“This is all your fault,” he muttered to Crabby. The dog’s only response was to roll onto his back. He happily received the belly scratch.

VIA WAS IN a very bad mood when she arrived at softball the next afternoon. First of all, it had been a bad day at school yesterday. A regular of Via’s, Sarah Tate, had had a panic attack during their appointment. Sarah was a little slip of a fourth grader, always jumping a foot in the air at the smallest noise, wilting at anything that even slightly resembled criticism. Sarah had panicked because she had a scheduled visiting time with her father coming up. And honestly, she was just plain scared of him. Via hated the feeling that there was nothing she could do. She’d stayed late brainstorming with Principal Grim, was late for happy hour because of it, and then was late to see Evan.

Which brought her to the second reason for her wildly foul mood. Evan had wanted to come watch her play, but she’d really wanted him to get a jump on his job search instead and it had turned into a very long, very messy argument. Maybe she’d pushed too far; she knew that she’d been both pushing against him and pushing against the drafty feeling in her chest. And maybe it wasn’t fair to bring that baggage into the argument and not explain it to him.

But really. It had been a few weeks of him fruitlessly job-searching, and her skin got all itchy when she thought about it. She had no idea how he could possibly stand to be unemployed in a city this ready to spit you out. She would have taken a job at Crown Fried Chicken by now. Anything to pay the bills she knew he had rolling in.

He was so blasé about it that she was sure he’d ended up taking that money from his parents. It must be nice to have a safety net. And she’d never, ever begrudge somebody utilizing it. But Evan didn’t need to be using his parents’ money. He hadn’t been laid off. He’d quit. And he hadn’t found another job because he wasn’t really looking for another job.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want him to come to the game. It was just that she wanted him to prioritize. She’d said about half of what she’d wanted to, and he’d stormed out of her apartment. She’d gotten ready for softball, second-guessing every word she’d said.

Via looked around the softball fields. They were still green, even with the yellow leaves blustering along each side. She supposed it was chilly, because she could see Giles’s husband and their darling little redheaded girl dressed up like they were headed to the Arctic on the bleachers. But she’d worn a layer of Under Armour workout clothes. Plus, her temper was probably warming her from the inside out. At least Evan was good for something right now.

My very own rage furnace.