Chapter 22 Thanksgiving
MIA
I went back to work like nothing had happened because survival mode did not have a setting for processing difficult things at the same time as functioning. It had one setting, which was keeping moving, and so I kept moving.
On Monday I was at the rink by six. Equipment checks. Inventory lists. Tape rolls counted twice because counting things twice is what you do when your brain refuses to stay in one place. By noon I was walking the boards with a clipboard in my hand and pretending the sound of skates on ice meant something normal instead of something like pressure building under skin.
By the time I left the rink my legs ached in that dull, familiar way that meant I had been on my feet too long without noticing. The pharmacy came next. Prescriptions. Insurance delays. A woman arguing quietly at the counter about coverage limits. I stood in line and watched it all happen like it belonged to someone else’s day.
At some point in that line I realized I had not thought about Caleb for maybe fifteen straight minutes.
It felt strange. Not peaceful. Just absent in a way that made me uneasy, like forgetting something important on a stove.
Mom was on the couch when I got home.
Book open. Not reading it.
She closed it when I walked in.
“He came,” she said.
I stopped halfway to dropping my bag.
“When,” I asked.
“This morning.”
She said it like it was simple, like it was something that had just passed through the house and left everything rearranged without breaking anything.
“He sat at the kitchen table,” she continued. “I made him tea. He drank it.”
I set my bag down slowly.
“What did he want,” I asked.
Mom studied me for a moment before answering.
“To make sure I understood,” she said. “To make sure I understood what you were carrying alone.”
My jaw tightened before I could stop it.
“And did you,” I said.
“Yes,” she said. “He was not angry at you, Mia.”
I let out a breath I did not realize I was holding.
“That does not change anything,” I said.
“Does it not,” she replied softly.
I looked at her then. Really looked.
There was something in her face I did not like immediately because it meant she had already decided where she stood.
“He is losing things because of me,” I said.
Mom tilted her head slightly.
“He is losing things because of your father,” she corrected. “There is a difference you keep refusing to separate.”
I turned away before I answered.
“I signed something that was supposed to end it,” I said instead.
“Walter’s lawyer already dealt with that,” she said.
“That is not the point.”
Mom stood up slowly, like she was choosing each movement carefully.
“No,” she said. “That is exactly the point you are avoiding.”
I did not respond.
She went back to the kitchen and I stayed where I was for a long time, listening to the quiet of the apartment and realizing how loud my own thoughts were when nothing else was.
I turned my phone on.
It had been off since Sunday.
The screen filled immediately.
Messages. Calls. Notifications stacked like they had been waiting to fall.
Caleb’s name appeared more times than I wanted to count.
I opened the first message.
Then the next.
And the next.
I know what he did. I know why you did it. I am not going anywhere.
I stopped reading after a while because it started to feel like standing too long in one place in a storm.
My phone buzzed again.
Unknown number.
I almost did not answer.
Then I did.
A woman’s voice came through. Controlled. Careful. Familiar in a way I could not place immediately.
“Miss Lin,” she said. “My name is Catherine Kessler.”
I went still.
“I think we need to speak,” she continued. “Before this goes any further.”
I stepped away from the couch.
“Why,” I asked.
A pause.
“Because Richard is not finished,” she said. “And what he is preparing now is no longer private.”
My fingers tightened slightly around the phone.
“What is he doing,” I asked.
“I will explain,” she said. “But not over the phone. Tomorrow morning. Nine o’clock. I will send you the location.”
Another pause, smaller this time.
“And Mia,” she added, softer now. “Be careful what you assume you already understand about him.”
The call ended.
I stood there holding the phone like it had weight.
Mom came back into the room and looked at my face.
“That was her,” she said.
I nodded once.
“She is not done,” Mom said quietly.
“No,” I replied.
Neither of us said Caleb’s name.
But it was already in the room anyway.
My phone buzzed again before I could put it down.
Caleb.
I answered.
His voice came immediately.
“Are you okay,” he asked.
“I am working,” I said.
A pause.
“That is not what I asked,” he said.
I closed my eyes briefly.
“I know,” I said.
There was silence on the other end, but not empty silence. The kind where something is being held back carefully so it does not spill.
“Shaw is waiting,” he said finally. “He wants confirmation before he runs anything.”
“I know,” I said.
“And my father called again,” he added.
That made my grip tighten.
“What did he say,” I asked.
A longer pause this time.
“That I am making a mistake,” Caleb said. “That I am choosing something temporary over something permanent.”
I let out a short breath through my nose.
“And what did you say,” I asked.
“I told him I already chose,” he said simply.
Something shifted in my chest at that. Not relief. Not exactly.
More like pressure finding a different shape.
Mom was watching me now from the kitchen doorway but she did not interrupt.
Caleb’s voice lowered slightly.
“There is something else,” he said. “Shaw met with one of the Northwood players yesterday.”
My attention sharpened immediately.
“What kind of meeting,” I asked.
“A conversation,” he said. “About a photo.”
I went still.
“What photo,” I asked.
Another pause.
“One from inside the arena corridor after the Northwood game,” he said. “Locker room area access. Someone took it from inside the restricted hallway.”
My stomach tightened slowly.
“And,” I said.
“And it is being framed in a way that is going to look very different from what actually happened,” he continued.
The room felt quieter than it had a moment ago.
“Who sent it,” I asked.
“I do not know yet,” Caleb said. “But Mia, it came from inside the system. Not outside it.”
I leaned back against the wall without realizing I had moved.
Mom’s voice cut in softly from across the room.
“What is it,” she asked.
I did not answer immediately.
Because Caleb was still speaking.
“And Shaw is going to run it Friday,” he said. “Alongside everything else.”
Silence followed that.
Heavy. Measured. Real.
I looked at Mom.
Then at the phone.
Then I said the only thing that felt accurate.
“Okay,” I said quietly.
Not because it was fine.
Because it was happening either way.