Chapter 36
Chapter thirty-six
Nothing beats a good shower sob
Lulu
The car ride home is mostly quiet, except for the wipers squeaking against the windshield and Zoe muttering curses at every red light.
“I’ve got tissues, chocolate, and a murder playlist,” she says, flicking her turn signal with unnecessary aggression. “Pick your poison.”
I stare out the window, the city lights smearing into watercolor. “Got anything for erasing the last three hours of my life?”
“Vodka,” she replies. “But it’s at home, not in the glovebox, so we’re already off to a disappointing start.”
A sound slips out of me—something halfway between a laugh and a sob. My voice feels shredded and my hands won’t stop shaking.
Zoe glances over, her expression softening. “He’s okay, Lu. Chase texted. They cleared him at the rink, he’s under observation for the night, and he’s already arguing about being benched. Typical Logan behavior.”
“Conscious,” I repeat. The word feels thin, like it could splinter if I breathe too hard.
By the time we pull into my driveway, my whole body hums with leftover adrenaline. Everything inside me is still caught in the noise and flashing lights of the arena.
Zoe kills the engine, but neither of us move.
“You gonna sit here till your showcase tomorrow?” she asks gently.
“Maybe.”
She reaches across and gives my knee a squeeze. “Come on. Shower. Tea. We’ll watch trash TV and pretend the male species is extinct.”
I open the door on autopilot, the cold air biting my face. My porch light’s still on, and for a second I think the house looks the same, as if nothing’s happened. Like I didn’t just watch the man I love get knocked unconscious and then have my brother try to murder him.
I’m halfway up the path when I notice movement next-door—curtains shifting in a warm yellow glow.
Betty’s face appears in the window, haloed by lamplight and lace curtains.
Her brows lift, her mouth forming a small, worried 'O' as she takes one look at me.
She disappears for a second, then her porch light flicks on and out she comes, wrapped in a floral quilted robe and fuzzy slippers, marching straight toward us.
Zoe exhales beside me. “Oh, good. Reinforcements.”
Betty doesn’t stop until she’s in front of me, eyes sweeping my face, cataloguing every reason to bake me something.
“Sugarplum,” she says softly, her voice rich with that no-nonsense affection that always undoes me. “You look like hell’s waiting room.”
I blink hard. “He got hit, Betty. And then—”
“Oh, I saw,” she says, lowering her voice. “Whole damn neighborhood heard me yelling. Poor Rat Daddy got carted off too, didn’t he? I nearly threw my wine at the TV when that Dallas goon went for him. I told myself if they don’t suspend him, I’ll drive down there and do it personally.”
Zoe snorts. “You’re a national treasure.”
Betty lifts her chin. “Darling, at my age, they can’t arrest me. It’s just called concerned citizen involvement.”
I force a small smile, the kind that hurts to hold.
Betty tips her head toward my door. “Inside, Sugarplum. You don’t need to be brave out here.”
Zoe reaches for my elbow. “And I need wine before we attempt feelings.”
The warmth of the house hits like a wave when we step inside. It smells faintly of vanilla and lemon cleaner, as if the morning never ended and the world didn’t just tilt on its axis.
Betty doesn’t hesitate, just beelines for the kitchen, muttering something about the state of my soul and the healing properties of chamomile. Zoe hangs up our coats, checks her phone, then drops her bag onto the counter.
“Sit,” she orders, pointing at a stool by the kitchen island.
It’s easier than arguing, so I sink onto it and rest my elbows on the counter, eyes unfocused. My body feels separate from me, heavy and uncooperative.
Betty fusses with mugs, then turns to us. “Someone start talking. What the devil happened after Rat Daddy got flattened? The broadcast cut to commercial, and by the time it came back, the refs were dragging men off the ice like it was a brawl at the bingo hall.”
Zoe snorts, sliding onto the stool beside me and handing me a hoodie she grabbed from the couch. “Logan decided to go full gladiator. Dropped gloves, went for the guy’s throat. Then got his head bounced off the ice for his trouble.”
Betty’s hand flies to her chest with a gasp. “Oh, lord above.”
I slowly wrap myself up in the hoodie which still smells like him, then stare back down at the counter. “He hit the ice—headfirst.”
Zoe nods. “And then Lady Chaos here stormed the tunnel like she was leading a revolution.”
