Less than a week goes by before being home 24/7 starts to get to me. Suffocates me, really. Maybe that’s a little dramatic. Probably not, but after everything with Austin, I don’t know. I guess I thought finishing the semester online was the right move. It would give me some space to breathe. To forget about all the awful things that happened to me. But instead of peace, it feels like I’ve traded one set of problems for another. I thought stepping away from campus, away from the chaos, would help.
But I think I made a mistake. A colossal one.
The noise in my head isn’t gone, it’s louder in the silence of this house.
Mom is a stay-at-home wife, and while she has charity functions and the mayor’s office stuff to keep her busy, lately it feels like I’ve suddenly become her full-time project. She’s always hovering, checking in, bringing me food like I’m going to waste away if she doesn’t. I get it—she’s worried. But I’m not a child. I know she means well, but she doesn’t exactly pick the right moments. Like in the middle of my online lectures, when she insists on staying for a chat.
I’ve given her my class schedule, but it doesn’t matter. I’m a body in the house. A warm body means company. Since most of my coursework is self-directed, she’s taken that as an open invitation to drag me along on errands or expect me to keep her company all day.
Wednesday, she drags me to gentle yoga at the women’s club. Thursday, it’s brunch with the ladies from Dad’s office. By Friday? I’m seconds from screaming into a pillow.
So I do. Quietly. Right before I leave to meet Adriana for coffee before Mom has a chance to add anything to my schedule.
Parking my Jeep, I head into The Howling Cup and find her already waiting for me at one of the corner tables.
“Hey,” I call out. “Did you already order?”
She lifts her mug in the air, and I stick my tongue out at her before dropping my bag on the empty seat across from her. “Rude. Give me two minutes to grab my own and I’ll be right back.”
“Take your time,” she says. Her tone is light, but her fingers are tapping lightly against her cup—like she’s keeping track of the seconds I’m gone.
I shrug it off and head to the counter to order my coffee.
I order their special—a white chocolate, huckleberry mocha made with white coffee. It’s surprisingly good and it definitely hits the spot. Making my way back to our table, I take my seat and eye Adriana curiously.
“Who are you looking at?” I ask.
Adriana’s eyes don’t move from the table across the room, and I follow her line of sight, curious. She’s staring at a group of guys, all seated together with an easy, laid-back vibe, their laughter carrying across the café. There’s a pile of hockey sticks resting against the wall next to them, the oversized gear bags thrown haphazardly around their feet making it pretty clear these guys are on the university hockey team.
But it’s one guy in particular who seems to have captured Adriana’s attention. He’s tall, with messy black hair that falls over his forehead, and even from where I’m sitting, I can see the sharp angle of his jaw. He’s got this flirty smile on his face, and the way he keeps glancing over at Adriana ... it’s like he’s just waiting for her to notice him back.
“Adriana,” I tease, nudging her foot under the table. “You’re practically drooling. Who’s the guy?”
She blinks, tearing her gaze away from him to look at me. There’s a brief flicker of annoyance—like I’ve pulled her from something she didn’t want to leave—but it’s gone as quickly as it came. Her smile is instant, but something in her eyes shifts, like she’s forcing herself to focus on me when just seconds ago, she was a million miles away. “I am not drooling,” she protests, though her voice wavers. I arch a brow, calling bullshit.
“I see the way he’s looking at you. Come on, spill.”
Adriana glances over at him again, biting her lip before finally sighing. Her hands fidget with her mug, spinning it in slow circles as if she’s trying to work out exactly what to say. Or maybe how much to say. “His name’s Kenji. He asked me out the other day.”
My eyes widen, excitement bubbling up inside me. “What? Why the hell didn’t you lead with that? When are you guys going out?”
She takes a slow sip of her coffee, dragging it out way longer than necessary. “I don’t know. I told him I’d think about it.”
“Think about it? Girl, he’s hot! You should definitely say yes.”
Adriana shrugs, but I can tell by the way her fingers tap nervously on the table that she’s not completely against the idea. She shrugs again, and her shoulders tense, like she’s waiting for me to push. She’s looking down now, her eyes a little wide, almost like she’s scared to make a decision. “I don’t know. Heseems nice, but … you know how it is. He’s a hockey player. And you know the reputation they have.”
There’s a flash of something in her eyes—doubt, maybe? Fear?—but it’s gone as quickly as it appeared.
She’s talking, but it feels rehearsed—like she’s listing reasons to convince herself, not me.
I roll my eyes. “Not all athletes are players, Adriana. Look at Gabriel—he’s different.”
She gives me a pointed look. “Yeah, but Gabriel wasn’t always like that. You are the only girl he’s ever been like this with. What if Kenji’s just hoping for an easy lay? I … I’m not great at judging people’s intentions.” Her voice drops lower, quieter now, as if she’s revealing more than she meant to. Her fingers tighten around her mug.
“Or,” I counter, leaning forward, “what if he’s a good guy who actually likes you? Sometimes you just have to put yourself out there. Besides, he’s cute.”
Adriana glances back at him, and I don’t miss the small smile playing on her lips. “He is cute,” she admits, her cheeks flushing. “But I don’t know?— ”
