I return a minute later with dark towels, a washcloth, and the medical kit we keep in the bathroom. Hockey players sustain frequent minor injuries, so we have a vast array of bandages, medication, and ointment.

Randy’s dad has one leg crossed over the other. He’s trying to dig the shards out with his fingers—there’s more than one.

Randy scrubs a hand over his face. “Dad, I need to take you to the hospital; those are too deep.”

“It’ll be fine once I get the glass out.” His fingers are slick with blood, and it’s dripping onto the pajama pants he “borrowed” from Randy. I bought them for him for Valentine’s Day, along with the cologne and a few other little things. They’re probably destined for the garbage now.

“Why don’t you let me take a look?” I drop to the floor, holding a folded black towel.

Randy’s dad stops digging around. He gives me a sloppy version of a Randy smirk. “Your girlfriend’s a nurse?”

“Lily’s a figure skater.” Randy kneels beside me and takes the kit. “I can do this.”

“It’s okay, I got it.”

“No really, baby, you’ve got work in the morning. Why don’t you get ready for bed or something?”

I can tell it makes Randy nervous to have me anywhere near his dad, but I’m equally nervous about leaving them alone together. Randy looks like he’s about to snap.

“I’ll clean up some of the mess, okay?”

Randy gives me a vague nod, so I leave them to get the broom from the front hall closet. While Randy picks glass out of his dad’s foot, I sweep the floor, then follow with a vacuum and the mop. We won’t be walking around barefoot until I go over it again—when it’s not approaching midnight. By the time I’ve finished putting all the empty beer bottles in the recycle bin and tidying the kitchen, Randy’s finished gluing his dad’s foot back together and picking glass out of his palm, as well.

“I still think you’re probably going to need stitches,” Randy says.

“It’s fine. Just a couple small cuts.”

Randy sighs but doesn’t argue. Instead he collects the bloody towels and bandages, dumping them in the trash. “I’ll set you up in the spare room for tonight.”

“I’ll make sure the sheets are clean.” I already know they are, but Randy’s dad’s foot is still bleeding, so it’s advisable to have dark sheets. I change them from beige to navy.

Randy helps his dad hobble down the hall. I take our bags to the laundry room and leave them there so I can deal with them in the morning. It’s midnight now, and while I don’t have to work until eleven tomorrow, I don’t know what the morning is going to look like with Randy’s dad here. The last time he came to see Randy, I remember he stayed for quite a long time. And not because Randy wanted him to.

I’m in the shower when I hear the click of our bedroom door. A few seconds later, there’s a knock. “Lily?”

“You can come in!” I peek my head through the gap in the curtains as Randy peeks around the jamb. “You want to join me?”

He nods, locking the door behind him. He strips out of his clothes and climbs into the shower. The first thing he does is wrap his arms around me and press his face against my wet neck.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

I run my hands up and down his back. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

“Yes, I do. He ruined our fucking weekend with this.”

“We had a fantastic weekend. This doesn’t change that.” I want to reassure him that it’s okay, but I understand what he means. All the goodness has been eclipsed by his father’s unexpected arrival.

“I changed the damn code so he couldn’t get in here. Figures he’d manipulate my mom into giving it to him.” He lifts his head. His expression is pained. “I didn’t want you to meet him. Not ever. And especially not like this.”

“It’s okay, baby. You handled it really well.”

I know if I’d gotten to choose how Randy and my mom met, it certainly wouldn’t have been at my work when my mom surprise-visited me with her new boyfriend—right after I’d spent a night blowing through a box of condoms with Randy. The finale had been sex in the back of Randy’s rental Jeep about twenty minutes before my shift started. We made up for a month of not seeing each other in a twenty-four-hour span.

“He’s a fucking trainwreck. He comes into my house, eats my food, drinks all my beer, and breaks shit. It happens every damn time.” He cups my face in his palms. “In the morning I’m taking him to a hotel. He can’t stay here. I don’t want you to be alone with him.”

“Whatever you think is best.” I don’t try to dissuade him. That plan sounds good to me, too.

Randy doesn’t get agitated like this often, and when he does, he usually has a legitimate reason. Besides, his dad makes me nervous—partly because it’s like looking at Randy through an aging mirror. His father’s presence also isn’t good for Randy’s psychological wellbeing, and despite our relaxing weekend (until now) Randy is already on the anxious side.

The shower is functional, not sexual, and Randy puts on boxers before he climbs into bed. He usually goes commando. He wraps himself around me under the covers, but he’s not hard, and he doesn’t make a move for sex. I wouldn’t be worried, as we’ve had a sex-filled weekend, but I have a feeling the lack of interest is directly related to his dad being here.

There’s also no morning sex. Randy’s already up and in the kitchen by the time I make an appearance. I remembered to get dressed since we have a houseguest, if you can call his father that. A pot of tea sits on the counter, nestled in its cozy. Randy’s sitting at the kitchen table with a coffee and the paper.

He looks up at the sound of my slippers slapping the tile floor. “Hey.”

I pad over to him and take a seat in his lap, wrapping my arm around him. “You look tired.”

He gives me a small smile. “I didn’t sleep very well.”

“Maybe you should come back to bed for a while. I don’t have to leave for another three hours. We could snuggle.”

He drops his forehead into the crook of my neck and rubs his beard along my collarbone. “I like snuggling.”

“So do I.” I push my fingers through his messy hair. “So that’s exactly what we should do.”