Page 11 of Slots & Sticks
Officer Foley hesitates, and I know. The news wasn’t wrong. My mother is dead.
“She didn’t make it, sweetie.”
The words don’t make it all the way in. They hover, just outside my skin, waiting for me to let them ruin me. When they finally hit, everything inside me quiets. Not broken. Just... blank.
Camden’s hand finds mine. I don’t even remember him taking the phone, hanging it up, and setting it aside.
“Dot,” he whispers, but I can’t look at him. The window’s reflection is easier. Two silhouettes in a world that just split open.
“She said she loved me,” I manage. My throat burns. “And I didn’t say it back.”
Camden squeezes my hand hard enough to ground me. “She knew.”
His thumb moves once against my skin, steady as a heartbeat. It’s the first real thing in a world that’s gone soft around the edges.
I want to believe him, but belief feels too far away. So I keep breathing while the sirens on the TV fade in my head, one long note that doesn’t stop.
Outside, the neon from the Puck Drop sign flickers against the glass—bright, relentless, alive.
The world keeps going. Somehow, I do too—because his hand never lets go.
Chapter Three
Camden
The hospital waiting room hums like it’s alive—vending machine buzzing, someone’s ringtone leaking through a pocket, the soft mechanical sigh of the automatic doors that open but never seem to close fast enough.
Dot sits beside me, still in the dress from the Puck Drop, fingers locked around the cup she hasn’t touched. The ice inside has already melted.
Knova appears out of nowhere, arms loaded with coffee and takeout bags. The smell of sugar and grease shouldn’t make my stomach twist, but it does.
“I come bearing caffeine and carbs,” she announces, like she’s breaking good news.
Dot lifts her head, eyes swollen and unfocused. “What are you doing here?”
Knova falters. “I—well, our moms…” She clears her throat and sets the carrier on the table between us. “They’d both kick my ass if I didn’t show up.”
Dot’s mouth wobbles. “Were best friends.”
Knova freezes, then shakes her head hard. “Are. Always will be.” She doesn’t finish the thought, and the silence that follows is louder than anything else in the room.
Dot finally picks up a frozen latte, but she doesn’t drink it. She just holds it like a hand warmer that forgot its purpose. “Thanks for coming.”
“Of course.” Knova sits on her other side, rustling the bag open. “I grabbed sandwiches too, but no pressure.”
The smell of toasted bread and deli meat hits me. My stomach growls, but I can’t eat. It feels wrong somehow.
Dot’s voice cracks the quiet. “Mitzi and Moppet were on the bus.”
The words barely register. “The dogs?”
She nods, eyes shiny and far away. “Dad’s going to ask for them.”
I remember every mutt that’s ever lived in their house—blind, toothless, missing parts, but loved anyway. Coach’s got this soft spot for lost causes. I used to think he collected them because he couldn’t stand seeing something broken. Now I know he saw hope where everyone else saw hassle.
And then there was Nudacris—Nudie, for short. A Chinese Crested with skin issues and small tufts of hair in unlikely areas. Built like a stick figure with the personality of a golden retriever. He was the first of Coach’s rescues that made it into family legend. There are pictures of him taped to their fridge, his tongue hanging sideways like he’s in on a joke.
Cash actually let him piss and shit on his grass, and he cleaned it up without even a grumble.
