His hand kneaded the knots that seemed permanently lodged around his knee. “Sometimes when people leave you, you get so caught up in trying to convince yourself that you can cut them out of your life that you think you’ve actually figured it out. You keep moving. You ignore the feeling of being chased, even as you can’t stop running and running to get away. But then you realize that you haven’t moved at all. Those who are essential to you have always been an absence. Even when you refused to acknowledge it, their void was always there.”

Their eyes were locked together, turning them into one being, indecipherable from each other. One gaping, stubborn void.

“All I know is that I would do anything to have another moment with my mãe.” As that truth left his mouth, another truth solidified through him. He would do anything to have another chance with Ashna.

She reached out and touched his hand. He watched their hands as they came together. Before she could pull away he turned his hand and wrapped his fingers around hers, his hold ravenous with need. Everything outside of the intertwining of their fingers ceased to exist. For the first time in as long as he could remember, Rico fell into himself. Breathed.

“Maybe your energy is better served in understanding the wound rather than wishing it wasn’t there,” he said.

A car honked and Ashna started. The traffic was moving. Sliding her hand out of his, she joined it. They were a block from his hotel.

“You’re very wise today,” she said, forcing a smile into her voice.

The feel of her hand lingered in his. He pressed it into his chest, leaned back into the seat, and closed his eyes. “Maybe it’s the meds. Better wise than loopy. Or are they the same thing?”

“What were you thinking, not taking pain medication after a surgery like that?” The intimate scolding in her voice was even more potent than her touch.

“I like to be present. It’s become . . .” He opened his eyes. “Essential. It’s part of the game.”

“So, the game, what happens next?” she asked.

The road before them was lined with taillights, an endless frozen constellation impatient to move.

“Nothing.” The word sounded as final as it was. “That’s retirement, I’m told.”

“What do other retired players do? Coaching? Broadcasting?”

His pai had coached after retirement. “I don’t think that’s my path. I was lucky with my career. I only ever had to worry about my game, about winning. That’s what I miss, the singular goal, the high of achieving it.” He felt winded by all they were sharing. He hadn’t discussed retirement with anyone. For all his love for his team, it just wasn’t the kind of thing they talked about. But letting her see the emptiness of it, right now that felt essential.