"You already thanked me."
"Not enough." I shifted, trying to ease the ache. "You could have panicked when those men—"
"They threatened Finn." Her voice went hard. "They hurt you. Panic wasn't an option."
"Most people would have frozen."
"I'm not most people."
"No," I agreed. "You're not."
She curled into the chair across from me, looking small in my sweatshirt. "Tell me about Sarah."
The request should have hurt. Instead, it felt like permission.
"Sarah was..." I let my head fall back, words coming easier with pharmaceutical assistance. "You know those people who seem too bright for the world? Like they're burning at a different frequency?"
"Yeah."
"That was Sarah. First time I saw her, she was chained to our team bus."
"Excuse me?"
"Environmental protest. Something about carbon emissions and moral bankruptcy. She had a giant banner that said 'PUCKS BEFORE PLANET?' with my face on it." I smiled at the memory. "I was so offended, I marched over to argue. She destroyed me. Cited statistics I didn't know existed. Used words I had to look up online later. Then asked if I wanted to grab fair-trade coffee and discuss why I was wrong about everything."
"And you fell in love with a woman who chained herself to your bus?"
"Fell like a piano from a building." The pain meds were definitely working now. "She came to every home game with increasingly elaborate protest signs. 'WILDER ABOUT WASTE.' 'BRAD IDEA: RECYCLE.' The team actually went carbon neutral just to stop the puns."
Serena laughed, bright and unexpected. "She sounds incredible."
"She was chaos in human form. Beautiful, brilliant chaos." I focused on the ceiling, words flowing without my usual filters. "She would have loved you."
"Yeah?"
"You don't let me get away with anything either."
The fire crackled. Outside, snow continued falling. The pain medication was making me loose-tongued, saying things I normally kept locked down.
"Marcus was an idiot," I said suddenly.
"You mentioned that."
"Worth repeating. Any man who couldn't see your value..." I shook my head. "His loss."
"Careful," she said softly. "That sounds dangerously close to a compliment."
"Statement of fact."
"Brad..."
"You're extraordinary with Finn." The words kept coming despite my better judgment. "The way you see him—not his condition, not his limitations. Just him."
"He makes it easy."
"No, he doesn't. Most people see the medical equipment first, the restrictions second, the kid third if at all. You've never done that."
She was quiet for a moment. "My younger brother had severe asthma growing up. Different from Finn's, but similar enough. I remember how people would treat him like glass, like he might shatter if they breathed wrong. It made him feel broken."
