Page 152 of Home Game

“It’s Mica.”

What?I buzzed him in and looked back at Krista. She shrugged. “The guy is persistent.”

When I opened the door, he pulled me into a big brotherly bear hug. That hug felt like salve on my wound. It didn’t heal, but it offered temporary relief. I worked to sound normal. “What are you doing here?”

“Are you kidding?” His accent was as strong as I remembered. “You think I’d let you build IKEA furniture by yourself?”

He helped me build my bed and then he insisted we order a pizza. Krista, him and I sat on my living room floor and ate.

“This place suits you,” he looked around. “But you need some furniture.”

“I’ll get there.”

Mica and Krista exchanged a look. “I know you will. And when you do, I’ll help build that furniture.”

“Thanks, Mica.” I meant it. I really valued his offer of friendship.

“I have a housewarming gift for you,” he fumbled in the pocket of his jeans, pulled out a piece of paper and offered it to me.

“What is this?”

“Open it. You’ll see.”

It was a flyer for 21 hours of Krav Maga training. “What is this?”

“It’s a self-defense course,” Mica held my gaze. “I will take the course with you. But since my schedule is so uncertain, we will get trained privately.”

Mica was trying to keep me safe. Emotionally struggling, I bowed my head over my chest. “You'll do that with me?”

“Yeah,” he sounded gruff. “The instructor said it doesn’t matter how tiny you are. This training really works.”

I swallowed repeatedly, trying to lock down all my emotions. “Yeah sure.”

“First class is a week from tomorrow. Can you make it?”

I managed a watery smile. “I can make it.”

“Good. I’ll pick you up.”

I thoughtI’d be more scared by myself, in that apartment, but I slept in that bed like a baby. Every day I woke at 5 AM and worked, often clocking over 12 hours a day. I splurged on internet, so at night, I huddled in that bed and watched every sappy movie I could find on Netflix.

That bed became my entire world, except for quick trips to the kitchen, or long, lingering soaks in my tub.

I tortured myself with thoughts of Ryan. I started a fake Instagram account for the sole purpose of following his account. I spent way too much time studying all the photos I had taken of him. Tracing my finger over the lines of his face.

Had he met someone else? Had he figured out how I felt about him? Had his mom told him she didn’t approve of me? I thought she had liked me, but maybe I had misread that situation.

Was he out dating? Sleeping every night with a different puck bunny? Had he taken someone else to the Japanese restaurant, Eki? Did he kiss her like he used to kiss me?

Had something been wrong with me…when we fooled around?

Torture. My thoughts were pure torture, but I couldn’t seem to stop myself from going there every chance I got.

Life dragged on. Mica and I attended our first Krav Maga class together, and I enjoyed learning how to flip him onto his back. Afterward, we went for Thai food.

When he dropped me off, he put his BMW in Park and looked at me. “You doing okay?”

I shrugged.

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