Page 202 of Make the Play

Zoe

The lock clicks, and the door creaks open, but I don’t step in right away.

I just stand there, staring into the place that’s supposed to feel like home. Technically, it’s only been a handful of hours, so it’s still all the same. The couch where I’ve spent days buried under blankets watching Chase slowly unravel on national television. The thrifted console table by the wall. That hideous framed print I keep saying I’ll replace but secretly love.

Same space, same light, but it somehow doesn’t feel likeme.

I cross the threshold slowly, keys slipping from my fingers into the dish with a dull clink that sounds too loud in the quiet.Behind me, Chase follows, silent and careful, like he’s afraid to breathe too hard.

I don’t look at him yet because I’m already looking at the table with the vases of flowers.

All the bouquets of carnations he’s sent me this week, neatly lined up like a goddamn graveyard of the version of us that existed before everything cracked. Orange. Pink. Peach. Some are starting to wilt, some are still fresh.

Either way, my chest caves at the sight.

He sent them when I walked away from him, when I didn’t answer his calls, or reply to his texts. And now they’re all here, still blooming and waiting.

Just like him.

I walk toward them slowly, dragging my fingers along the edge of the vase closest to me, pink carnations perched inside with curled edges. They look tired, kinda like me.

Behind me, Chase clears his throat, awkward and gentle.

“Do you want me to get rid of the older ones?”

I shake my head.

“No.”

My voice sounds hoarse. Small, and not mine.

“I ordered some food for you guys, just some basics I know you like. Some stuff for Charlie too, in case… you know. You get tired.”

I nod again, still not turning around.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know,” he says quietly.

The silence stretches, but it’s not the comfortable kind. It’s the kind that makes you want to scream just to hear something human.

“I think they’re almost here,” he adds after a beat. “Charlie and Theo. Jake’s dropping them off.”

I hum a response that sounds noncommittal, and then the knock comes before either of us can say another word.

Chase crosses the room and heads down the hallway to open it. Charlie’s there, auburn hair twisted up in a knot, eyes already scanning me like she’s checking for wounds, her face fracturing when she sees them.

She’s holding Theo in his carrier, and Jake’s standing behind her, jaw set and eyes like steel.

I haven’t cried since the alley.

Not when I was pulled off the ground, or when the medics swarmed around me. Not even when they asked if I remembered every second or if there were any gaps—any moments where things could’ve been worse.

But when my best friend steps inside, when she looks at me and doesn’t sayI’m sorry, orAre you okay?and instead says, “Brought your favorite snacks.”

Something cracks.

My lip trembles, but I focus on Theo and manage a smile with glassy eyes. “You brought the boss man, too.”

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