Page 206 of Make the Play

“She was holding him,” I say hoarsely. “Theo. Just… holding him and smiling and talking like nothing ever happened. Like she was still her.”

Jake doesn’t move.

“She said I love her,” my voice catches. “Said she’s my person, and I love her with my whole chest. She doesn’t even realize she said it, but I heard it anyway. And I can't un-hear it.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “I heard.”

I shake my head, something ragged tearing loose inside me. “I can’t—” I bite it back. “I can’t fucking do this.”

“Then don’t,” he says simply. “Not alone.”

That’s what undoes me. Not a lecture or a pep talk—just that quiet and steady reassurance. A hand in the dark. Because all week, I’ve been filling silence with fists, not words or grief or love. Justrage.And right now, Jake feels like I’ve found the one thing holding strong in the middle of a collapsing building.

I storm into the kitchen because it’s either that or punch the wall again. I grab the nearest thing—a water bottle—and hurl it across the room. It hits the wall with a hollow crack, splitting open and exploding in a mess of plastic and water and pressure that’s been building for days.

Jake doesn’t flinch, just watches me unravel like it’s part of the process.

“They destroyed the video,” I bite out. “You know that?”

He nods once.

“I called Raines from the waiting room.” My voice is flat now. “I didn’t leave Zoe’s side until she fell asleep while we were waiting to be discharged. Then I stepped into the stairwell and made the call. Made him repeat it twice to make sure I wasn’t hearing shit through the fog.” I grip the counter, white-knuckled. “Storm legal wiped everything—the condo security footage, our elevator feed, building logs. Gone. No questions asked.”

Jake nods again, understanding but not interrupting.

“And because that bastard laid his hands on her,” I spit, “no one even knows that I was fucking the team’s PR exec in a goddamn elevator.”

My voice cracks. “She got assaulted, andthat’swhat made the footage disappear. Not because I did the right thing, not because I owned it. Because she paid the price.”

Jake exhales. “Shit.”

“I should’ve protected her better,” I whisper, staring at the sink as a stray droplet runs down the stainless steel. “I let her go, and it’s all gone now. The noise. The chaos. Her voice. It’s too quiet again.”

“Then why does it sound like you haven’t stopped fighting for her?”

I choke out a bitter laugh. “I didn’t fight, that’s the problem. I let her walk away.”

He calmly steps forward. “She’s not gone.”

I shake my head, throat burning.

“She didn’t ask me to stay.”

“She didn’t need to,” he says, voice sharpening. “You’re still here, aren’t you?”

I turn, something wild building in my chest. “I’m trying. Fuck, I’m trying. But she keeps pushing me away. You think I haven’t wanted to fix this since the second she walked out of my place after the fucking elevator?”

“I know you have,” Jake says. “But this isn’t about fixingyou, Chase. It’s aboutZoe. About giving her the space to breathe again. She’s been through hell, and you don’t pull someone out of that by smothering them and hovering in their doorways. Youwait, you anchor. You hold space and let her find her own way back.”

I grit my teeth so hard it aches. “I can’t breathe without her.”

Jake just watches me, steady as ever, And I break.

“I fucking love her.”

The words rip out of me, spilling free after being lodged in my throat for years. “I love her, Brooks. And not just the version of her that everyone sees. Not just the girl who chirps at me and makes everything brighter. I love the girl I saw this morning—the one who held your kid like she was clinging to the only thing keeping her afloat. The one who’s hurting and trying to carry it alone.”

Jake’s expression shifts. There’s something behind his eyes now, something familiar. I get the distinct impression he’s remembering a time Charlie did the same.

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