Page 135 of Offside Rules

I leave my bag on the island and look around.

There’s a mug beside the coffee maker. Mine. Wolf’s is in the dishwasher, where I put it after breakfast.

I start with the cupcake liners because I know where those belong. Then the food coloring, the spare piping bags, and the unopened bag of powdered sugar. Everything goes into the bin I brought up on my first morning here.

The personal things can stay. My slippers, my toothbrush, the pajamas in his drawer. I need another day before I’m ready to take away every sign that I’ve been here.

I carry the bin to the door, then take my bag down the hall.

The bedroom is exactly how we left it. His side of the bed is made badly, one corner of the comforter tucked beneath the pillow supporting his shoulder. Mine is smoother because I fixed it while he was brushing his teeth.

I collect my book from the nightstand and the stack of clothes I folded earlier, tucking them into my bag. Then I turn toward the chair.

His jersey is hanging over the back.

I pick it up.

Ziegler stretches across the shoulders, and I smooth my hand over the letters before turning it around.

I wore this voluntarily the last time.

I wanted to sit in his seats. I wanted him to look up and see me there. When he pointed at me after that clean hit, I nearly embarrassed myself in front of an entire section of people by jumping up and down.

Tonight, I’m sitting with my parents.

My brother’s name will be on the other team’s jerseys, and Dad will have plenty to say every time Wolf steps onto the ice.

I hold the jersey against myself for a second.

Then I put it back on the chair.

I don’t know whether he expects me to take it.

I don’t know whether I want it downstairs, where I’ll see it every time I open my closet.

For now, it can stay here.

My phone buzzes while I grab the last few things like bubble bath that I know won’t go to use if I leave it.