3. Wren #3
Work-study eligible. Immediate start. Flexible early morning, afternoon, evening, and weekend hours available around team schedule. Duties include laundry, inventory, equipment room organization, practice setup, game-day preparation, and assisting coaching/equipment staff as needed.
I stare at the screen until the words blur.
Men’s hockey.
Of course.
Of course the only job left that might actually fit my life is attached to the one person I have spent the last three months pretending I can be normal around.
Kai Mercer.
My ex.
My best friend’s brother.
The boy who once knew every version of me, knew my deepest thoughts, knew me better than my best friend did, and now barely looks at me, as if he could care less about my existence.
I click the listing, mostly to prove to myself that there will be some obvious disqualifier. Heavy lifting certification? Experience required? Must possess an emotional death wish?
But there isn’t.
Just a basic application. Availability. Work-study eligibility. Start date.
My cursor hovers over Apply.
Holden walks into the living room and stops behind the couch. “Find anything?”
“Not really.”
He leans over my shoulder before I can close the laptop. His eyebrows rise. “Men’s hockey?”
I glare at him. “Reading the screen while someone else is using it seems a bit invasive.”
“You’re the one who clicked on it.”
“Accidentally.”
He drops onto the other end of the couch, looking far too amused for someone who currently owns zero assets. “Isn’t Kai on the hockey team?”
“He is.”
A snort leaves him, accompanied by a massive eye roll. “Sounds healthy.”
“It’s not a big deal.”
“You two literally used to be all over each other. Often.”
I close my eyes. “Can we not do this? You were literally a child when we started dating.”
“I had ears. And a very thin bedroom wall.”
I roll my eyes. “That seems unfortunate.”
“And eyes.” He fakes a gagging sound.
“Sounds even worse.”
He shudders. “It was.”
I wad up a piece of paper from my notebook and chuck it at him. He ducks, laughing. “I’m just saying, sis. I don’t want to see you hurt again.”
I’m caught off guard by his words and can’t seem to form any of my own.
I wasn’t aware that anyone in my family knew how broken I was when Kai disappeared from my life. I didn’t let it show, at least not where anyone could see.
I did my crying privately, quietly. I thought if I could fake that I was actually okay, it would make the gaping hole in my chest hurt less.
Spoiler: it did not.
Holden’s teasing fades. “You don’t have to apply for that one.”
I look at the screen again.
Flexible hours. Immediate start.
I think about the financial aid office. The red letters on the bills. Mom’s face this morning when she said I had my own life. Holden’s twenty-three dollars folded under an old receipt.
“I kind of do,” I say.
His jaw tightens. “Wren—”
“It’s fine.”
“You say that when things are anything but fine.”
I look over at him, and for a second, he doesn’t look sixteen. He looks older in a way that makes me want to break something.
I soften my voice. “It’s just a job.”
“With your ex. Who you avoid like the plague. So much so that you fled the country.”
I shrug, trying to play it off like it’s no big deal. “Lots of people work with their exes.”
“Name three.”
“Celebrities.”
He stares at me.
“Divorced real estate agents,” I add.
“Wow. Great point.”
“And probably at least one dentist.”
“Compelling.”
I laugh despite myself, and he smiles like that was the goal.
Maybe it was.
I turn back to the laptop.
Kai doesn’t get to be the reason I don’t take money I need.
Whatever we were, whatever we didn’t survive, whatever still happens in my chest when I hear his name—it can’t matter more than tuition. More than gas. More than helping Mom keep this family above water and this roof over our heads.
I can be professional.
I can absolutely handle sorting sweaty hockey gear for a team that includes the boy who once kissed me behind my parents’ garage and told me I was his favorite person in the world.
No problem. Zero problem.
I fill out the application before I can talk myself out of it.
Availability: mornings, select afternoons, some evenings.
Experience: organizing household responsibilities, inventory, cleaning, scheduling, multitasking.
That feels like a polite way of saying I have kept small humans alive through sheer willpower and caffeine, but sure.
I hit Submit.
The confirmation page appears.
Application received.
Holden whistles under his breath. “Well.”
“Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Your tone said enough.”
I shut the laptop and lean back against the couch.
For a second, I let myself picture Kai’s face when he finds out.
Blank, probably. Controlled. That careful, distant expression he wears now, the one that makes it feel like I’m standing outside a locked door I used to have a key to.
Fine.
He can be controlled. I can be chaotic.
We can both be adults.
Probably. Maybe?
I stare at the ceiling and contemplate every life choice that has gotten me to this point.
But really, what could possibly go wrong with being around my ex?