The clubhouse was quiet in that eerie, post-storm kind of way. No shouting, no laughter, just the low hum of the fridge and the occasional creak of old wood settling. I padded barefoot down the hall, coffee in hand, hair still damp from the shower I’d taken.
I found him in the common room, curled into the corner of the couch like he was trying to disappear into the cushions. The TV was on, volume low, some old cartoon flickering across the screen. He wasn’t watching it. Not really.
I stood in the doorway for a second, debating. He hadn’t seen me yet. Or maybe he had and just didn’t want to deal with whatever he thought I was bringing.
I walked in anyway.
He glanced up, then looked away fast. Like I was a storm cloud he didn’t want to track.
“Hey,” I said, keeping my voice light.
“Hey
