Page 95 of Empty Net

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"It's over."

"Yes."

I close my eyes. "I hate that."

"I know."

"I don't know what I am."

Her breath catches.

I did not mean to say that either. It seems I have developed a habit of honesty around my sister. Dangerous woman.

"You're my brother," she says.

"Dana."

"I'm starting with what I know."

My eyes burn. I keep them closed.

"You're Nolan," she says. "You're a pain in the ass. You're terrible at answering texts. You're weirdly judgmental about how people shovel. You're the only person I know who can make 'morning' sound like a complete emotional memoir. You are not only hockey."

"Feels like it."

"I know."

She does. Not the way I do. But she knows what it looked like from outside, which may be worse in some ways. Watching a person disappear into one identity and calling it success because everyone else does.

"Go to him," she says.

"Now?"

"No, next fiscal quarter."

I almost laugh. It hurts.

"Yes, now."

"He's at work."

"Then wait until he isn't and go to him. Or call him. Or text him. I don't care. Just don't sit in your apartment with this."

I look at the steering wheel. My hands.

"Okay."

"Say it."

"I'm going to tell him."

"Good."

We hang up after she makes me promise to call later. I sit another five minutes. Then I start the truck.

I do not go home.

I go to Caleb's apartment.

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