Chapter 22
I pulled the socks out of the glove compartment at five forty-two in the morning.
They were still tucked behind the heavy flashlight and the emergency first-aid kit, nestled inside a white cardboard box entirely too large for them.
Opening it with my right hand was easy enough.
Wiggling the lid back into place while my left arm remained strapped tight against my ribs by the immobilizer took three attempts and an uncharitable conversation with the cardboard.
“You can cooperate, or you can sit in here for another three months,” I muttered.
The box cooperated.
I slipped it into my right jacket pocket.
Then I pulled down the truck’s passenger sun visor and found the folded cocktail napkin exactly where I’d left it back in March.
The paper had gone soft along the creases, carrying a faint whiff of pine air freshener.
The four words were still completely legible:
Don't look for me. — K
I tucked it into my inner coat pocket, keeping it separate from the box.
Kate had texted at nine seventeen the night before:
Kate: I want to talk to you. Tomorrow, six-thirty, at Green Lake. If you want to, too.
I had replied eight minutes later: Yes. I’ll be there.
Eight minutes was how long it had taken me to draft two sentences and delete nine others.
The final version didn't mention that I missed her, that I’d stared at her name on every screen for a week, or that I’d spent days rehearsing how to ask for another chance without offering up my contract, my house, or a spreadsheet of flights as collateral.
It only said I’d show up.
The rideshare I’d ordered pulled into the driveway at ten to six.
I left the truck parked beside the house and got into the backseat, keeping the box pressed against my right side.
I still couldn't drive. I could dress myself if I chose a loose T-shirt, cut soft food, and sleep for about two uninterrupted hours before the ache in my shoulder woke me up. My body had scaled back its ambitions.
At Green Lake, the coffee stand had just opened. I ordered Kate’s with oat milk and no sugar, and mine black. The barista slid both paper cups into a cardboard drink carrier after taking a look at my immobilizer.
“Do you need a hand carrying those?” she asked.
“I've got it.”
The carrier dipped sharply the second I lifted it with my right hand.
“I’d appreciate a hand getting them over to that bench,” I corrected.
She didn't make a big deal out of the adjustment. She walked the twenty yards with me and set the coffees on the wooden picnic table beside the trail.
The morning fog hung low over the water. A bike’s tires hissed softly against the damp asphalt, and a goose pecked at something among the roots of a tree. The wood of the bench cooled the backs of my thighs when I sat down.
At six twenty-seven, Kate rounded the bend in the gravel path.
She wore black pants, sneakers, and a lightweight jacket zipped straight to her throat. Her dark hair was pulled back into a low ponytail. She had repainted her nails that familiar dark burgundy.
She slowed her pace the second she saw the immobilizer strapped across my chest.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hey.”
Her eyes dropped to the second cup on the table.
“Is that mine?”
“Oat milk, no sugar. If your preferences shifted during the hiatus, I can file a formal grievance over lack of transparency.”
The joke was thin. Kate looked down at the coffee.
“It’s still the right order.”
I held the cup out with my right hand. Her fingers brushed mine as she took it, and both of us pulled our hands back a fraction too quickly. Kate sat at the far end of the bench, leaving enough empty wood between us for a third person.
She took a sip.
“It’s hot.”
“I put in a special request.”
“Ambitious.”
“I’m diversifying my skills.”
The corner of her mouth twitched, then settled back into place.
A morning jogger trotted past with a small terrier that lunged aggressively at the goose. The owner had to yank the leash short while the goose spread its wings with unflinching authority. Kate watched the standoff until both rounded the curve of the shoreline.
“I saw the team release,” she said. “About your shoulder.”
“Grade two AC joint separation. The labrum is irritated, but they’re waiting for the swelling to drop before making a definitive call.”
“How long?”
“Four weeks with no contact. Maybe six.”
Her fingers tightened around the paper cup.
“The championship match?”
“I’m out.”
“Cole...”
“Marcus claims the squad proved they can win without my heroics, which he considers deeply damaging to my personal brand.”
Kate didn't smile this time.
“You could have told me.”
The hot coffee scorched my tongue. I set the cup back on the wood.
“I wanted to. I just didn't know if telling you about an injury was honoring the transparency pact, or using my shoulder to force open a door you’d closed.”
“I didn't close it.”
“You asked for space with no expiration date. I turned it into an exit.”
