Page 127 of Off-Limits as Puck

Reed:That’s terrifying interested. But good terrifying.

Me:The best kind.

Reed:You nervous?

I look around my half-packed life, at the coffee mug from my Phoenix job sitting next to boxes of winter clothes I haven’t worn in months. At the journal where I’ve been documenting this slowtransformation from someone who plays it safe to someone who chooses possibility over certainty.

Me:Completely. But in a good way.

Me:Like maybe I’m finally doing something because I want to instead of because I should.

Reed:How does it feel?

Me:Terrifying. Revolutionary. Like jumping off a cliff and hoping someone built a bridge while I wasn’t looking.

Reed:For what it’s worth, I think you’re building the bridge as you fall.

Me:That’s either very romantic or very stupid.

Reed:Both. The best things usually are.

That evening, I’m boxing up books when my phone rings. My father’s contact photo—still the formal headshot from his coaching bio—stares back at me like a test I’m not sure I want to take.

“Hi, Dad.”

“Chelsea.” His voice sounds different. Softer. Less controlled. “I hear you took the Seattle position.”

“News travels fast.”

“I have my contacts. They’re lucky to have you.”

The words hit harder than expected because they sound genuine. Not the careful politeness we’ve maintained since our reconciliation, but actual pride from someone whose approval I’ve spent my life chasing.

“Thank you.”

“I also hear Hendrix might be joining you there.”

“Nothing’s confirmed yet. But possibly.”

“Good.”

“Good?”

“Good that you found someone who sees what I should have seen all along. That you’re brilliant at what you do. You don’t need my protection or approval to succeed. That I raised a bright and intelligent woman.”

I sink onto my couch, surrounded by moving boxes and overwhelmed by hearing words I’ve waited my entire life to hear.

“Dad—”

“I was wrong, Chelsea. About Hendrix, about your judgment, about what strength looks like. I let my fear of losing control blind me to the fact that you’d already grown beyond needing me to control anything.”

“I never wanted to disappoint you.”

“You never did. I disappointed myself by not trusting the person I raised you to become.”

Tears I didn’t expect threaten at the corners of my eyes. “I forgive you. For what it’s worth.”

“It’s worth everything. But Chelsea?”

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