Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Devin
“Okay.” Flick grins around the circle, her knitting sitting untouched in her lap. “What’s new? What’s the scoop? Gimme the drama.”
I gulp, feeling like I’m in class hoping the teacher won’t call on me.
“I’m tired as hell,” Alexis says. “That’s what’s new. Sorry it’s not dramatic.” She shifts in her chair, one hand resting on the swell of her belly.
There’s a chorus of sympathetic sounds, and Maya reaches over to gently touch Alexis’s pregnant belly. “Are you getting enough sleep?”
“Trying to. I have to sleep on my side now, and even with the body pillow it’s awkward.
Plus the baby has been moving a lot when I’m in bed.
I guess they sleep during the day and then practice for the Olympics at night.
” She laughs, but there’s exhaustion behind it.
“Last night I swear they were doing somersaults for two hours straight.”
“There has to be some kind of herb or supplement that can help that’s safe during pregnancy,” Hannah says, her fingers flying as she knits a sweater for the upcoming baby.
The soft click of her needles provides a steady rhythm to the conversation.
Between the five of us, this kid is going to be swimming up to their ears in homemade clothes by the time they’re born.
I throw out some suggestions for stretches that can help relax Alexis’s muscles and give the baby more space in her pelvis, demonstrating with my hands how to position the hips for the modified child’s pose.
Maya adds a tip about magnesium that helped her sister during pregnancy.
I’m happy that pregnancy is a topic that can easily eat up an hour of time.
The more we talk about other people, it’s less likely the conversation will turn to me.
“What’s new with you, Devin?” Flick asks, reading my mind and misinterpreting my desires completely.
“Um.” I clear my throat, all too aware of Maya’s gaze boring into the side of my head.
I told her that I saw Oliver at hockey practice, but I didn’t share anything else—certainly not that he had a panic attack, which is private.
“I think I’m going to take this course to get certified in Yoga Nidra.
It would be good to blend the practice with my Yoga for Insomnia class. ”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Maya’s brow pinching in confusion. It’s standard for us to share everything during our Chronic Pain Crafters evenings. These four women are the closest friends I’ve ever had, and they all know about Oliver.
At least, they know about the Oliver who I was in a relationship with years ago.
Now, I’m not so sure that I even know Oliver myself.
Our interaction in the PT room left me thinking that maybe I don’t understand him at all, and I don’t want to fall into the trap of shit talking him like my family did over Christmas.
Reading my old journals made me even more confused. I used to think our story was black and white—I was the good guy, he was the villain. The curtain has been pulled back now, and I’ve been reminded that things are hardly ever that simple.
So, for now, I’m going to let my doubts and desires swirl around in my head. I’ll share with my friends when it’s time.
“What’s yoga nidra, exactly?” Flick asks.
“It’s very restorative,” I answer, almost too eagerly. My needles pause as I look up, grateful for the shift in topic. “The teacher guides you into a space between being awake and asleep. It’s thought that this is where deep healing can happen.”
“Like meditation?” Hannah asks.
“Similar, but you’re lying down the whole time.
Completely supported. The teacher uses a script to guide you through body awareness, breath work, visualizations.
It can help with pain, insomnia, anxiety—pretty much everything we deal with.
” The words come faster now, my enthusiasm genuine.
“Some studies show it’s as restorative as actual sleep.
Twenty minutes of yoga nidra might equal two hours of regular sleep. ”
“Sign me up,” Alexis says with feeling.
“Me too.” Maya’s already pulling out her phone. “When does the course start?”
“Next month. If I get certified, the four of you will be my first students.”
The conversation flows easily, moving from Alexis’s top baby names to the best dates for us to take a group trip to the mountains to the women’s soccer game Hannah is taking Katie—her boyfriend Michael’s daughter—to.
“I still think Luna is pretty,” Maya says, working on her crochet project—a tiny yellow blanket with white stars.
“Noah vetoed it. Said every other girl born in the last five years is named Luna.” Alexis rolls her eyes. “He’s not wrong, but still.”
“What about Ellis?” Flick suggests. “It works for either gender.”
“That’s actually on our short list.”
Hannah glances up from her knitting. “The soccer game is next Saturday if anyone wants to come. Fair warning—I know nothing about soccer, but Katie is excited and that’s what matters.”
“I might be able to make it,” Maya says. “What time?”
While they coordinate schedules, I pick up the dropped stitch from earlier, working it back onto my needle. The yarn is soft under my fingers, the pale green color reminding me of spring even though winter still has us firmly in its grip.
“Oh!” Alexis brightens up. “Speaking of sports, apparently some famous ice hockey player moved to town.”