Kate looked down at her hands. The burgundy polish was flawless except for a tiny ridge near her right thumb cuticle.
“I asked for something impossible,” she said quietly. “I wanted you to respect the space and stop me at the same time. Right after I accused you of turning care into control.”
“And I agreed too quickly because it meant I didn't have to say out loud that I didn't want you to leave.”
“You didn't want me to leave?”
The question came out softer than the rustle of the trees along the bank.
“No. I wanted you to stay. I wanted us to find a way, and I was terrified that every way I suggested would look like another sacrifice you never asked for.”
Kate met my eyes.
“I set it up so every answer you gave was wrong.”
“And I tried to resolve a conflict by offering up pieces of my life. What you said about me needing to be indispensable... it stung because you were right.”
“I used it to hurt you.”
“Yeah.”
The word hung between us. Kate rested her coffee cup between her running shoes and wiped a stray drop from the plastic lid.
“What you said about me was true, too,” she said. “I engineered an outcome nobody could touch. And when you asked me to negotiate, I decided that making a concession meant making myself smaller before I even tested the waters.”
“Did you test them?”
“Yesterday.”
I waited. She had called this meeting; I wasn't going to pry the news out of her just to fill the quiet.
Kate folded her hands over her knees.
“I accepted New York.”
My stomach tightened instantly. I’d known the possibility had never left the board. Knowing it didn't make hearing the words any easier.
“Good,” I said, though my voice couldn't entirely mask the hit. “They picked you because your proposal was better.”
“I renegotiated the terms before I signed. The first ten weeks, I’ll be there full-time. After that, provided our first three referral pathways are working, I’ll do three weeks in New York and one week in Seattle. Nine months. Any extension requires a new agreement.”
I turned to look at her.
“Is that what you wanted?”
“Yes.”
She didn't explain who she’d done it for. She didn't need to.
“Then I’m happy for you,” I said.
“They could've pulled the offer.”
“But you asked.”
“I asked.”
The pride hit me before the dread of ten weeks without her could settle in, warming my voice even with the empty space between us.
“I’m proud of you, trouble.”
Kate pressed her lips together. The skin beneath her lower lashes flushed a delicate pink.
“Don't use that nickname unless you want me crying on a public park bench.”
“I can retract it.”
“Don't.”
A gust of lake breeze tugged a stray dark strand loose from her ponytail. She tucked it behind her ear and looked out over the gray water.
“Yesterday was supposed to be our twenty-week ultrasound,” she said.
The ambient noise from the trail seemed to drop out completely. I felt the cardboard box resting against my ribs inside my coat.
“I didn't realize,” I murmured.
“Neither did I, until the notification popped up. I’d left the appointment on my personal calendar.”
Kate leaned forward, resting her forearms across her knees.
“I pulled out the scans,” she continued. “I thought about what we would have seen on the monitor. About whether I would've wanted to know the sex. I broke down so completely I had to reschedule my morning meeting with Diane.”
I had to swallow twice against a tight throat.
“I would've wanted to know.”
Kate turned her head toward me.
“Yeah?”
“I would've said I could wait, then tried to read the screen before the sonographer asked us.”
“That sounds highly probable.”
“And then I would've bought something in entirely the wrong color.”
The words grazed against the secret in my pocket. I pulled my right hand back before I could touch it.
“There’s something I need to show you,” I said. “Not to complicate what you just told me. And not to prove anything about what you wanted back in April.”
Kate looked down at my right hand resting flat on my thigh.
“Okay.”
“It’s in my coat pocket. I either need you to reach in and grab the box, or watch me wrestle with a zipper one-handed for five minutes.”
Her first genuine laugh broke through—short, unsteady, and caught behind unshed tears.
“May I?”
“Yeah.”
Kate slid across the bench. She slipped two fingers into the right pocket of my jacket and drew out the white cardboard box. The contact was brief, but the nearness of her shoulder left me aware of every inch where our bodies weren't touching.
She set the box on her lap.
“I bought them the morning after the ultrasound in April,” I said. “I was in a pharmacy picking up athletic tape for my ribs. I saw them by the register and bought them.”
Kate lifted the lid.
The tiny yellow socks lay folded one over the other. Under the flat gray light of dawn, they looked even smaller than they had under the drugstore fluorescents.
She didn't touch them right away.
“Why didn't you show me?” she asked.