Betty’s head swivels between us, eyes wide. “You went down there? Oh, sweet girl…”
“I couldn’t just sit there,” I say, my voice cracking. “He wasn’t moving. I thought—” My throat closes. “I thought he might not wake up.”
Betty’s expression softens, her hand finding mine across the counter. “Well, thank God he did.”
“He’s okay,” Zoe adds quickly. “Concussion protocol. He’s being benched and Chase is staying with him tonight—team policy. Someone’s supposed to be with him for the first twenty-four hours.”
I blink. “Chase?”
“Yeah.” Zoe smirks. “He text me again just before. Logan has to have someone stay tonight—usually the team let a wife or girlfriend do it, but… uhh, as far as they know, Logan’s single.
So Chase volunteered. Which is hilarious, because I’ve seen that man burn toast and lose a remote in the same thirty seconds, so god knows why they’d let him look after another human. ”
She’s joking. I know, because I’ve seen the way Chase looked after her when she could barely look after herself. But that’s Zoe’s armor: humor when things get too heavy. So despite myself, I let a small sound escape—something close to a laugh, though it trembles on the way out.
The memory hits again. Logan slumped in the med room, Eli in the doorway, the word mistake still echoing in my chest.
I press a hand to my face. “Eli saw us.”
That’s all I have to say. Betty’s expression shifts from concern to something sharper, surprise and protection all rolled into one.
“Oh, Sugarplum…” she murmurs.
Zoe sighs, leaning forward on her elbows. “It was intense. He walked in while Logan was still half out of it, and Lulu was draped over him crying and declaring her love. Wrong time, wrong words, wrong everything.”
I swallow hard, the weight of it sinking in all over again. “He lost it. And then Logan… he said it was a mistake.”
Betty’s frown deepens. “And you think he meant you?”
I nod, watching her eyes dart to Zoe for confirmation, who shakes her head quickly.
“No chance. The man could barely remember his own name. I once watched Chase try to walk through a glass door after a hit like that. Logan probably doesn’t even remember what he said.”
“Still,” I whisper, “he said it.”
Betty sets a mug in front of me, and a glass of wine in front of Zoe.
“And tomorrow, he’ll unsay it. Men say all kinds of nonsense with head injuries.
Half the neighborhood’s husbands could use that excuse, if only we could concuss them.
” She waves a hand. “He probably meant something else entirely, mark my words.”
That earns a shaky breath of laughter from me, even as tears sting the back of my eyes.
Zoe gestures at the steaming mug in front of me. “Drink that, then you’re going to bed. You’ve got your showcase tomorrow, and you’ll need your brain intact for whatever the PTA banshees have in store.”
“Maybe I should call him,” I murmur, more to myself than to them.
“He needs rest, babe. You need rest. Focus on the showcase, then when he’s lucid, you can sort it out.”
Betty tilts her head, eyes kind. “And if he’s worth the tears, he’ll come find you first. I’ve seen the way he looks at you, he’s one of the good ones.”
“Heart love,” Zoe murmurs softly.
The lump in my throat grows too big to swallow. I nod, fingers tightening around the mug as Betty fixes me with her twinkly eyes.
“And cry down here if you must, but showers have better acoustics for tears.”
Zoe snorts. “She’s right. Nothing beats a good shower sob for echo and efficiency.”
“You two are ridiculous.”
Betty straightens her robe, unbothered. “We’re experienced, Sugarplum. There’s a difference. Now drink up before I start singing you a lullaby. I’ve had two gins and I’m not above it.”
The world narrows to the steam curling off my tea. I take two sips before I hear a car pulling into my driveway, the low rumble of the engine cutting off.
Zoe’s eyes flick to mine. “Please tell me that’s a food delivery…”
It’s not. A car door slams, then another, and my phone suddenly buzzes on the counter.
Tamara: I tried to get him to cool down, but he insisted. I’m sorry. We’re outside.
“I’ll handle it.”
I set the mug down with shaking hands, but Zoe's already up, rolling her shoulders like she’s walking into a press scrum. Betty pads to the hallway and clicks on the porch light, her chin lifting with lethal-grandma resolve.
The knock is hard enough to rattle the frame, but before I can answer it, Betty catches my wrist and gently squeezes. “We’re right here, Sugarplum.”
I force a breath, nod, and open the door.
Tamara stands on the stoop looking apologetic and furious on my behalf, fingers tight around Eli’s sleeve like he’s a storm she’s barely holding back. Eli’s eyes jump straight to my face. They’re red and flinty, still wired from the ice and the fight and everything that exploded after.
