
She wakes halfway and pats my shoulder. “You smell good. Like those candies Wren likes.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. She likes the smell they have and eats them. I think the candle in her room smells like the candy too.”
I make a mental note to investigate that later, because if I recall correctly, Wren hates anything peppermint flavored.
In her room, I set her down carefully, cover her up, and head back downstairs, leaving the door cracked slightly.
When I make it back to the living room, Holden takes Lily from the couch with surprising gentleness and carries her upstairs to bed. Justin finally finishes his homework and goes up after them, complaining the whole way about having to shower tonight instead of in the morning.
By 8:30, the house is finally quiet.
Wren and I stand in the kitchen, surrounded by sandwich wrappers and medicine cups, neither of us knowing how to start the conversation we eventually need to have.
I gather trash because it gives my hands something to do.
She leans against the counter, arms crossed, watching me. “You don’t have to clean.”
“I know.” I toss wrappers into the bag. “You going to stop me?”
“No.”
“Then I’m cleaning.”
She watches me for another second, then looks away.
The moment stretches.
I tie off the trash bag and set it by the back door. When I turn, she’s still at the counter. Her hair has come loose around her face. Her eyes are tired and guarded in a way that makes me want to just hold her.
“You okay?” I ask.
She lets out a small laugh. “That question is becoming a problem for us.”
“I can ask a different one.”
“Like what?”
I look at her.
All night, I’ve watched her move through this house, taking care of everyone, making sure they have whatever they need.
But no one asked what she needed. So I do. “What do you need?”
“I don’t know.” She looks down at the floor, rubbing her thumb along the edge of the counter. “The other night…”
My pulse changes. Guess we are going to have this conversation now. “Yeah?”
“I don’t regret it.”
I exhale slowly. Something in my chest relaxes. “Me neither.”
Her eyes lift to mine. “But I’m scared.”
“I know.”
“I mean, really scared, Kai. Not first-date butterflies scared. This is complicated. My life is complicated. Your life is…” She gestures vaguely at me. “Insane in a very structured way.”
Despite myself, my mouth twitches. “I have hockey and the things that go along with it. Takes up most of my time.”
“You also have a future in Seattle.”
We share the same fears. It feels like this, whatever it is between us, already has some sort of an expiration date. But who says it has to?
“And I have this.” Her gaze flicks upward, toward the bedrooms. “Them. School. Work. A car that may or may not be on its death bed. A dad who thinks child support is a suggestion and not required. A body that sometimes acts like it’s trying to murder me.”
She says the last part quietly, but I can tell she doesn’t want to talk about that, so I don’t push it. Not tonight anyway.
She swallows. “I can’t do something casual with you.”
I start walking around the counter, making my way closer to her. “I never said I wanted casual.”
Her eyes search mine. “You should think before you say that.”
“I have.”
“Kai.”
“I don’t want casual,” I say again. Slower this time. “I don’t want pretend. I don’t want whatever version of this that lets us keep one foot out the door so it hurts less later.”
Her expression cracks just a little.
My hands ache with the need to touch her, but I keep them at my sides.
“I don’t know how this works,” I admit. “I don’t know how to make it easy. I don’t know what happens with Seattle, or your family, or the job, or any of the parts that are going to be hard.”
She laughs softly, but it sounds close to tears. “That was almost comforting.”
“I’m getting there.”
“You’re doing great.”
“I know that I want you,” I say.
The humor slips away.
Her breath catches.
“Not just because of the kiss,” I continue, voice rougher now. “Not just because of the shower or because I’ve spent the last week losing my mind every time you walk past me. I want you in the ways that are harder than that. The mornings. The sick nights. The parts that aren’t easy.”
Her eyes shine. She looks away fast, but not before I see it.
I take another step closer. “Believe me.”
For a second, she doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. The only sound is Lily coughing faintly upstairs.
Then Wren lets out a shaky breath.
“I don’t know if I know how to do this again.”
“Me neither.”
“You’re supposed to be better at answers than this.”
“If you haven’t noticed, my brain doesn’t work too well whenever you’re around.”
A tiny laugh breaks out of her, and it feels like winning something.
She uncrosses her arms and reaches for my hand. Her fingers slide between mine like she’s testing the fit.
Still fits perfectly.
Her thumb brushes across my knuckles. “So what are we saying?”
I look down at our hands, then at her. “I’m saying I want you, Wrenley Mae. I always have. I don’t have all the answers, but I know I want you.”
Her eyes hold mine, looking at me for a long second, and I swear I feel every inch of it. Her weighing the risks. The fear. The want.
Then she nods once.
“Okay.”
My heart stops. “Okay?”
“Okay,” she says, softer now. “We can try.”
I lift my free hand before I can think better of it and brush a loose strand of hair away from her cheek. My fingers linger near her temple, then drift lower.
There are freckles scattered across her nose and cheeks. Fainter the farther out they go, darker near the bridge of her nose. One new one high on her left cheekbone. Another near the corner of her mouth.
I count before I mean to.
Wren watches my face. “What?”
I shake my head.
“I guess some things do change.” My thumb brushes the skin just below her eye. “You have twenty-eight now.”
Her brow furrows. “Twenty-eight what?”
“Freckles.”
She blinks. “You counted my freckles?”
“Yeah.” I keep my voice low. “You used to have twenty-three.”
“Time does seem to have that effect on things.” She swallows. “Change, I mean.”
“I know some things have changed,” I say. “A lot has changed. I know we’re not kids anymore. I know we don’t get to pretend the last three years didn’t happen.”
Wren stares at me for one heartbeat.
Two.
Then she steps forward, grabs the front of my shirt, and pulls my mouth to hers.
I cup her face and kiss her back, careful enough, honest enough that my chest aches with it. Her fingers curl in my shirt like she’s holding on, and for the first time in years, I let myself believe she might want to.
Her mouth moves against mine, and everything in me goes quiet, peaceful, for the first time since we fell apart.
Kissing Wren Calloway feels a lot like coming home.