Page 124 of The Pucking Date
“Okay,” I say, even though none of this is okay. “Tell Mama I’ll be there tomorrow.”
“For a few minutes, he was…clearer than he’s been in months,” she adds softly. I grip the phone tighter. “He said he was sorry. That he never meant to drag you down with him.” A pause. Her voice breaks. “He said he was proud of you. Of what you built. That you’re a better man than he ever was.” Another breath. “He said that one day you’ll be a better father too. That you’ve already broken the cycle.”
My voice snags on grief I haven’t earned the right to speak.
“He asked if you were playing tonight. Said he hoped you won.”
I nod but can’t speak around the pressure climbing up my spine. She can’t see it, but I know she hears it.
“Love you.”
“Love you too.”
The call ends.
The hallway’s too bright now. Too sharp. And then I hear the footsteps.
Light. Familiar. Hesitant.
“Finn?”
Jessica’s words cut through the fog.
I turn. Something shifts in her face the moment she sees mine.
“What happened?” she asks, stepping closer, brushing her hand against mine. Warm. Steady. It takes everything in me not to fold into her.
I swallow hard. “My father died.”
A beat. Her breath catches like it’s been punched from her lungs. She pulls away.
“When?”
“About an hour ago. At the hospital.”
“I’m so sorry.” Her voice breaks.
I nod. I don’t trust myself to say anything more.
“I’ll come with you,” she says without hesitation. “You shouldn’t be alone.”
I shake my head. “I’ll ask Nate. We don’t have another game for a week.”
The offer breaks something in me. A month ago, I would’ve said yes. Would’ve needed her there. Now I can’t tell if it’s love or guilt driving her.
She hesitates like she wants to say more.
I rub the back of my neck. And for a second, I almost reach for her. But I don’t.
Instead, I walk away.
30
AFTERSHOCKS
FINN
I’m loading the dishwasher with cold toast crusts and smeared peanut butter plates while trying not to hear the groan of coffin ropes still echoing in my skull.
