Page 28 of Fault Line

Her fingers press harder against my chest. “That’s great to hear. But we still need to be cautious and make sure we’re not missing anything.”

It’s difficult not to feel annoyed by her words. I’ve been coming to these extra sessions with her for weeks. And it’s starting to make me wonder if she’s punishing me for something else and if Elio might be the reason behind it.

“I appreciate your concern,” I say, trying to keep my tone polite. “But I really don’t think I need all these extra sessions. I’m feeling great.”

She looks up at me, and I can see a hint of discomfort in her eyes. “Just want to ensure you’re in the best possible condition for the season.”

I give her a tight-lipped smile, slightly ashamed of myself for being so defensive. I’m sure she’s only trying to help me, and I shouldn’t take her dedication to her job personally.

As we finish up the session, I thank her and move to head out of the rink. But before I leave, I turn back and give it one last shot. “Hey, can I ask you something?”

She glances up at me, her eyes curious. “Of course. What’s on your mind?”

“Uh, look, I don’t want to make any baseless accusations, but I feel like I’m doing everything you’ve asked me to, and I’m still being treated like I’m not making progress. Is there something else going on here?”

“I just want to make sure you’re healthy and ready to play.” Harper’s expression softens, her eyes crinkling in the corners as she gives me a knowing smile. “If you’re feeling great, that’s fantastic, and we can talk about scaling back your sessions. But let’s not rush into anything, okay?”

I give her a tight nod, still reeling from the forced positivity in her tone. It’s clear that she’s feeling a little bit uneasy, and I can’t shake the idea that there’s something off about our sessions. But hell, maybe I am just paranoid.

Besides, I don’t want Harper to think I’m questioning her expertise.

So I let it go for now. Instead, I offer her one last quick thank-you and move on. No harm done. As long as I’m in perfect shape for the game tomorrow, that’s all I really give a shit about.

11

KAIA

It’s Friday night,and once again, I’m twisting and turning alone in my bed. Sleep eludes me, and my mind’s in overdrive. I just want to fucking pass out already. I’m spread entirely too thin, and I feel like my brain is about to explode.

This summer, it seemed like I was finally able to get a break from relentless insomnia. But now, I’m back to square fucking one.

It’s awful, feeling like I can’t ever shut off my thoughts. I’m worrying and fretting over shit that doesn’t even matter. Things that are way far out of my control. And then, of course, there are things that I deserve to be concerned over, but not to such a drastic degree.

There’s the weight of my assignments and dissertation, the pressure to maintain my flawless GPA, and the stress of applying to graduate school. They all take their toll.

And the more I try to push my fears aside, the more they crowd my thoughts.

Sofia’s still on my mind, too. She texted me last night while I was sitting in my Uber, out of the fucking blue, saying that she wants to visit me here at Coastal. Honestly, I’m not sure I’m ready for that. It’s been ages since we’ve even spoken, and I don’t know what to say or how to act around her.

The truth is the two of us have never been very close. And I’m not sure I have the space or energy to disrupt my routine for her.

In my opinion, it’s simply not worth it. If she really cared about me, about our relationship, she would’ve reached out before now.

And then, unfortunately, there’s the resident golden boy. For some reason, he’s been consuming my thoughts lately, and it’s driving me up a wall. It’s absurd, really. We’ve known each other for three years now, but he’s always been more of an afterthought.

A tiny, prickly thorn in my side.

These days, thoughts of him are more like a dagger straight to the gut ... nearly impossible to ignore.

My fingers absentmindedly pick at my hair, and I know I need to distract myself before I completely zone out. It’s something that happens whenever I get overly stressed. I pick, and pick, and pick until my thoughts finally shut off—until there’s nothing to worry about besides the incessant aching of my scalp.

It’s a compulsion I can’t control. A mindless distraction that I crave.

Instead, I try to focus on happy little thoughts, but my mind drifts back to Holden. Again and again. It’s like I only have two coping mechanisms to choose from here: pick at my hair or think of him. It frustrates me, and I try to push my hands under my body, hoping the pressure will help me redirect.

I make a concerted effort to focus on something else, anything else, but my mind won’t cooperate.

I remember what my first therapist taught me, and I attempt to use those silly little grounding techniques. Just five things to focus on, one for each of my senses: the softness of my sheets against my skin, the faint scent of lavender from my diffuser, the hum of the air conditioner in the background, the lingering taste of the tea I had earlier, and the dim glow of the streetlights filtering in through my curtains.

---