“I’m here,” I say, and this time it isn’t a lie.
Sloane closes her eyes like the words hit somewhere deep.
She squeezes my hand once.
And in the silence of the kitchen, with my phone still face down like a loaded gun, I realize something I don’t want to admit yet:
Two weeks isn’t enough time to choose between two lives.
But it’s more than enough time to lose the one that matters.
50
SLOANE
Aweek later, the world keeps doing what it does best.
It moves.
It doesn’t ask permission. It doesn’t slow down because there’s an empty recliner in the living room that still looks like it’s waiting for someone to come back and claim it. It doesn’t care that I still catch myself turning toward the hallway like I’m about to call, “Pops, do you want anything?” before my brain remembers there’s no point.
It just…keeps going.
And somehow, I’m going with it.
Not because I want to.
Because the alternative is drowning.
The weird part is, progress doesn’t feel like victory.
It feels like betrayal.
I’m lacing my shoes in the locker room when I realize I haven’t cried yet today.
It’s early—barely nine—and I’ve learned not to tempt fate by thinking a thought like that too loudly. But still.
I’m here.
My hair is pulled into a tight ponytail, my face clean, my lungs full of air that doesn’t smell like antiseptic. The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, and the sound of my teammates moving around me is normal in a way that almost makes my chest ache.
Jade drops onto the bench beside me, already in her practice gear, braids swinging as she rummages through her bag. “Okay, you look…likeyou.”
I blink. “Thank you?”
She leans in, lowering her voice like the locker room isn’t full of women who can hear everything anyway. “I’m being serious. Like…the Sloane Rhodes I know. You’ve been walking around like a ghost.”
My throat tightens.
Ghost. Haunting. Hollow.
Everyone keeps using the same words, like grief comes with a thesaurus.
Blakely appears in front of me, hands on her hips. “If you tell her she looks like herself, you have to tell her the rest of it.”
Jade rolls her eyes. “I’m getting there.”
Blakely’s gaze softens when it lands on me. She doesn’t ask if I’m okay, because we’ve all agreed that’s a stupid question. Instead, she just says, “You ready?”
