Page 184 of Lose You Twice

Daisy is out of school for the next two days to my detriment but to her delight. By Friday, she’s pouting and fighting me the entire time it takes to get everyone dressed, out the door, and dropped off.

As fate would have it, my uterus decides it would be a great time to hurt. A lot.

But school does not care about my uterus. Neither does my work schedule. Hockey especially does not care because there is a home game tonight, which means I have exactly forty minutes to get from campus to the rink, change, and prove to Donnelly that I am employable despite my entire inner monologue being one long, dramatic sigh.

By the time I reach the equipment room that afternoon, he’s already scowling. “Calloway.”

“I’m on time.”

“You’re breathing like you fought a hill.”

I point behind me in the direction I just came from after Harlow dropped me off. “I did. It’s called the parking lot.”

He gives me a look over his clipboard. “You good?”

I hang my bag in the staff corner. “I’m fine.”

He points me toward the sock bins, and I get moving because that’s what I do best. Moving is easier than thinking. Sorting, checking, folding, restocking. I can make sense of objects. Objects stay where I put them, unless Weston is involved, in which case objects become props in his personal theater of nonsense.

The team starts trickling in around five.

Weston arrives first, wearing sunglasses again, trying to be cool and all that.

“Calloway,” he says, leaning against the doorframe. “You ever look at a man and think, Wow, he’s due for a goal tonight?”

“No.”

He removes the sunglasses slowly. “That was your cue.”

I pause, pretending to reconsider my answer. “Oh. Then still no.”

Asher walks behind him, goalie bag over his shoulder. “She respects honesty.”

Weston points at him. “You are being unsupportive before a major offensive breakthrough.” He looks back at me. “Andy get your car fixed?”

“Yes, actually,” I say, setting the final towels in their place before turning back to my empty cart, ready to hide it away until it’s time to fill it with smelly ones later. “I just need to find a time for my mom to drop me by and get the final bill for what I owe in the next few days.”

Grayson walks in then, quieter, nodding at me before heading toward his stall. He looks more serious than usual tonight, shoulders a little tighter. I figure he’s just more focused today, but then I hear Weston speak, voice quieter. “Dane’s here tonight, right?”

Grayson glances toward the locker room door. “Yeah.”

Dane.

As in Dane Whitaker.

As in Seattle Stormbreakers development guy. The one who calls Kai and talks about training reports and summer timelines and all the things that remind me that Kai’s life already has a place waiting for him somewhere else.

The thought doesn’t knock me sideways the way it might have a month ago.

Kai walks in a minute later.

I know before I see him because my body has become embarrassing and predictable, but when I look up, he is already looking at me. Suit. Tie. Game face mostly in place. He passes by close enough that his sleeve brushes mine. Not an accident. Not obvious either.

“Hey,” he says quietly.

“Hi,” I say, a small smile working its way out of me.

His hand twitches at his side, like he wants to touch me and remembers exactly where we are. The thin line we have to walk so my work doesn’t become gossip with a name attached to it.