I should go inside.
I should walk in like everything’s normal. Like I didn’t just agree to meet an offensive coordinator who looked me in the eyes and spoke about my future like it’s still mine to take.
Like I didn’t want it.
I swallow hard, then force my body to move.
The front door is unlocked, like it always is here. Like this place still believes in safety and open arms, even when the world has proven it can rip everything out from under you.
I step inside, and the smell hits me immediately—lavender detergent and chamomile tea and the faintest trace of whatever dinner was, something warm and simple. The lights are low. The TV is on but muted, blue flickering against the walls like a heartbeat.
Jade and Blakely are on the couch.
Not sprawled out like they own the place the way they usually would be if Sloane were okay. Not laughing, not loud, not catcalling an invisible ref from the comfort of the Rhodes’ living room.
They’re sitting up straight, knees turned toward each other, bodies angled like they’re bracing for impact.
Sloane is in the middle.
She’s under a blanket, curled into herself, eyes on the screen like she’s watching a movie, but I can tell she isn’t seeing any of it. The remote rests in her lap like she forgot it was there.
Her hair is up in a messy knot. One of her socks is missing. Her face looks…steady.
But steady isn’t the same thing as okay.
All three of them look up when I close the door, and for a second, the room feels like a scene I walked into mid-sentence.
Blakely’s gaze flicks over my face like she’s checking for cracks. Jade’s eyes soften. Sloane’s expression doesn’t change much at all—just a tiny shift in her focus, like her brain has to climb back into her body before it can register that I’m real.
I keep my voice low. “Hey.”
“Hey,” Jade says back, equally quiet. Like we’re in a hospital. Like the walls might shatter if we speak too loudly.
Blakely stands first, grabbing her tote bag off the floor. “We were just leaving.”
Jade shoots her a look, but Blakely doesn’t care. She never has.
She steps closer to me and lowers her voice. “She ate half a grilled cheese.”
My chest tightens again, this time from something like relief.
“Good,” I murmur. “Thank you.”
Blakely’s eyes narrow. “Don’t let her tell you she’s fine.”
I almost laugh, but it doesn’t come out right. “Yeah. I’ve noticed she’s got that in common with someone.”
Sloane doesn’t even look at me when she says, flatly, “I can hear you.”
Blakely’s mouth twitches. “Good.”
Jade moves in behind her, squeezing Sloane’s shoulder softly before she passes. “Text us if you need us, okay?”
Sloane nods once, small and contained.
Then Jade leans closer and whispers something I don’t catch, but I see it in Sloane’s eyes—the faintest softening, like a thread loosening around her ribs.
Blakely brushes by me on her way out, shoulder bumping mine, and for anyone else it would look like an accident.
