NOVA
It happened on a Tuesday at 6:15 PM in the facility parking garage.
I was walking to my car after a long day of sessions, three back-to-back intakes with players who ranged from cautiously cooperative to openly hostile about being required to talk to a psychologist. My tablet was under my arm. My bag was over my shoulder. My head was full of other people’s problems, which was where I preferred it, because other people’s problems had structure and solutions and didn’t require me to think about Brennan’s voice in a hotel stairwell or the word *PR girlfriend* or the seven rows of bus seat between me and the man I was pretending to date.
I had been avoiding Cole since Detroit. Not dramatically. Not in a way anyone would notice. I simply stopped looking up when he passed in the corridor
