Page 148 of Play Along

For that reason alone, I don’t answer.

Call it irrational all you want. I know it’s not logical. Anxiety doesn’t produce rational thoughts. It creates worst-case scenarios and acknowledging that still doesn’t change the fact that anxiety takes over my entire body and mind, making me unable to focus on anything else.

Kai calls again and this time, I muster up the courage to answer.

“What’s wrong?” is the first thing I ask.

“Nothing. I was just calling to check in on you.”

A burst of light flashes through the windows as another strike of lightning hits the ground.

I find a seat on the couch, knees bouncing. “What the hell is wrong with me?”

“Nothing. Nothing is wrong with you.”

“Kennedy isn’t answering.”

“Did she land from her flight?”

“Yeah. She texted Miller while the game was still going on that she had just landed.”

“Okay. Do you want me and Miller to drive by her apartment and check on her?”

“No! Don’t get in the fucking car.”

“Okay.” His voice is soothing. My brother, the caretaker. Always looking out for me when I can’t do it for myself. “Call her one more time.”

“It’s been eighteen years, Kai. Why can’t I just get over it?”

He sighs on the other end. “You’ll figure out how to change your thought process, Isaiah, but no one who knows you would ever tell you to just get over it. If Mom died in a plane crash, no one would think it odd if you didn’t like flying. If Mom died by drowning, no one would shame you for being afraid of the ocean. So how is this any different? Stop being hard on yourself, and give your mind a bit of grace, will you?”

I notice my heel creating the same, continuous pattern on the rug, as if the rhythmic movement could distract me, soothe me.

“I’m trying.”

“I know in my gut that Kennedy is okay and probably left her phone somewhere out of reach. I know it’s a simple answer, but it’s all right that your mind isn’t letting you believe that yet. One day you’ll figure it out, but it’s okay that today isn’t that day.”

I nod, even though he can’t see me. “Okay.”

“I love you. Call me if you need anything.”

“Love you.”

I hang up and stand from my couch. While walking in a full and complete circle of my living room, I dial my wife.

Once again, she doesn’t fucking answer.

“Answer the fucking phone, Ken,” I mutter for no one to hear.

There’s not a thought that goes through my mind to stop me, not a moment of hesitation that stills my hand when I grab my car keys off the kitchen counter and head for my front door.

I stuff my feet into a pair of shoes and swing the door open the same time the elevator down the hall lands on my floor.

My eyes immediately lift to her.

Kennedy is standing there inside, clothes entirely soaked through, hair stuck to her face as she huffs to catch her breath. Those damn Vans are on her feet but dripping water all over the elevator floor when she looks up to catch me watching her from the doorway of my apartment, car keys in hand.

“Hi,” she says between hard-earned breaths.

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