Chapter 24 #2
“It's not fine—”
“Soren.” I waited until he looked at me. “Your siblings matter to me too. Talia and Micah and Poppy—they're good people who deserve to stay together and not get dragged back into that fucking mess. So this isn't just about you. It's about all of you.”
His eyes went shiny, and he blinked hard like he was trying to hold back tears. “I hate this.”
“I know.”
“I hate needing help. I hate that I can't fix this myself. I hate that you're right about all of it.”
“I know,” I said again, and tugged him closer until he came. He buried his face against my neck and I held him there, one hand rubbing slow circles on his back while he breathed through whatever the fuck he was feeling.
We sat like that for a while, the ocean loud through the open windows, and eventually he pulled back enough to look at me.
“When's the meeting?” he asked quietly.
“Two hours. Leroy's office downtown.”
“Okay.” He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “Okay. Let's go.”
Leroy's office was in a building that looked like it specialized in being unremarkable—gray exterior, functional lobby, the kind of place you went when you needed results instead of flash.
We took the elevator to the third floor and walked into a waiting room that smelled like coffee and old carpet.
Leroy was already there, standing near the window with his arms crossed. When he saw us, he nodded and gestured toward a door marked as a conference room.
“The lawyer's waiting,” he said. “Name's Sarah Reeves. She's good. Specializes in family law and custody cases.”
“Thanks for setting this up,” I said.
“You're paying me enough. It's the least I can do.” He looked at Soren.
The lawyer was waiting at the conference table with a folder open in front of her and a legal pad covered in notes. She stood when we walked in, extending a hand first to me and then to Soren.
“Sarah Reeves,” she said. Her handshake was firm, her expression professional but warm. “I've been reviewing the documentation Mr. Donnelly provided, and I think we have a strong case.”
Soren sat down heavily in one of the chairs, and I took the seat next to him. Leroy stayed standing near the door, arms still crossed, watching everything with that cop intensity that probably made most people nervous.
“Walk me through it,” Soren said, and his voice was steadier than I'd expected.
Reeves nodded and pulled out a stack of papers.
“Your parents are claiming they want to regain custody of Poppy based on allegations that you're an unfit guardian. The specific claims include financial instability, inadequate living conditions, and—” She paused, glancing at Soren with something like sympathy.
“—mental health concerns that make you a danger to yourself and others.”
“Fuck,” Soren breathed.
“They're reaching,” Reeves said firmly. “And we can prove it. You've been Poppy's legal guardian for how long?”
“Thirteen years.”
“And in that time, has Child Protective Services ever been called? Have there been any complaints about her care or living situation?”
“No.”
“Good. That works in our favor.” She made a note on her legal pad.
“We'll need documentation of your financial situation, proof of stable housing, and character references from people who can speak to your ability to provide care.
Teachers, neighbors, anyone who interacts regularly with Poppy and can testify that she's well-cared-for.”
“I can get that,” Soren said.
“The mental health angle is trickier,” Reeves continued, and I felt Soren tense beside me.
“But it's also where they've overplayed their hand.
Depression and suicidal ideation don't automatically make someone an unfit parent or guardian.
What matters is that you're actively managing your mental health and that Poppy is safe and thriving.”
“I am managing it,” Soren said quietly. “I've been in therapy. I have a safety plan. And Poppy's doing great in school. She's got friends, she's involved in shit, she's—she's happy.”
“Then we'll document all of that.” Reeves looked at him directly. “Your parents are banking on you not having the resources to fight back. They think they can bully you into giving up because legal battles are expensive and exhausting. But if you're willing to fight, we can beat them.”
“How expensive are we talking?” Soren asked, and I could hear the resignation creeping into his voice.
“For a case like this, with the potential for it to drag out over several months—probably between twenty and thirty thousand.”
Soren went pale. “I don't have that.”
“I do,” I said, and felt him turn to stare at me. “I'll cover it.”
“Rook—”
“We're not having this argument again.” I looked at Reeves. “Send me the retainer invoice. I'll handle it.”
She nodded like this was the most normal thing in the world, and maybe in her line of work it was. People with money stepping in to fund other people's legal battles because the system was designed to bankrupt anyone who couldn't afford to play.