I stiffen.
“Who?” Flick asks, only vaguely interested.
“I don’t know. He came into Rye Again and Noah nearly lost his mind. He loves hockey. He said this guy was really good until a suspicious injury ended his career. Noah doesn’t believe it was an accident. It’s a whole thing.” She shrugs.
Hannah turns to me, blinking innocently from behind her glasses. “Do you know who it is? Wasn’t your ex a hockey player?”
“Oh… I… I dunno. I don’t follow hockey.” I drop another stitch and bow my head, feigning focus on my knitting in order to hide from the conversation.
“He had such a weird order,” Alexis goes on. “Triple shot iced almond latte with caramel and only two ice cubes.” She laughs. “I remember because it was so specific, and after he left Noah came into the back all excited like the president had just been there.”
I swallow against a lump in my throat. I already suspected she’s talking about Oliver, but now I know for sure.
That’s been his drink for years. Sometimes, on our days off, I would wake him up in bed with it.
We’d drink coffee and watch TV, his arm around my shoulders, neither of us in any hurry to start the day.
Eventually we’d get up to take a shower. And sometimes, in the shower…
The best moments of my life would happen. The way he’d look at me. The way he made me feel seen, wanted, cherished. The steam rising around us, the rest of the world falling away until it was just the two of us and nothing else mattered.
Shower sex with Oliver was unreal. Out of this world. Even if we were struggling somewhere else in our relationship, sex was the one thing that could repair it. Our physical connection was a tether bringing us back together every time.
Unless I was flaring. On those days, he treated my body like a foreign object.
He would hardly touch me, like he was afraid I would break apart if he did.
Or like touching me required too much effort, too much care, when I was already asking so much just by being in pain.
The space between us in bed would stretch wider than the mattress.
His kisses would land on my forehead instead of my lips. Careful. Distant. Almost clinical.
Or maybe he was trying to keep his distance, trying to send a message: since you’re exaggerating the pain level, I’m going to shut you out to show you how dramatic you’re being.
I close my eyes against the memories. I’m putting words in his mouth, he never said such a thing. It’s easy enough to infer it, though, when so much of what he did say was dismissive of my health struggles.
“Hey,” a soft voice says. It’s Maya, her face pinched in concern. “You okay?”
The room has gone quiet, all eyes on me. I realize my hands have stopped moving, my knitting frozen in my lap.
“Yeah.” I sit a little straighter, forcing my fingers to resume their work. “Just... tired. And tired of being tired.”
“For sure.” Hannah, who has fibromyalgia, nods with understanding.
“You guys ever notice,” Flick says, “how sometimes we just talk about how tired we are? We should call ourselves the Tired-All-The-Time-Crafters.”
Everyone laughs appreciatively, the tension breaking like a soap bubble. It’s exactly what I need to start feeling better again.
“I was looking at rentals for the mountains trip.” This time I don’t have to try to work up some excitement. It’s already there. “I found one with a hot tub.”
“Ugh.” Alexis groans, her hand moving to her belly again. “Hot tubs aren’t safe during pregnancy!”
“Boo!” Flick says. “We’ll need to go after the baby is born, then.”
“And bring them with us?” Alexis looks uncertain. “A newborn in the mountains?”
Flick shrugs. “Sure. I’ll help out when you need a break. How hard can taking care of a newborn be?”
Everyone bursts into laughter. “Are you serious?” Maya asks.
“You had a freak out when you had to take care of a kitten,” Hannah points out.
“Hey, and I kept the kitten.” Flick gives her a pointed look.
“I’ve only lost her once, so clearly I would be great with a baby.
And technically I didn’t lose her. Cat escaped out the bathroom window.
Sebastian found her and brought her back.
Scared the poor thing so much, she’s never tried it again. ”
“Yeah. Good for Sebastian,” Alexis says dryly. “Still, you are never babysitting for me.”
Maya smiles softly at me, and I return the sentiment with another smile. She probably knows what’s on my mind, and hopefully she understands why I don’t want to bring Oliver up just yet. Things are too confusing right now, and I need some time to figure them out.
Or not. I could ignore Oliver whenever I’m at the rink. Be polite and friendly and nothing more. Professional. Let the past be the past and entertain no expectations for the future. Treat him like any other coach I work with. Keep my distance. Protect myself.
I already know that I won’t be able to do that, though. Not with so many questions unanswered and my heart never fully healed. Not when seeing him at the rink makes my pulse quicken. Not when his coffee order alone can send me spiraling into memories of everything we were and everything we lost.
This is one sleeping dog that I can’t let lie.