“I just finished work.” Tia gestures vaguely to the paned windows lining the loft, like I’d be able to see her office on Wall Street all the way from here. She studies the winking lights of Manhattan stretching out just across the river, angling her head back and forth. She whistles, tapping the edge of a box with the pointed toe of her heel. “Quite the view you’ve got, Novotnak. How come we never hung out here?”
“You wouldn’t have crossed the Brooklyn Bridge.”
“I happen to love Brooklyn. You just ... disappeared for a little while.” She gives me a knowing look that’s a bit sad before gesturing to all the boxes scattered around the apartment. “What’s all this?”
“Trying to figure out my next move.”
Her eyebrows knit together. “I saw you on TV last week. It’s always such a joy for me when you commentate on Jay’s games, actually.”
“Yeah. I turned down the whole network thing, but I’m doing the occasional guest spot. I don’t hate it.” I swallow before deciding to try opening up a bit. “I spend most of my time with my psychiatrist, though.”
“How’s that going for you?” she asks, head tipping thoughtfully.
“It’s not the hardest thing I’ve ever done,” I say honestly.
“I’d guess not.” She smiles, but it doesn’t quite meet her eyes.
“You can yell at me,” I offer.
She blinks, confused. “Why would I do that?”
“Because you never have.” I shrug, dropping down onto the couch.
“Bohds ...” Her voice softens, she presses a hand to her cheek before she folds herself down beside me, grabbing one of mine and interlacing our fingers. “Iwasmad at you. I am still, a bit. But I don’t ... blame you. I just wish you’d talked to us. Told us how bad it really was. Talon would have flown home fromSweden in a heartbeat. Jay would have been there every day he could. I’d have transferred to a West Coast office without a second thought. We all love you, you know?” She squeezes my hand, and a single tear escapes down her cheek. “You’re ours to protect, just like Sloan is.”
I nod, gripping my jaw before I swallow heavy and ask, “How’s she doing?”
“Good. I know you’re not a big socials guy, but she posts sometimes. Look—she went with us, Suny, and Mateo when Jay was playing Toronto.” Tia plucks her phone out of her purse, flashing a picture of Sloan, sitting in arena seats just like I’ve seen her a million times, smiling and happy between Jay’s dads, Tia and Talon flanking either side.
There’s a dull throb along my hairline, and I can feel my heart in my throat. “She looks beautiful.”
“Always does.” Tia nods, dropping her phone back into her purse. She looks around, lip curling back when she sees the mess I’ve made. “You want some help packing?”
“Yeah. Alright.”
She points a manicured finger at me. “I charge though.”
I give her a dry grin. “Think I can afford it.”
“You answer one question about your feelings per box.” She straightens her shoulders, throwing me a smile that’s mostly teeth and makes her look like an exact replica of her brother.
“Oh, come on.” I raise a hand, and I laugh for the first time in a long time. It feels a bit hoarse, and it sounds strange, echoing through the half-empty apartment. But it doesn’t hurt.
She gives me a pointed look before snapping her fingers. “Let’s get to work, Novotnak.”
Sloan
Time passes in these funny little chunks when you’re healing.
You go forward. You go backward. Sometimes, you stay still.
I sit with my discomfort. I mother it, the way my mother never really managed to mother me.
I start a new medication, and I don’t hate it.
I let myself be sensitive. It might be a superpower like Bohdan said, after all.
I let things be too loud and too big and too much. I pop in my earplugs when they are.
