Page 116 of Puck the Coach's Son
My phone is on the coffee table where he set it down for me. I pick it up.
Diane. Last text from her:Happy birthday, kiddo. Call if you ever want. xx D
I type,hi. i've been thinking about you lately. hope you're well.
I send it before I can un-send it.
The read receipt comes back in about twelve seconds. Then a typing bubble. Then:Hi baby. You okay?
I stare at the screen. Tears come up without asking. One lands on the phone before I get it off my face.
I respond,not really. can i call you tomorrow?
You can call me right now. Or tomorrow. Or whenever. I'm here.
I hold the phone until my thumb goes cold. Wipe my face. Type,tomorrow. i love you.
I love you too. Whatever it is we'll figure it out. Sleep okay.
I read it three times.Whatever it is we'll figure it out.Notwhatever you've done.Notwhat did he do to you now.Thewelands like a hand on my back. I didn't know how starved I was for awethat included me until she handed me one through a screen after eight years of birthday texts.
The phone goes dark in my hand and I sit there until Maddox comes around the couch with a plate.
Scrambled eggs. Toast. A mug of tea. He sets them on the coffee table, crouches down in front of me, and takes the phone out of my hand like it's a fragile thing.
“Hey.”
“I texted her.”
“Good.” He sets the phone screen-down. Puts his hands on my knees. “Eat.”
I eat. Not a lot. Half the eggs. Most of the toast. Tea in small sips because my throat is tight and big swallows hurt. He eats the other half of the eggs right out of the pan, standing up in the kitchen, watching me over the counter. When I finish, he takesthe plate, rinses it, comes back, and sits down on the couch next to me.
We don't turn the TV on. We don't put music on. The apartment is just the hum of the fridge and the low rumble of the city through the glass.
“Can I ask you something?” I say.
“Yeah.”
“In the beginning—” I stop. Start over. “When you told me in the shower…that first week…that you were going to ruin me to get back at Paul…”
He goes still.
“Yeah.”
“That was the whole thing, right? That was the plan. You were going to sleep with me until Paul found out and it would destroy him. Or whatever.”
“Yeah.”
I nod once. My hands are clenched in my lap.
“Okay.”
He waits.
“I want you to know I figured that out. Pretty early. I'm not stupid.”
“I never thought you were stupid, sweetheart.”
