Page 89 of Make the Play

“Okay,” I mutter.

Her tone softens. “Alright. Start with five things you can feel.”

I shift slightly under the sheet. “Uh… sheets. Sweat. My hair sticking to my neck. You… holding my hand.”

She doesn’t say anything at that, just gives my fingers the smallest squeeze.

“One more?”

“…My heart, still beating.”

Her voice is barely a whisper as she hums. “That’s a good one.”

She keeps going. “Now, four things you can hear.”

I swallow, trying to calm my breathing.

“Your voice. The air vent and the sheets rustling. And…” I pause, listening. “Your breathing.”

There’s a beat of silence before she says, “You always do that.”

“Do what?”

“Find me in the noise.”

I can’t speak, so I squeeze her hand back, and she doesn’t push further. Just guides me through the rest of it.

“Okay. Three things you can see.”

I let my gaze shift toward her. “Your eyes glinting in the streetlights. The way your hair’s falling across your shoulder. The shadows on the ceiling.”

What I don’t say is that I’m counting the curve of her mouth, the soft line of her collarbone, and how badly I want to memorize every inch of her while she’s close enough to touch.

She keeps going. “Two things you can smell.”

I inhale slowly. “Your shampoo. My detergent.”

“And one thing you can taste.”

I pause again, because the real answer is her mouth on mine, a constant memory from the last time I kissed her.

“Morning breath,” I lie.

She hums a quiet laugh and squeezes my hand again, settling back down into the covers. I settle back, too, realizing my pulse has slowed. The panic’s retreated into something softer, something that feels survivable.

I turn my head slightly toward her in the dark. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Her voice is sleepy now. “But I’m still gonna punish you for calling it woo-woo shit tomorrow.”

“Wouldn’t expect anything less.”

She nestles a little closer, her voice drifting. “For the record, you don’t have to tell me what it was about. I mean, I’d listen. But you don’t owe me anything.”

My jaw tightens, and for a second, I think I won’t say anything. But then I do.

“I fell through the ice when I was ten.”

Zoe doesn’t move, doesn’t interrupt.

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