“There's one more thing,” Reeves said, flipping to a new page in her notes.
“Your parents' lawyer is going to try to paint you in the worst possible light.
That means they'll dig into your personal life, your relationships, anything they can use to build a narrative that you're unstable or irresponsible.”
“What does that mean?” Soren asked.
“It means they might ask about your dating history, your living situation, who you spend time with.
They're looking for ammunition.” She glanced between us, and I realized she'd clocked the hand-holding and the way we were sitting close enough that our shoulders touched.
“If there's anything in your personal life that could be used against you, now's the time to tell me.”
Soren looked at me, and I could see the question in his eyes. I squeezed his hand and turned to Reeves.
“We're together,” I said. “That might complicate things.”
“Are you out?” she asked me directly.
“Not publicly. But I'm working on it.”
She nodded slowly, making another note. “That could be used against you, Soren. They could argue that you're in an unstable relationship, or that you're exposing Poppy to—” She paused, clearly choosing her words carefully. “—situations they disapprove of.”
“They can disapprove all they want,” Soren said, and there was steel in his voice now. “I'm not hiding who I am to make them comfortable.”
“Good,” Reeves said. “Because hiding it would make it worse. If you're going to do this, you need to own it. Be clear that you're in a stable, committed relationship with someone who cares about your family's wellbeing. That's a strength, not a weakness.”
The meeting ran another thirty minutes, covering logistics and timelines and the mountain of documentation we'd need to gather. By the time we walked out, my head was spinning with information and Soren looked wrung out.
We didn't talk on the elevator ride down. Didn't talk in the parking garage or on the drive out of the city. It wasn't until we were halfway back to the coast house that Soren finally broke the silence.
“Thank you,” he said quietly.
“You don't have to thank me.”
“Yeah, I do.” He was still holding my hand, his grip tighter than before. “You're putting your career on the line for this. For me. That's—I don't know how to process that.”
“My career isn't on the line.”
“Rook.” He turned in his seat to look at me. “You know what'll happen if you come out. The media shitstorm, the scrutiny, all of it. And you're doing it anyway.”
“I'm doing it because I want to be with you,” I said.
“Rook…”
“I'm not saying I'm ready to hold a press conference tomorrow,” I continued. “I need to talk to Coach first. Probably the team. Figure out how to do this without it turning into a three-ring circus like what happened to them. But I'm done pretending this isn't real.”
Soren was quiet for a long moment, and when he finally spoke his voice was rough. “What if I'm not worth all that?”
I pulled off the highway onto the shoulder and put the car in park, turning to face him fully. “Don't do that.”
“Don't do what?”
“Don't make yourself smaller to give me an out.” I reached over and cupped his face, making him look at me. “You're worth it. Your siblings are worth it. This whole messy, complicated thing we're building is worth it. And I'm not walking away.”
His eyes were too bright, and when he leaned forward and kissed me it tasted like salt and relief and a thousand things neither of us had words for yet.
I kissed him back hard, pouring everything I couldn't say into the press of my mouth against his, and when we finally pulled apart we were both breathing hard.
“Okay,” Soren said.
“Okay?”
“Okay.” He nodded, more to himself than to me.
“We'll figure it out. Together.” “Together,” I agreed, and pulled back onto the highway.
We drove in silence for a few minutes and then Soren pulled out his phone and scrolled through his messages.
“Shit,” he said, sitting up straighter. “Luca says they've got a gig tonight at The Garrison. Asks if I'm feeling up to playing.”
I glanced over at him. “You want to?”
“Yeah, I do.” He was already texting back, his thumbs moving fast across the screen. “I know I just got out of the hospital and probably should be resting or whatever, but—fuck, I miss it. And I think it would help. Getting back to normal.”
“Then you should play.”
He looked up from his phone, eyebrows raised. “You're not going to tell me it's too soon?”
“Is it too soon?”
“No. I feel okay. Tired, but okay.” He studied my face like he was trying to figure out if I was bullshitting him. “You're really fine with this?”
“Soren, I love watching you play.” The words came out easier than I expected. “You're fucking incredible up there. So yeah, if you want to do the gig, do the gig. I'll be your biggest cheerleader.”