Page 144 of The Pucking Arrangement

Ris clings to me like a koala, her tiny arms locking around my neck like she’ll never let go.

I wish she wouldn’t.

“Promise you’ll come back,” Ris whispers into my hair, her voice so small, so certain. “Promise.”

“I promise, sweet girl.” My voice wobbles embarrassingly. “For lessons. For visits. Whenever you want.”

Dmitri stands by the door, keys in hand, his face carved from stone.

Galina lingers nearby, her sharp gaze flicking between us, missing nothing. There’s sympathy there, but also something sharper—impatience, frustration. Like she’s watching a chess game where one player refuses to make the obvious move.

“It’s not forever,” she says, gently prying Ris from my arms. “Just a new chapter.”

I nod, unable to speak past the lump in my throat.

Ris watches, silent tears slipping down her cheeks as Dmitri herds me out. The last thing I see before the door closes is her small hand waving goodbye.

The car ride is suffocating.

Dmitri grips the wheel like it’s the only thing keeping him together, his knuckles white against the leather. I keep my eyes on the window, cataloging landmarks as they blur past.

The coffee shop where we took Ris for hot chocolate. The park where we had the picnic with Ris’s school. The grocery store where I always bought Ris’s favorite pasta.

Each memory a fresh wound.

“Galina will be good for her,” I say, desperate to fill the silence. “Between her ballet background and Ris’s skating?—”

“Yes.” His voice is flat.

“And with playoffs heating up, you’ll be away a lot, so?—”

“Yes.”

I press my lips together, swallowing back everything I actually want to say.

Ask me to come back after the festival.

Tell me you want me here.

Tell me you love me.

Instead, I stare at the dashboard, counting mile markers like measures in a difficult piece, forcing myself to breathe in time with the road.

When we reach my building, he shifts into park but doesn’t move.

“Thank you,” he says finally, his accent thicker than usual. “For everything with Ris. She...she’s never connected like that before. With anyone.”

My throat tightens. “She’s an amazing kid.”

“Yes.” His jaw flexes. “The best.”

I hesitate. “Dmitri?—”

“I’ll get your bags.” He’s out of the car before I can finish, leaving me alone with all the words I don’t know how to say.

By the time I make it to the curb, he’s already unloaded both suitcases and my cello. Efficient, as always. Ready to leave. Ready to be done with this slow, excruciating goodbye.

“I’ll take these up for you.” He doesn’t wait for an answer, just grabs the bags and heads for the building door.

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