Storm Warning

The vitamin supplements sat in their neat organizer—Monday through Sunday, a rainbow of promises Marcus had stopped believing in three months ago. He swallowed the handful dry, staring at himself in the bathroom mirror. At forty-two, he'd learned that wellness was mostly performative.

"You coming?" Elena called from the hallway. "Your padel partner is texting."

He grabbed his iPhone, the screen lighting up with Diego's third message. *Where are you? Court booked for 7.*

"Coming," Marcus said, but didn't move.

The invitation had been Diego's idea—something to get Marcus out of the apartment, out of the silence that had settled like dust since Sophie left. Padel, the sport everyone was suddenly playing, enclosed in glass cages where you could sweat and pretend you were winning at something.

The drive to the club took twenty minutes. Lightning split the sky as he parked, violet veins pulsing behind clouds the color of old bruises. The storm would break before the match ended. He almost hoped it would.

Diego was already there, stretching against the chain-link fence, younger and brighter and fundamentally unbroken by life. "You look like shit, man."

"Rough night." Marcus slung his bag over his shoulder. "Let's play."

The glass enclosure amplified everything—the squeak of sneakers, the sharp *thwack* of the ball, Diego's easy laughter. Marcus played aggressively, angrily, as if each point was something he could take back from the universe. His iPhone buzzed in his bag, ignored.

They were tied at deuce when the first raindrops hit the glass. The sound was sudden, overwhelming, like applause from an invisible audience. Then lightning flashed again, closer this time, and the court lights flickered.

"We should stop," Diego said, but Marcus hit the ball anyway, sending it into the corner, unreachable.

"One more point," he said, though he wasn't sure which game he was playing anymore.

When the lights died completely, leaving them in darkness broken only by lightning's strobe, Diego laughed. "You win, crazy. Let's go get a drink."

In the locker room, Marcus finally checked his phone. One voicemail from Sophie, six hours old. He pressed play, listening to her voice in the dark.

"I left my vitamins on the counter," she said. "Can you mail them?"

Marcus deleted the message. Outside, the storm broke open, drowning the world in sudden, violent light.