It was Monday before Chance cornered me again. The bruise on my forehead was colorful, but the knot had reduced in size, and my headache had finally dwindled to a dull throb. Chance bullied me into going to the beach with him to “get some sun,” he said. He drove me to the cafe, carried my backpack inside, and bought my coffee like I was an invalid and told me to “take it easy.” He kissed to the bruised part of my forehead and snuck away, leaving me gaping at his actions as he trotted across the street to the beach.
I watched him remove his shirt and stick it in the back of his shorts before heading north on the sand to where he typically played volleyball with his friends. I gazed after him until he disappeared from view, then tried to get some work done. We hadn’t had our “talk” as yet,
