Jade corners me by the lockers, arms crossed, face suddenly serious. “Talk to us.”
I roll my eyes. “About what?”
“About your dad,” Blakely says softly.
The words hit like a fist to my chest.
I freeze.
Jade’s eyes go gentle, which is somehow worse. “Sloane.”
My throat burns. “We have our first hospice nurse meeting today. At two.”
Blakely’s eyes fill instantly. “Do you want us to come?”
“No,” I say too quickly. Too sharp. Then I inhale, forcing the truth into something less jagged. “I don’t know. I don’t know what I want.”
Jade reaches for my hand, squeezes hard. “You don’t have to carry it alone, you know.”
I almost laugh, because I’ve been carrying it alone in my head for months.
“I have to,” I whisper.
Blakely shakes her head. “You don’t.”
Jade nods. “Also, if you want to punch someone, I volunteer Ethan.”
I snort despite myself. “Ethan didn’t do anything.”
Jade’s eyes narrow. “But he exists.”
“Jade,” Blakely warns, but she’s smiling too.
I swallow hard, and the smile fades.
“Coach said I can take time off,” I admit, voice quiet. “But if I stop moving, I think I’ll…fall apart.”
Jade’s face softens. “Then we’ll keep you moving.”
Blakely nods. “We’ve got you.”
Something in my chest cracks. I blink fast, refusing to let it spill.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
Jade bumps my shoulder. “Always.”
By the time I get home, the house feels different.
Not because anything changed structurally—same one-story layout, same basketball hoop in the driveway, same worn welcome mat Pops refuses to replace—but because there are extra cars.
Cameron’s and a white SUV that I don’t recognize are parked neatly at the curb.
My stomach drops.
They’re here.
My fingers go numb around my keys.
