Page 125 of Slapshot Baby

"How do you feel about me?"

She gives me a tight smile. "Kai, please. Not tonight."

“Every time I ask, you dodge. And I need to know why."

Her gaze drops to the table. Her left hand slides to her lap.

But she doesn’t answer.

The candlelight throws soft shadows across her collarbones. There’s a small crescent of clay still caught in the curve of her ear that she missed when she cleaned up.

But it’s her eyes that hold attention. Bright yet guarded. There has to be only one reason why those eyes can keep telling me they want me yet Ava wouldn’t bulge.

"Did I hurt you before the accident?" I ask. "Did I do something to you that I can't remember?"

She goes still.

The warmth drains from her face. Her fork rests against the plate where her fingers released it. Her eyes drop to her lap, and her left hand moves toward her torso before stopping midair.

The low, easy laughter of people in the restaurant suddenly becomes too loud.

"Ava. Look at me."

She doesn't.

The silence lasts long enough to become its own kind of answer.

"A yes would be easier than this," I say.

When she finally speaks, her voice is stripped of everything I depend on.

"Please don't ask me that."

No humor. No deflection. No warmth deployed like armor against the questions she doesn't want to face.

Just please don't ask me that.

“Ava…”

"It's not that simple, okay?"

"It's the simplest question I know how to ask. Did I hurt you?"

She picks up her water. The glass shakes against her lower lip.

I let it go for now, because pressing further means becoming the man I'm terrified I already was.

We finish dinner.

She talks about her new studio layout and a client who wants a chandelier made entirely of driftwood. She's funny, animated, trying so hard to return us to the version of tonight that existed before I opened my mouth.

I laugh where laughing is expected, but it sounds hollow. I eat food I can't taste.

But something has settled in my chest.

She can't tell me I didn't hurt her.

When the dinner is over, we walk to the car without speaking. She holds the paper bag of figurines against her chest, one arm wrapped around it.