Chapter 19 #2
“In August, I have three away matches. September isn't locked down yet.”
“And for the first ninety days, I’d have to be on the ground Monday through Friday, minimum.”
“I can fly to New York after home matches.”
“With your shoulder like that?”
“The shoulder isn't going to be like this forever.”
“You don't know that.”
Cole dug his right thumb into the cardboard edge of the folder, then let go. He didn't dispute the data point.
“We can pay for whatever flights Halcyon doesn't cover.”
“It’s not about the money.”
“I know it’s not about the money.”
The reply came with an edge that hadn't been there when we sat down. We’d spent two straight hours watching every single logistical scenario collapse for a completely different reason.
San Diego and New York left us at opposite edges of the country.
New York and Seattle turned Cole’s recovery days into airport waiting areas while his club still offered no security.
Seattle and my current role meant walking away from the expansion before knowing if I could reshape it.
San Diego and my current role kept a coast between us while erasing the opportunity I’d built.
I reopened the calendar grid. If the selection committee finalized on Friday and I accepted that afternoon, my start date would land in late July.
Cole played the semifinal Saturday; if Seattle advanced, the final would be the following week.
San Diego wanted the physical completed as soon as the season ended and expected him for team evaluations in early August.
I color-coded the dates. Blue blocks filled New York. Green shifted from Seattle to San Diego. Across a seven-week stretch, there were exactly four days where neither of us was either working or traveling.
“I can miss the initial evaluations,” Cole said. “They already have my medical history.”
“The contract is contingent on passing their in-house physical.”
“I can ask them to conduct it in Seattle.”
“So you arrive at a brand-new club having already negotiated your absence from camp.”
Cole looked at the colored blocks on the screen.
“You could bundle two trips back-to-back and stay a full week out here.”
“During the first month of regional hiring.”
“Not every day is going to be critical.”
“No. Just the days someone else has to cover because I decided my presence was optional.”
I dragged a Seattle visit to the second weekend of August. It collided with an away match for Cole in Denver. I shifted it to Thursday; it clashed with interviews for the first clinic coordinators. Every change left an absence somewhere else.
“We could meet in Denver,” he offered.
I looked up over the edge of the monitor.
“You want me to fly out from New York just to share a hotel room the night before your match?”
“No. I’m trying to—”
“I know what you’re trying to do.”
I cleared the calendar. The screen reverted to a blank, orderly grid, as if the next seven weeks didn't yet belong to anyone.
Cole pulled the ice pack away from his shoulder. The skin around the athletic tape was raw and flushed red.
“Ask if you can start on a hybrid schedule,” he said. “Three weeks there, one week here. Or defer the start date until my season ends.”
“The job is building a team in New York. I can't run hiring remotely during the launch.”
“I didn't say don't go. I said ask how much flexibility exists.”
“To make the job more convenient for our relationship?”
“To find out if there’s a version of this that doesn't separate us for nine months.”
I stood up. My legs had gone numb from sitting on the floor, and I had to brace one hand against the metal filing cabinet.
“There’s always a version if the woman involved is willing to ask for less authority, less presence, or more patience.”
Cole lifted his head.
“That’s not what I said.”
“That’s what it means.”
“No. It means Halcyon drafted terms before knowing what you need. Diane told you to ask for adjustments.”
“And Seattle offered you one probable year. Why don't you stay and wait?”
The silence fell like a dropped weight. The printer stopped flashing and let out a single, sharp beep.
Cole set the ice pack on the floorboards.
“Because I’m thirty-three years old and I have a shoulder they’re already using to discount my future.”
“I’m thirty-two, and I have an opportunity that might not come around a second time either.”
“I know that.”
“It doesn't sound like it.”
“Kate, I’ve spent two hours trying to find a way for you to take it.”
“A way you can manage.”
Cole stood up with careful deliberation. Even without closing the distance, he dominated the narrow space between the bed and the desk.
“What do you want me to do? Sit here quietly while you map out a life that accommodates four visits a month?”
“I want you to stop turning every single problem into a test of how much you’re willing to sacrifice.”
