“No, what I mean is…you have nothing to be sorry about.” I feel my jaw tick as I flick my gaze up to meet his. “I made my bed. I gotta lay in it.”
Ian’s eyes, wide as a deer’s, don’t move from mine. He seems stuck, like his usually quick paced rationality has nothing to hang its hat on, and has no clue what he should say next. So instead, he just says, “Why?” I furrow my brows, not understanding. “I blew up your life.”
I scoff, the first smile in days twitching at the corner of my lips. “Iblew my life up. You just wrote about it. You just told the truth.”
He nods, his face softening as my mom reaches across the table and takes his hand.
“Ian’s helping me figure out my options,” she says, eyes crinkling with amusement.
“Options?” Gaze bouncing between them, it only takes a second for me to see the camaraderie already radiating there. And Ian, for all of his hardness, sits at my table like fucking putty every time my mom so much as looks at him. It’s the love in her gaze that does it. I know, because it happens to me, too. That belonging I’ve always taken for granted? He’s feeling it now, and it dawns on me that his life’s probably been devoid of that for as at least as long as I’ve known him. It’s a small silver lining to all this—that he’s got someone in his corner.
“Well,” Ian says, opening his laptop to show me the series of tabs open in his browser, “what my dad’s been doing—withholding funds, canceling agreements, toying with Carmen’s admission? It’s harassment. I think your mom could sue,” he explains excitedly, shoulder slightly hunched as he taps away at the keyboard. “I figured he would pull the plug on everything once I sent that blast, so I’ve been monitoring his inbox, the account he uses to pay you and—” he shifts the screen toward me and I rake my eyes over way more legalese than I’m equipped to interpret.
“Ian. I don’t know what the fuck this.”
“Language!” Carmen shouts from down the hallway, running to the table and perching right next to my half brother. “Did you know we have a brother?”
“Ihave a—” Mom and Ian both send me incredulous glares. “Yup. We do.”
“Basically, I have more than enough evidence for a case. I’mnot a lawyer, obviously, but we’ll find one and take him for what he’s worth.” Ian slams his laptop shut, sitting back with a satisfying grin on his face.
There’s joy at the notion that my mom has figured out a way to fill in the gaps of my recklessness, and there’s relief, but neither do enough to alter the heaviness, the unsteadiness that hasn’t dissipated—honestly, in weeks. I sit here, stagnant in the rushing water that is our life, and only feel the heavy weight of something pulling me under. I shut my eyes for a long second, almost wishing it would.
It’s only Carmen who seems to notice, her attention warming my face from across the table as her throat bobs.
“I’m guessing you didn’t fix things with Sloane?” she asks, her voice barely perceptible over the hum of the living room fan.
Ian looks at the table and Mom sighs, her jaw tensing with some unspoken thing I decide to ignore because I can’t take more advice. Or more pep talks from people who think I deserve her. Losing Sloane is the price I didn’t know I was paying when I sold my soul to my father.
I think maybe I want to feel the loss of her, want it to haunt me, as proof that once upon a time she was there and we were happy. I think maybe that’s all I’m allowed to get.
“I’m gonna be late for the uh…my flight. For the conference game,” I mutter, hastily pushing back from the table. Carmen looks up at Ian with alarm, who shrugs before giving me a brief wave goodbye, and if I wasn’t so lost in my own sea of grief I’d laugh at the bond of theirs, already forming.
I swipe my keys off the counter, place a hand on the door, and try to leave just as my mom’s exasperated exhale stops me.
“Wait—why’d you stop by, sweetie?” Her buoyancy hangs just behind the concern in her gaze as she checks one me with the tact of a mother, of someone who’s known me forever—with only a pinch of authority, because she knows I’ll make my own mind up anyway.
I dip my head, my mouth pulling tight. “Thought I needed something but…it’s not here.”
Understanding crosses her gaze as she pulls me into a tight embrace, and I breathe in the familiar floral of my childhood. “I’m proud of you,” she whispers before pulling away, eyes squeezing when she gives me a small smile as my brows pinch. “I know it hurts but…this is living,” she nods, nudging me out the door, and I wonder if this is what they mean by ‘worth it.’
If this is the other side of having loved, if this is the pain you never feel if you’ve never loved at all. I know, despite the cut I’m too numb to try to stop from bleeding, that I would’ve loved her a million times over, and I know I always will.
The last row—I never find myself here, but my usual spot near the front was cordoned off with back packs and duffels. A clear and deliberate message to not even bother. Grant’s severe glare, that might as well have been an actual dagger, cut across any hope of reconciliation. Even Ben, usually level-headed and ready to smooth things over for the sake of the team, just gave me a pathetic smile, not even bothering.
It’s damage that’s done; the only person who couldn’t care less is Coach. “All right. I know you shitheads are having marital issues—” Josiah snickers, only for Grant to smack the back of his head. “But in five minutes it’s wheels up, and you’re gonna get your shit together. This game is do or die. We lose this, we’re not just out of the tournament—we risk losing our standing in the conference as a whole. Now, I don’t have to tell you?—”
A long whistle cuts Coach’s speech off right before it wasabout to veer into stats on the Wolves we’re set to play tonight for a spot in the finals, and he lets his head fall back in irritation. Will’s long arm settles along Coach’s shoulder, a shit eating grin on his face.
“Oh come on, Coach,” he says to the rows of teammates finally pulling their earbuds out. “You know you missed me.”
“Take a seat,” Coach groans, waving him off as he slaps hands on the slow walk down the aisle. “Alright, alright…let’s hit the road.”
Cheers, obnoxious and vulgar, sound from every seat except for Grant’s, and I can see Ben’s sympathetic nod toward his friend as he joins in. Clapping—because I’m happy to see him, and I’m pleased to see him looking so healthy and level headed and…not drunk—I nod along, pulling out my phone to find a playlist for the brief plane ride.
Suddenly, Will drops into the seat next to me, our oversized frames warring for space as my eyes narrow, eyeing the aisle seat he could’ve claimed before wondering why he’s back here at all. I sit up, acutely aware that his fist or his knuckles could collide with me at any moment. He must see me tense because laughter cracks across his face, his green eyes churning with a joke I’m not privy to. The plane falls silent, and I can just feel the heads craning over head rests to see the aggression that’s sure to erupt out of my old friend.
“Tough fucking crowd,” he murmurs under his breath, still not moving over. The plane begins to press forward, gravity pulling us all back. “What’d you do?” he asks, a sly grin spreading across his face.
