“That’s surprisingly good advice.”
“I’m full of surprises.” He puts his headphones on, then takes them back off. “Also, for the record? I called this months ago. The Instagram photo. I’m just saying.”
“Drop it, Ollie.”
“Dropped.” He grins and puts his headphones on, and I lean my head against the window, close my eyes, and think about Sydney.
Chicago is cold, the hotel is generic, and I can’t sleep.
I lie in bed, staring at the ceiling—different ceiling, same problem—and I think about what Ollie said: that the safe play is the risky one, that not doing anything is what got me here.
He’s right. I know he’s right. I’ve known it since the firepit, since Luke’s drawing, since the night she fell asleep on my shoulder and I sat still for forty-five minutes because moving would have meant losing the weight of her against me.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand.
Sydney:Twins are down. Luke wanted me to tell you that sharks don’t get cancer. He says you should “think about that.”
I smile in the dark.
Me:Tell him I’m thinking about it.
Sydney:Already asleep. I’ll pass it along in the morning.
Three dots. Then another message.
Sydney:Good luck tomorrow, Arch.
Me:Thanks, Syd.
I put the phone on my chest and stare at the ceiling some more.
I’ll give her time. I’ll play these three games, fly home, walk through the door, and she’ll be there—in my kitchen, in my life, wearing my sweatshirt and making my kids laugh—and I’ll figure out the right way to do this. The way she deserves.
Not a rebound. Not a reaction. Not the safe choice.
The real one.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The Speech
Sydney
I’ve been rehearsing this for three days—in my head, in the shower, while driving the Lexus to the senior center, and while cutting Luke’s toast into triangles.
It’s a good speech. It’s airtight. Lauren helped me workshop it last night, and even she admitted it was solid, which means it’s either genuinely logical or so depressing that she didn’t have the heart to argue against it.
He lands at eleven. I hear the garage door at 11:40, followed by the sound of his bag hitting the hallway floor and his footsteps coming through the kitchen. The twins have been asleep since eight, and the house is quiet. I’m on the couch with a book I haven’t read a single page of because I’ve been staring at the same paragraph for forty-five minutes while waiting for the sound of his car.
He appears in the living room doorway, and his eyes find me immediately.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hey. How was the trip?”
“Good. Won two out of three.” He leans against the doorframe. “Did the kids go down okay?”
“Fine. Luke wanted extra chapters tonight. I think he missed you.”
