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But I ignore that too as I drop my pants to the ground, toe off my socks, my underwear.
And swap them for fresh pairs. My extra comfy underwear. My fuzzy socks. Sweats that fit loose and feel like silk. A tank that’s thin and soft and perfect beneath my San Francisco tie-dye hoodie that Roxie picked out for me the last time we were down at the tourist trap that is Pier 39.
Noise and crowds and freshly baked sourdough. Sea lions protesting.
Managing the rides and getting her snacks and fans coming up for autographs and…
Doing it alone.
Because I’m a single parent.
My heart squeezes, the ache intensifying, but I push it down and finish getting ready for bed. Teeth brushed and flossed—can’t risk my sponsored and billboard-adorning smile. Face moisturized—because that’s just a good habit to have. Hair combed and braided—so it doesn’t get in my mouth and eyes and wrap around my throat, threatening to asphyxiate me.
Then I have no choice but to go back out the bathroom door.
And I already know that Stefan’s going to be standing there, exactly there—leaning against the open doorway.
But I don’t see him—or he’s not the first thing I see.
Instead, my gaze hits on my nightstand, on the container of veggies and hummus, on the chocolate milk sitting next to it.
My heart convulses.
But I lock it down, turn to face the man who was my heart…and then shattered it.
He’s holding a container of bruise cream. It’s a special concoction made by the team’s head trainer—Mandy—and it works like nothing else.
Another squeeze in my chest, so fierce that pain ripples through my torso again.
“You need to go,” I say, moving toward him, snatching the container of cream from his hand and setting it on the built-in shelves that surround the TV, that are filled with all my favorite smutty books that Mandy, Sara, and I—and anyone else who wants to join in on—read during our monthly book club. Shelves this man insisted I have.
More pain in my chest.
More things to just shove down, down.
“Brit.”
Goddamn it.
I clench my teeth, shove by him, my body protesting, but my heart protesting more. I can’t look into those blue eyes any longer.
“Brit,” he says again. “Where are you going?”
Anywhere you aren’t.
Thankfully, I manage to not say that out loud as I walk quickly down the hall, as I quietly open the door and peek in on my baby girl. Rox is sprawled out on her back, arms and legs akimbo, blanket kicked off as always.
I pick my way through the detritus of stuffed animals and dirty clothes, hair ties and Nerf guns to get to her bedside, to tug it up and over her little body, to tuck it snuggly around her.
Safe. Protected.
Sleeping soundly.
All I’ve ever wanted for my little girl.
I reset her nightlight so it won’t turn off until the sun comes up, the darkness in her room no longer an invisible threat, and then pick my way back to the door, closing it silently behind me.
Stefan, unfortunately, hasn’t disappeared.
