20. Kai
KAI
Wren isn’t at practice.
I know this because I’ve literally checked every place I’d normally find her.
Obviously, my brain chooses the worst possible scenarios to play through my mind on a never-ending cycle.
Or maybe she’s avoiding you after the other night.
That’s the thought I’m stuck on while I sit in my stall, lacing my skates. The tension is fine, I know it’s fine, yet I pull it loose anyway, thread it through, and start over.
She regrets it. The shower was too much.
I was too much.
I told myself I’d let her lead after that. Give her space. Let her decide what happened next, but not because I wanted space. I’ve wanted the complete opposite of space since she walked back into my life.
But because this job matters to her, and I refuse to be the reason she loses that.
“Dude,” Weston says from two stalls over. “Your skate owe you money?”
I pull the lace too tight.
“No.”
“You sure? Because you’re looking at it the same way I look at cardio, which is with pure hatred.”
Asher glances over while taping his wrist. “He’s spiraling.”
“I’m not spiraling.”
Weston’s head pops up. “Oh, that was too fast. Denial is the first stage.”
Grayson steps into the row, helmet in one hand. His eyes flick from my skate to my face.
Great.
The last thing I need is Grayson’s quiet observation. Weston’s noise is easier to deal with. At least he says something stupid enough to be annoyed about.
I stand. “Anyone seen Calloway?”
Weston’s mouth opens slowly, a knowing gleam in his eyes.
I point at him. “Don’t say shit.”
“I haven’t said anything.”
“You were about to.”
“I was about to ask why you’re so interested in the whereabouts of our beloved equipment manager.”
Asher mutters, “He’s still testing out titles.”
Weston ignores him. “Very normal question.”
“I didn’t see her,” Grayson says, saving me from deciding whether I can make Weston eat a roll of tape. “Donnelly said she called out.”
My stomach drops.
“Called out? Did he say why?”
Grayson shakes his head.
Weston leans back in his stall. “Look at our captain. Deeply concerned about our team staff. Very noble and definitely not based at all on sexual tension.”
“Cooper.”
“What? Maybe one of her siblings had something come up. I’ve seen the twins multiple times in the last few months, and when I tell you that they are little germ magnets, I kid you not. But they’re so cute.”
“Why were you around her siblings?” Grayson asks, finally participating in the conversation.
“What can I say? I’m fucking great with kids.”
Asher says, “You told a seven-year-old last month that penguins were business birds after watching Boss Baby too many times.”
“They wear suits.”
Asher shakes his head. “Sometimes I really worry about you.”
Weston points at him. “That sounds like your inner fear talking. Gotta let your freak flag fly once in a while, Hale.”
Coach’s whistle cuts through the room before this can get worse.
Practice starts rough and gets progressively worse. At least for me.
My passes are a beat too hard, and my timing is way off. I win faceoffs purely on muscle memory and lose focus between drills. Every time the doors open, I look. Every time someone walks past the glass, my attention cuts over, just on the off chance it could be her.
Still no Wren.
Just the absence of her.
By the third drill, Coach barks my name in the tone that means get your head out of your ass before I remove it for you.
By the time practice ends, I’m irritated, sweaty, and one Weston eyebrow waggle away from committing a crime. I check my phone before I’ve even stripped off my shoulder pads.
No text.
I stare at the screen anyway.
Grayson sits beside me. “You know you could just text her.”
I sigh in exasperation. I know he’s coming from a good place, but I can’t even think straight right now. “I hate all of you.”
“No, you don’t.” Grayson drops his voice. “If you’re worried, just ask her.”
I look down at my phone.
I don’t know what the rules are now. I knew the rules when we were avoiding each other. I knew the rules when she was Harlow’s best friend and my ex and the girl I wasn’t supposed to stare at across my own locker room.
Now I know what she tastes like when she stops pretending that whatever it is between us ended all those years ago.
I know the exact spot where I can leave a feather-light kiss that will have her moaning my own name against my mouth.
But that doesn’t mean I know what to do next.
Still, I open her contact.
you good?
Smooth, Mercer. Smooth.
I delete that and try again.
Kai: didn’t see you at practice. everything okay?
Better, but still chill.
I send it before I can overthink myself into silence.
The response doesn’t come until after I shower, dress, and sit through Coach’s post-practice notes with my phone burning a hole in my pocket.
Wrenley Mae: Lily woke up with a fever. Mom’s on an overtime shift, so I told her I’d stay home today.
Well, at least she’s not purposefully avoiding me.
Kai: how high?
Wrenley Mae: 101.8. She’s miserable but still bossy, so she’s fine.
I smile despite myself.
Kai: daisy?
Wrenley Mae: Irritated that Lily gets extra attention, but she’s not acting sick or anything. Yet.
Kai: sounds serious.
Wrenley Mae: Very. She may start a revolt.
I hesitate, thumb hovering.
Then I type the thing I want instead of the thing that feels safest.
Kai: do you need anything? can i stop by?
The dots appear, disappear, then appear again.
Her response takes long enough that my pulse changes, and my brain starts to spin. Does she feel weird? Would she even let me know if she actually needed anything?
Wrenley Mae: You don’t have to.
I breathe out through my nose.
Kai: I know.
Another pause.
Wrenley Mae: It’s chaos here.
Kai: I know.
Wrenley Mae: Like fever, laundry, twins fighting, Justin homework, germs.
Kai: I understand the risks.
This time the answer comes faster.
Wrenley Mae: You’re annoying.
Kai: so is that a yes?
A minute passes.
Wrenley Mae: Fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.
I’m smiling when Grayson walks past.
“She good?” he asks.
“Yeah, one of the twins had to stay home sick today, and her mom had an overtime shift, so Wren volunteered to watch her.”
“And let me guess…” His mouth twitches. “You’re gonna stop by?”
“That I am. I’ll be home later.”
I stop at the store before heading to Wren’s.
It should be simple.
It’s anything but. Normally, I come in, grab what I want, which is the same all the time, so I know exactly where it is.
Now, I’m standing in the medicine aisle for nine minutes reading labels as if I have any idea what the hell I’m looking for.
Forever later, I end up with a bottle of children’s fever reducer, electrolyte pops, tissues with lotion, regular tissues, two kinds of soup, crackers, a thermometer, and a stuffed dog with floppy ears that I know is unnecessary, but I buy anyway.
Then I go to the sandwich shop three doors down and order enough food for the whole house.
Turkey and cheese with double meat for Holden because I remember he likes plain food. Italian for Justin, grilled cheese for the twins because sick kids and complicated sandwiches feel like a trap. A chicken bacon ranch sandwich for Wren, pickles on the side.
There are few things my girl hates more than soggy bread.
Hold on there, buddy. She’s not your girl anymore.
But she used to be.
I remember that from high school. From cafeteria lunches to gas station sandwiches after games, and the way she used to peel a layer of bread off with dramatic disgust if the pickles touched the bread for too long.
I remember too much about Wren. It used to be useful. Then it was painful.
Now, it feels dangerous.