Page 101 of The Pucking Date
Sophie doesn’t speak. She doesn’t try to fix it. She just shifts beside me, holding my hand with one of hers and rubbing slow circles over my back with the other.
I don’t know how long we stay like that—quiet, tangled, my shame and regret leaking into her throw blanket—but eventually, the sound of keys in the door cuts through.
The lock clicks. The door swings open.
Liam’s voice calls out, bright and happy. “Hey, I talked to Mom. Dinner was great. They missed you, Soph. Said it wasn’t the same without your clinical dissection of the wine list.” He pauses. “Also, Erin crushed Vienna. We FaceTimed from backstage before the encore.”
Then he sees me. I hear him pause in the entryway. There’s a beat of silence before he lowers his voice, crossing to Sophie.
“What’s going on?” he murmurs, the shift immediate.
Sophie leans into him, keeps her voice low. “She told Finn this morning. It didn’t go well.”
Another beat. No follow-up questions. Just quiet understanding clicking into place. Liam moves toward me, unhurried and steady. His voice is soft when he speaks.
“Hey, Jess.”
I try to sit up, wipe my face, salvage some version of dignity, but my limbs won’t cooperate. My phone buzzes. I glance at the screen.
Finn: You okay? Just checking in.
I stare at the screen until it blurs. This morning, he would have written “How you feelin’, Red?” or “Missing you already.” Now it’s a wellness check.
I start typingI miss youand delete it. TypeI’m sorryand delete it. TypeI love youand delete it. TypeCome home to meand delete it. TypePleaseand stare at that single word until my vision blurs, then delete that too.
In the end, I don’t respond at all. Because what’s the point of saying “I love you” to someone who’s already decided I don’t?
My phone slips from numb fingers. The sound it makes hitting the coffee table is too loud in the quiet, like something breaking that can’t be fixed.
Liam crouches down in front of me and, without a word, slips one arm behind my back and the other beneath my knees. Then he lifts me. I melt into his chest, exhausted and shaking.
He doesn’t ask questions. Doesn’t offer solutions. Just holds me like I’m something precious instead of something broken. The kindness undoes me completely.
Because this is what love looks like when it’s not complicated. When someone sees you shattered and doesn’t try to fix you, just holds the pieces until you’re ready to put yourself back together.
He carries me down the hall to the spare bedroom and lowers me onto the mattress. The comforter smells like clean laundry and quiet. He pulls it over me, tucks it in. Sophie appears a moment later with water and tissues. She sets them on the nightstand, smoothing the hair from my forehead with a touch that cracks me open all over again.
Liam leans down, brushes a gentle hand over my shoulder. “We’ve got you, Jess. Sleep.”
I want to say “thank you.” I want to say “sorry.” But all I can manage is a broken nod.
Sophie slips under the covers beside me, warm and solid, tucking the blanket tighter around us both.
“He loves you, you know. Even now. Even after everything,” she whispers in the dark. “That’s the tragedy, not that he stopped loving you, but that you never believed he could.”
And that’s when I finally break. Because I do know. I’ve always known.
That’s what makes this so much worse.
And then I let go. I close my eyes and fall into the kind of sleep that only comes when you’ve finally hit the bottom, and your sister’s right there holding the net with both hands.
24
SIGNED AND SEALED
FINN
The Defenders complex is already awake when I walk in. For once, no earbuds, no post-practice grin, no smartass quip loaded and ready. Just me. And the weight in my gut.
