CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
RHETT
Month Three
The invitation to Oslo lives in my calendar for six weeks.
I check it daily as if Nora may revoke it through scheduling software.
Sloane calls this anticipatory anxiety. Lucas calls it pathetic. My mother buys a new suit without asking and has it delivered to the penthouse with a note threatening alterations.
Off-season training begins. Without games, I have fewer places to hide and more time to build a life that does not collapse when the arena goes dark.
I coach one foundation clinic each week. Not as celebrity guest. As an assistant to Coach Ramirez, who corrects me in front of ten-year-olds and refuses to let me design drills that require professional coordination.
I continue therapy.
I speak with my father twice by phone. He apologizes once, then tries to explain for twenty minutes. I end the call when explanation becomes a request that I reduce the harm.
Boundaries feel less like walls now.
They feel like doors with handles on both sides.
At a foundation clinic, Lucas arrives to donate goalie equipment. Sloane is in the classroom leading a workshop for parents on performance anxiety.
They see each other through the glass.
Lucas becomes fascinated by a defective buckle.
"You should talk to her," I say.
"You should experience another period of silence."
"Did you leave her?"
His hands stop.
"She asked me to choose between getting help and pretending nothing affected me," he says. "I chose pretending. She chose not to watch."
The symmetry is uncomfortable.
"Do you want her back?"
"This conversation is about equipment."
Sloane exits the classroom. Her gaze meets his.
"Lucas," she says.
"Doctor."
"Still weaponizing formality?"
"Still billing observations?"
The air between them could power the rink.
Nora would notice immediately.
I text her after the clinic.
RHETT: Reed and Sloane remain emotionally incompetent. Possible foundation safety issue.
NORA: Do not interfere.
RHETT: I am observing responsibly.
NORA: That is what photographers say before zooming in.
RHETT: Seventeen days until Oslo.
I regret sending the countdown the moment it leaves.
Her response arrives:
NORA: I know.
Then:
NORA: I am counting too.
I sit alone in the rink lobby, smiling at my phone like a rookie.
Theo walks past carrying crackers.
"Is Nora coming back?" he asks.
"She is coming to Stoneharbor after her project."
"To you?"
Children remain committed to difficult questions.
"We are figuring that out."
He nods. "My mom says don't ruin it."
"Your mother and I agree."