“And just so we're clear,” I say, “this isn't about embarrassing him. It's about correcting the record.”
I smile—small, scared, honest.
“I'm choosing him.”
A collective inhale sweeps the room.
Everett looks gutted—in the best way.
I swallow.
Bruce steps forward, taking in each board again—really seeing it. His jaw works. Something shifts behind his eyes—something that looks almost like recognition. Almost like grief.
He doesn't speak.
He just looks at his son.
And for the first time in months, there's no disappointment in it.
Shelley's eyes shine. Even Tara doesn't dare interrupt.
My pulse spikes. My knees wobble. I lock them so I don't face-plant.
“Okay,” I whisper, “if someone doesn't give me a sign I didn't ruin my entire life just now, I may actually faint.”
Everett steps forward?—
And the room goes still.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Everett
I takea step toward her and the room holds its breath.
Or maybe that's just me.
Maybe I've forgotten how lungs work because Sierra Barrett just stood in front of God, Tara Greene, and her three overprotective brothers and saidI'm choosing him.
Me.
After everything.
After telling her to wait. To make sure she was sure. To make sure she wasn’t under the influence of sex or guilt.
I knew coming clean to her brothers would be impossibly hard, I didn’t want her to have to do it in front of cameras.
And still, she went for it. She owned it. She tuned it into a record setting one two punch ending in a KO.
She chose me.
My feet carry me toward her without permission. Past the heritage boards covered in photos I didn't knowexisted—photos ofme, taken by a girl who was documenting something she couldn't say out loud. Past the scraps of paper with her teenage handwriting, confessions she'd hidden for over a decade.
Past a slack-jawed Roman.
Past Caleb, who looks like someone just told him gravity works backwards.
Past Nolan, who's watching me with an expression I can't read—but there’s a hint of a smile there so I have questions.
