I head toward the restrooms, leaving J.P. to absorb my words. In the corridor, I nearly collide with Sora, her eyesred-rimmed but dry. She’s pulled herself together, preparing to return to the table with her dignity intact.
“Hey,” I say softly, taking her hands in mine. “You okay?”
She nods stiffly. “I’m fine. I’m so sorry I ditched you. I’m ready to go back?—”
“No.” I squeeze her hands. “Let’s go home.”
“But my parents?—”
“Will understand.” I brush a strand of hair from her face. “Or they won’t. Either way, you don’t need to sit through more of that tonight.”
“He’s right, though,” she whimpers, looking down. “I’m not making it on my own. I’m failing. But I promise you, I’m not some rich, irresponsible, spoiled brat. Yes, my dad has helped me through some?—”
“Sora, I am tired of your dad for the evening. And I don’t give a fuck if you sucked his bank account dry. It doesn’t change what I know about you and your heart.” I tilt her chin up, so she meets my gaze. “Listen to me. Even if I’m the last man standing, I will always be in your corner. Always supporting you. Always cheering you on.”
Her eyes search mine, looking for the truth.
“No matter what happens,” I continue, “you better not give up. Not on your writing, not on yourself.”
Something shifts in her expression—a flicker of hope rekindling. “We should go back to the table,” she says, but there’s no conviction in her tone.
“Or I could take you home,” I suggest quietly. “Our home.”
The word hangs between us, weighted with meaning. For a moment, we’re not pretending. Not playing roles. Just two people, standing in the dim corridor of a Korean restaurant, holding on to each other like lifelines.
“Our home,” she repeats, and there’s a smile in her voice even as fresh tears shine in her eyes. “Yes. Let’s go there.”
I place my hand at the small of her back, guiding her toward the exit. We don’t look back at the tatami room where her parents sit. Tonight isn’t about them. It’s about Sora reclaiming her worth, her dignity—and me, realizing just how far I’ve fallen.
As we step outside into the cool evening air, Sora leans into me, her body warm against mine despite the chill. I wrap my arm around her shoulders, drawing her closer.
She giggles softly out of the blue.
“What?” I ask.
“You always say daddy issues are your bread and butter.” She smiles up at me. “Now you see mine clear as crystal. I’m so glad Dakota will never, ever feel like this, Forrest. You’re a really good dad. The times you doubt yourself, don’t forget that. You’re great at the thing that matters most.”
The simple statement hits me like a punch to the chest—unexpected and powerful. Before I can respond, she rises on her tiptoes and presses a gentle kiss to my jaw.
“Thank you,” she whispers. “For defending me.”
“Always,” I promise, as serious as a vow.
Our rideshare pulls up to the curb, and as we slide into the back seat, I can’t help but think about how quickly this arrangement has become something real. Something I don’t want to lose.
Sora settles against my shoulder, her familiar scent—peaches and vanilla—filling my senses. Her fingers find mine in the darkness, intertwining with a certainty that belies her father’s doubts.
And as Sora’s breathing steadies against me, I make a silent promise. Even if we can’t last, even if this is just a story, for her sake, I’m going to make damn sure it has a happy ending.
chapter 24
Forrest
I started on the six-pack before I even knocked on Taio’s door—my old door, technically. The hallway is still the same uninspiring beige, the flickering light above the apartment number still needs fixing, the Indian lady from 6B is still cooking something that makes the entire floor smell like heaven.
Home sweet former home.
When Taio finally opens up, he’s wearing nothing but basketball shorts and a confused expression. He leans against the doorframe, crosses his arms, and gives me a once-over.
