Sage's breath shivered out. "Maybe this is not the right time for...whatever we are. Wrong place, wrong time..."
"You can try to get rid of me, lass, but it's not going ta work." She could hear the smile in his voice. " Ma friend Fergus, who works on the rig, is stayin’ wi’ me for a wee while. Noo, close yer eyes. We'll talk in the morn."
"Goodnight, Euan."
"Goodnight, Sage."
She ended the call and laid very still, the empty room thrumming with the echo of his steadiness. For once, the silence didn't feel like a threat; it felt like a hand at her back, holding her up as she drifted to sleep.
Chapter 31
The master bedroom stayed closed. Sage had gone in once, only to pack Ronin's things into a cardboard box, tape it, and leave it by the front door. That room seemed to be filled with the ghost of her former life, and she had no intention of lying down beside it again.
Ronin still came by after work. He'd try awkwardly to engage her in small talk, but she gave him nothing but silence and her back. His efforts instead went to David, who remained wary and reticent. The boy was polite, but every word was measured and his silences careful in a way that was new to them.
The familiar low mood sank its claws into Sage again the week after Ronin had left. She cooked as little as possible and spent long hours in bed, reading until the lines blurred and the hours slid past. When David's worry showed in his eyes, she forced herself downstairs, cracked open another book, and feigned normalcy. Distraction was her only medicine.
That's when she began researching jobs, scrolling through lists of options late into the night. If nothing else, it made her feel less helpless
It was at football practice that things started looking up, even a little. After about an hour of shivering in the early morning cold, Gene suggested coffee.
Gene was a whirlwind—forty-eight, divorced twice, and the mother of four: two grown, two still teenagers. She was blunt, funny, and had energy spilling out of her like sparks. Just being in her vicinity made Sage feel like a wrung-out dishrag. Over steaming mugs in a noisy café, their talk turned from their sons' match stats to the unrelenting reality of perimenopause.
"Oh, the hot flashes!" Gene groaned, fanning herself with a napkin. "One minute I'm frozen, and the next, I'm roasting like a turkey in August."
Sage laughed, surprising herself. "And the bleeding...don't get me started. I swear, I'm running a crime scene every three weeks."
"Preach," Gene said, rolling her eyes. "Pads, tampons, ibuprofen—my purse is like a mobile chemist. My exes didn't care, of course. At least they send child support."
Sage was reserved, but eventually, she admitted, her voice steady, "Ronin and I... We've separated."
Gene's face softened, and she didn't ask any of the obvious questions. They both looked out the café window to where the boys were tearing across the pitch.
"How's David taking it?" Gene asked quietly.
"As well as possible," Sage said. "He sees Ronin more than he used to, which is a plus. The other day he caught me reading a book about serial killers and asked if his dad should be worried."
Gene chuckled. "What did you say?"
"That if Ronin was smart, yes."
They both laughed, the sound startling in its ease. Sage realized it had been a long time since she had been relaxed like this. Or had a woman friend like this.
Then she thought of Euan, who had been in her thoughts too often these days. He had been there when she needed someone, and there had always been this sizzling chemistry that refused to allow her to relax in his presence. And there was the fact that she was always trying not to check out his arse.
After a beat, Gene said, "I work at the hospice, you know. The one by Church Street, next to the bookstore, which has excellent coffee, by the way. They might have volunteer openings. Would you like to try?"
Sage hesitated. "Let me think about it?"
"Of course." Gene gave her hand a quick squeeze. "I just thought it may take your mind off things. Just...sometimes helping others helps us."
That night, her period came. The cramps ripped through her, two days of debilitating hell ahead. She had showered and layered double pads for safety. The doorbell rang as she tugged on fresh leggings.
She opened the door expecting Ronin, only to find Francis.
Ronin's mother swept past her into the hallway without waiting. Sage trailed after, biting down the spike of irritation. "Why don't you come in?" she said drolly.
Francis perched on the sofa, back ramrod straight, lips pursed as if the house itself offended her.
