Uma is leaving in two weeks’ time.

By choice.

That’s all I can think of as I exchange pleasantries with Coach’s parents who’ve come by the pool to say hello to Lucas and his squad.

It’s been a week since she hit me with the news, but I still can’t wrap my head around it. I spent the entire weekend in Malta trying to persuade her to return her ticket and accept my offer, or at least agree to consider it. I kept telling her there’s zero sacrifice in me selling an online business or in Noah dipping into his enormous inheritance to spare her needless hardship. Hardship that she wouldn’t be facing if I hadn’t been such a self-centered asshole.

But nothing doing.

“You didn’t force me to sleep with you,” Uma said on the flight back to France. “You didn’t sweet-talk me into it. You even asked me to stop and think.”

“Desire impaired your judgment. I should’ve waited to be sure you weren’t rushing into it.”

She shook her head. “I wasn’t rushing into anything. I’d thought hard and long about it for days. I made up my mind when I took that midnight walk through Inry. I have no regrets.”

“Then why are you leaving?” I asked. “Don’t you want… more of it?”

She gave me a sad smile and turned to stare at the fluffy clouds beneath the plane, leaving me to manage my distress.

I had thought… I’m not sure what I’d thought, but I’d been convinced Uma enjoyed being with me. I’d anticipated she’d be glad for the opportunity to stay in Europe, first in Malta and then back in France, so we could continue seeing each other. I didn’t expect her to choose to return to Nepal and face the music.

Maybe she doesn’t like me as much as I thought she did. As much as I like her.

“Mom and Dad wondered if they could sit through your practice session,” Lucas says.

“Of course!”

“It’s a privilege.”

“No problem at all,” several men say at once.

Lucas’s dad smiles. “We’d watched our fair share of scrimmages and games back in the day when Lucas played, but we were curious to see him coach.”

“He isn’t tender,” Valentin says, winking at them. “And he doesn’t always watch his language. I bet you’ll discover a whole new side to your son.”

I bet they’ve been discovering new sides to him ever since he woke up from his coma with no idea of who he was.

It must suck to be in Lucas’s shoes.

How do you call someone “Mom” or “Dad” if you have no childhood memories of them? How do you hang out with old friends you don’t recognize? How do you rebuild your life using photos and other people’s memories?

“OK, enough small talk.” Coach motions his parents to a bench before turning to the guys. “Into the pool! Chop, chop!”

For the next two hours we train, focusing on shooting, sprints, and game tactics. Lucas has me spend some time practicing the lob shot and the backhand shot, which he believes are my weakest. He’s right. The reason I favor overhand and push shots is because they’re easier. But you don’t win gold doing only what’s easy.

On the way home, I anticipate how the evening will go.

Uma will give me an account of Sam’s afternoon and retreat to her room to work. She won’t come down to dinner, claiming she had a bite just before I got home. If I allow myself a bit of down time in front of TV after Sam’s in bed, she won’t join me as she used to. Her course at Ecole Lesage has gotten too intense, she says. Uma works every evening now, stitching and revising at her desk. She’s determined to leave France with her certificate in her pocket.

Which is, after all, why she came here in the first place.

While Uma is in her room, Colette joins me sometimes for a bit of late-night TV. She’s been showing up with increasing regularity of late, claiming she was in the neighborhood or that she was feeling a little down alone at home. I’ve told her she doesn’t need to invent excuses to spend time with her son. I’ve also told her she should try to arrive earlier so she can play with him and not just kiss him goodnight.

She says the shop where she works stays open until eight, so nine is the soonest she can be in Inry.

While we chat in front of the TV, I’ll offer her a glass of wine and tell her about some of the funny things Sam has said or done. After I’ve sent her on her way, I’ll knock on Uma’s door and climb into her bed. We’ll kiss and pet each other and have sex. I’ll savor her taste, all her tastes. We’ll fall asleep with her sweet little ass against my loins, and my hand on her mound.

Our routine hasn’t changed after the Malta getaway—and yet it has.

Whether we’re having a demure conversation in the kitchen or clinging to each other in the bedroom with my cock buried deep inside her, Uma won’t look into my eyes.

It makes me feel wretched.

It fills me with anger.

On a couple of occasions, I almost took her face between my hands and ordered her to look me in the eye.

God help me, I’m losing it.