“Can we talk?” he says, voice tight.
Zoe appears at my shoulder. “Inside voices or I'll eject you. House rules.”
Tamara elbows him, and he grunts his reply. I step back to let them in.
My living room looks offensively normal—throw blanket folded just so, my candles dotted around with precision. Eli doesn’t sit. Instead, he plants himself in the middle of the rug like center ice.
“How long?” he asks, straight to the point.
I taste metal. “A while.”
“How long, Tallulah.”
“Since the season started,” I whisper. “It wasn’t supposed to—”
He laughs once, flat and disbelieving. “Right… And you didn’t think to tell me?”
Anger flares hot under my ribs. “You’ve made it crystal clear I’m not allowed to have a life you don’t approve of.”
“That is not—” He stops and drags a hand over his face. “It’s Miller. He’s supposed to be one of my guys, a brother who doesn’t lie to me.”
Betty steps in, gentle but steel-spined. “Tea?”
“No, thank you,” Tamara says quickly, eyes bouncing between us like she’s tracking a live grenade.
I square my shoulders. “This isn’t about you thinking Logan’s a bad guy. You know he isn’t. This is about you not wanting to feel blindsided, and I get it. But you don’t get to make me feel ashamed about being with him.”
“I don’t—” His jaw locks. “I don’t want you to be taken advantage of, Lulu. He kept you a secret.”
“Then maybe don’t make it impossible for us to tell you the truth,” I shoot back. “You drew the line in the sand, Eli. ‘Anyone but my sister.’ You turned it into a rule before you even asked me what I wanted.”
He stares at me, breathing hard. “I didn’t draw a line because I don’t trust you. I drew it because if something went wrong, I’d have to choose.”
Silence punches the room flat.
“And here’s the thing, Tully.” I flinch at his use of my childhood nickname. “It will always be you. Always. So now I’m in a position where I have to play with a guy I used to trust, who called you a mistake to your face.”
Behind me, Tamara’s voice softens. “He was concussed, Eli.”
“I know what I heard,” he grinds out.
“Do you?” Zoe asks. “Because I heard your sister say she loved him, and I heard him say it back. And then when you stormed in, he called it a mistake, and you decided what it meant before either of them could breathe.”
He blinks, and the fight leaks out of him by a couple of degrees. “I don’t want her hurt.”
“Newsflash,” I say, tears burning. “I already am.”
For a second his face falls, the anger slipping enough to show the fear under it. He’s just my brother again, the kid who used to check the locks twice because storms scared me.
“Chase is with him,” he offers. “He’s fine.”
“I know,” I whisper. “Zoe told me. What about Reid?”
Eli rubs his forehead. “They sedated him and he’s having scans of his knee. They won’t know how bad till the MRI comes back. For now they’re treating it like it could be serious.”
My gut twists low. “That sounds bad.”
“I don’t wanna think about it right now.”
“Okay,” I say softly. “One thing at a time.”
He nods once, then stares at the floor. “I shouldn’t have come down that hard.”
“No,” I agree.
There’s a long beat, and I watch Tamara’s hand find his. He squeezes it like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered, then tries again, softer this time.
“If this is real—if it’s not a fling or some… phase or—”
“It’s real,” I say, without hesitation.
His eyes slowly close. When he opens them, he looks a decade older. “Then you both should’ve trusted me enough to say it.”
“We were going to,” I say. “After the showcase.”
Something pained moves across his face. “Then prove it. After tomorrow, tell me again. No more hiding.”
“Okay.” I nod. “After tomorrow.”
He shifts, embarrassed and fierce at once. “I can’t look at him tonight.” Another beat. “And I can’t look at you when you’re wearing his hoodie.”
I glance down at the charcoal fleece I’m drowning in, and fold my arms across it, heat crawling up my neck.
Eli blows out a breath, then lets Tamara tug him toward the door as she mouths a silent apology. On the threshold he looks back, torn between fury and love. “Get some sleep, Lu.”
“You too,” I manage.
Then the door clicks shut, and the house sags around the silence. Zoe exhales a curse under her breath, and Betty presses the last of my tea back into my palm.
“Tomorrow,” she says softly. “You shine first, then you sort the rest.”
I nod. My hands are still shaking, but somewhere under the adrenaline and the ache, a small and stubborn thread holds.
Even wildflowers split concrete.
And tomorrow, I’ll prove it.