Page 42 of The Wing
Yeah. I nearly missed the connecting flight. We were delayed and then spent ages on the tarmac. Sorry I didn’t respond. Just boarded the flight now. Still in AUK.
Will you make the connecting flight in Singapore?
Should do. Shit gtg. I’ll try to check in when I get to Singapore.
11:03 P.M.
Have a safe flight.
He doesn’t respond, but the void in my chest has filled enough that I put my phone away, turn off the lights, and try to sleep. It doesn’t come as easy with Hemi not here, but I manage.
I wake groggy after a restless sleep to a message that he’s arrived in Singapore and is boarding his last flight to South Africa, which means he won’t respond to any of my messages for a while. I text him back anyway, so he has a message from me when he lands since I’ll be asleep then—well, hopefully asleep—and get on with my day.
It’s a long day of barely any words written, and mostly consists of staring out the window or at everything Hemi touched in my office. I shift to write at the kitchen table but that’s worse, looking at the empty chair across from me.
The next day, I wake to a text from Hemi, but all it says is he arrived safely and immediately began training. He doesn’t mention how his shoulder is, which I take to mean he’s having issues again. I ask how he’s feeling, but I won’t get a responseuntil the end of the day since it’s around ten P.M. his time, so begin work.
When I hit midday with not even a sentence written and the only thing in my notebook a doodle of Daisy’s dog, I make the stupidest decision to date and go on a hike.
The desperation is real that I’m trudging through the same hike I did with Hemi, hoping to capture some of the same magic and inspiration when he was here with me, but all I get is cold fingers and wet hair when it starts raining. I snap a miserable selfie at the second lookout and text it to him when I’m home and warm from a bath.
I send the photo with the message:
Lacking so much inspo I went hiking. It did NOT work.
When he hasn’t responded by the time I’m in bed, I send another message.
Hope training is going okay and Daze is helping your shoulder.
It’s eleven A.M. in South Africa, so he’s probably training or in meetings. I put my phone down and roll over to sleep instead of waiting for a reply.
When I wake on Wednesday, the third day without Hemi, it’s to a hearted message and the response:
I can’t believe you went hiking without me! Did you eat stew when you got home?
And zero response about his shoulder. Not a good sign. I text Daisy to keep an eye on him.
By Thursday night, I’ve had three responses from Hemi while I’ve sent multiple texts. That night, I leave my phone shut in my office.
I knew his responses would be spotty with the time difference and his need to focus on training, crashing early when he got to his hotel room, and winning the cup. But if Daisy can respond to me with the time difference, I know when I’m not wanted.
I roll over to avoid facing where he slept and stare into the darkness. He’s having issues again. I can tell from the messages he’s choosing to respond to, and I have a sinking feeling about Sunday. He’s in his head. And he’s not talking to me.
He said I helped him, so either he’s forgotten that or it wasn’t true.
I decide not to message him until he messages me. I don’t want to add more pressure to him when I’m worried he’s overthinking his shoulder again and being yelled at by his coaches. Clearly he wants to focus on the game and the messages are just more on his plate. I can wait.
And I continue waiting, with no messages, until an hour before the game.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Hemi
“How’s Liam?” Daisy asks from behind me, her fingers digging into my muscle I was valiantly attempting to ignore by checking my messages again. I flinch when she rubs a particularly sore spot and shut my phone off.
“Fine,” I say. Not that I’ve heard from him in a few days. The last message from him was Wednesday morning my time. Now it’s Saturday, game day, and I’m getting strapped up by Daisy to hopefully keep my shoulder from going rogue.
“He told me you went hiking together last week.” She comes around my front to manipulate the sports tape across my chest, her brown hair pulled into a tight ponytail.
