Eva nodded. “Thanks for stopping by.”
Kate gave me a polite nod as she passed. “Nice to see you again, Lex.”
I somehow managed a tight smile. “You, too.”
We watched Kate walk down the hall. The soft click of her boots grew faint as she headed for the front door.
Eva exhaled sharply once she was gone. “Well. That was a disaster.”
I looked at her, startled. “You think so?”
“I had to sit through a pissing match on painkillers,” she muttered, rubbing her forehead.
“I wasn’t trying to piss?—”
“Yes, you were,” she said, not unkindly. “And so was she. And I’m too fucking tired to referee.”
I couldn’t help but glance toward the door Kate had just left through. “I didn’t expect her to be here again. It threw me.”
Eva shifted in her chair, looking a little guilty. “I didn’t expect her to stay so long either. She came by this morning and … lingered.”
“She still loves you,” I blurted before I could stop myself.
“She doesn’t know me anymore,” Eva countered. “Not who I am now.”
“You two seemed pretty comfortable,” I said before I could stop that, too.
She frowned. “Lex?—”
“I know. I know, it’s stupid,” I muttered. I pushed my hair back in frustration. “I just felt … like I didn’t belong here. And like she does.”
Eva was quiet for a moment. She sighed and her shoulders dropped. “This house is like a time capsule. It makes people remember who I used to be. But that version of me is gone.”
I looked at her, searching her face. “Who are you now?”
Eva reached for my hand and laced our fingers together. “I’m the person who wants you beside me while I figure out how to walk again.”
My throat tightened and I rapidly blinked.
The sunroom fell quiet except for the soft hum of the space heater and the faint rustle of snow sliding off of the roof. Eva shifted so her leg rested across my lap instead of another chair. The bulky brace was cool beneath my fingers. I traced slow circles on her calf, careful not to press too hard.
“I hate that you’re leaving,” she said, voice low and a little rough.
I swallowed. “Only a few more weeks and I’ll be back.”
She shifted again, wincing as she adjusted the brace. “It still feels like forever.”
I wanted to sugar coat it—to tell her it was nothing, that the Miami league would wrap up before we knew it, and that I’d be calling her every night until then—but the words stuck in my throat. This was supposed to be our time together, she and I playing ball on the same team in the same city, but now we were apart again.
I squeezed her hand. “I’ll text you too much,” I vowed. “You’ll get sick of me.”
“Impossible,” she snorted softly. Her mouth curved just enough to make my heart stutter.
I wanted to memorize the moment—the way her braids slipped loose over her shoulders, the stubborn tilt of her mouth, the steady rhythm of her breathing.
“You’re all set for your flight?” she asked, an edge of concern in her voice.
I nodded. “Yeah … in a few hours. But right now, I just want to stay here a little longer.”
