"Morning," Emma says. "You're up early."
"Couldn't sleep."
She gives me a look, the one that says she knows I'm not telling her everything. "Everything okay?"
"Yeah. Just thinking about the game tomorrow."
Lie. But a necessary one.
Maya appears at the top of the stairs a few minutes later. She's changed into clean clothes: jeans and a hoodie that swallows her frame. Her curls frame her face naturally, loose and unstyled. She looks exhausted but present.
"Morning," she says, heading straight for the coffee maker.
"How're you feeling?" Emma asks, her voice careful.
"Fine. Just tired."
"You sure? You looked rough last night after the Tyler thing." Emma sets down her spatula and turns to face Maya fully. "And we're going to talk about that at some point, whether you like it or not. What he did was wrong, and I will have words with him."
"Em, it's fine?—"
“It's not fine. He caused you to have a panic attack. That's not fine." Emma's voice is firm. "But we don't have to talk about it right this second if you're not ready."
"I'm fine, Em. Promise."
More lies. More performance. But at least now I know what's underneath, at least I can see the cracks in the facade.
"Maya." I set my coffee down. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"
She follows me through the kitchen and out the back door tothe patio. The October air is crisp, cold enough to see our breath. I close the door behind us, giving us privacy.
"I found you a therapist. Dr. Rebecca Mills. She has an opening at two this afternoon."
Maya's eyes widen. "Today?"
"Yeah. I explained it was urgent. She said she could fit you in."
"Jackson, I don't know if I'm ready?—"
"You're not. But that doesn't matter. You need help, and it's available. So we're going."
"We?"
"I'll drive you. Wait while you're in session. Drive you home." I watch her face carefully, looking for signs of resistance or fear. "Unless you don't want me there."
She's quiet for a long moment, her fingers twisting together. "You'd really do that? Sit in a parking lot for an hour while I talk to a stranger about my trauma?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
Because I love you. Because watching you spiral is killing me. Because I'd do anything to help you heal.
"Because you matter, Maya. And because you deserve help."
She looks away, blinking rapidly. "Okay. Two o'clock."
"Two o'clock."