“I’m not sacrificing anything. I’m looking for viable options.”
“You’ve already offered to turn down San Diego twice.”
“Because I can.”
“Exactly. You can turn it down, wait around for Seattle to devalue your shoulder, and become the man who gave up his contract for me. And then I have to live with knowing that every bad tackle could cost you two guaranteed years.”
Cole rubbed his right palm hard against his sweatpants.
“I wouldn't hold that over you.”
“You wouldn't have to. You need to be indispensable to feel loved, Cole. If you can't fix my life, you offer yourself up as the solution and hope that counts as love.”
Cole’s entire posture froze. Outside, a car door slammed down the street.
I knew the exact instant I crossed the line. I didn't step back.
“And you need to close the door before anyone can walk away from you,” he said quietly.
“You’ve spent two weeks talking about New York like asking for a single concession is getting on your knees.
You don't want to know if the terms can change because then you’d have to decide with me, instead of fighting a piece of paper. ”
Heat surged up from my collarbone to my temples.
“I’m not deciding against you.”
“You’re engineering an outcome nobody can touch and calling it authorship.”
“Don't use that word like you know what it cost me to build it.”
“I do know. I was right here.”
“You were right here because everything fell apart.”
Cole blinked once.
The sentence could have been pulled back right there. It scraped raw against my throat. I let it out anyway.
“This was built in our worst month. An unplanned pregnancy. A loss neither of us knew how to survive alone. Every time something broke, we ran toward each other. I don't know if that means we know how to build a life when there’s nothing left to rescue.”
Cole looked toward the weight bench—the empty corner he’d once imagined clearing out for a nursery—and then back to me.
“We had Sundays,” he said. “We had your kitchen, my family, an ordinary dinner on a Wednesday night. You didn't invent all of that just because you were grieving.”
“It also doesn't prove we can survive nine months on opposite coasts.”
“No. But you just used how this started to say everything that came after is suspect.”
“I said I’m scared.”
“You said it like a final verdict.”
The skin beneath my blazer was damp with sweat. I clicked the clasp of my watch open and snapped it shut. Cole followed the motion with his eyes.
“And what’s your verdict?” I asked. “That I negotiate until New York looks like Seattle? That you walk away from San Diego? Which version doesn't make one of us smaller?”
He didn't answer.
That silence was the answer.
I closed my laptop. The snap of the lid echoed sharply off the drywall.
“I need space.”
Cole lowered his gaze to the manila folder on the bed.
“Tonight?”
“I don't know for how long.”
“Okay.”
The speed of his answer held me still.
“‘Okay’?”
“I’m not going to push you to stay after you just asked for space.”
“I didn't ask you to fix it.”
“I’m not fixing it.”
But he had already unplugged my laptop charger from the baseboard outlet. He wound the cord into a neat, efficient loop and laid it beside my bag.
I put on my coat. In the entryway, my flats were still resting beside his work boots; the phone charger I kept here poked out of the woven basket by the door. I didn't take either of them.
Cole pushed open the back door. It stuck halfway, and he lifted the handle until the latch gave way.
“I can drive you,” he said.
“I’ll call a car.”
“Let me know when you get home.”
I didn't promise I would.
I crossed the porch and went down the steps without looking back. The lake air was cold against my burning face. When the car turned onto the main road, Cole was still standing under the yellow porch light, his left arm held rigid against his side.
* * *
The door clicked shut, and the scent of damp cedar followed me back inside.
I stood in the entryway until the red taillights of Kate’s rideshare vanished beyond the tree line. My shoulder had locked up tight, and the ice pack was melting into the rug in the spare bedroom. My phone remained heavy in my pocket.
I didn't call her. She’d asked for space.
I walked back to the guest room and switched off the printer.
I picked up the coiled power cord that no longer had a laptop attached to it.
Then I moved through the quiet house, collecting Kate’s things: the charger from the basket by the door, her flats from the hallway, the T-shirt folded neatly in my bedroom, a hair tie left beside the bathroom sink.
I stacked them on the weight bench so she wouldn't have to look for them when she came back.
The pile took up far less space than I expected.