Chapter 12
TWELVE
Woody
Robin tilts her head playfully. “I hear the two of you bonded over a game that’s a big deal right now. Something called Steal a Brainrot? Did I get that right?”
Luke perks up immediately, like he’s been waiting for the chance to talk about this silly game they love so much his entire life. His whole face lights up. “Yeah! I was playing in the dialysis room one day. This kid comes in, doesn't say anything, just sits down beside me and starts watching.”
My chest tightens at how easily he relays the story, the dialysis just a side part of the story, not the reason he was there. Nine years old and more articulate and less of a victim than most adults I know who are facing a terminal illness.
Robin smiles. “And for the grown-ups out there, what exactly is this Steal a Brainrot? I've heard my nephew talking about it.”
Sanders launches into it, animated, hands flying like he’s explaining rocket science instead of a video game.
“It’s awesome. You go on this app called Roblox, then you go on a little icon that says Steal a Brainrot, and from there you just go to people's base or home and steal brains. The more you steal, the more stuff you unlock. There are these crazy sound effects, too. It’s, like, the best game ever. ”
I bite back a laugh. The whole country is hearing him say this, my kid with his crooked grin and unshakable conviction. God, I’ve never been prouder than when he explains how to steal brains.
Luke nods quickly. “And he's really good at it. So we helped each other get more brains, you know. And then we just didn’t stop.”
Robin’s expression softens, her voice dipping into that trademark warmth. “Instant friends.”
Luke shrugs, a little shy but still animated. “Pretty much. Then he asked why I was there. I told him I come to the hospital three or four times a week for dialysis. Until I get a kidney.”
The words hang in the air heavier than the lights overhead. I glance at Carly. Her smile trembles at the edges. Then I look at Lane, who’s blinking too quickly.
I sit straighter, forcing my jaw tight, because if I let myself fully sit in all that transpired to bring the six of us together, and the force that has come from that, I’ll fall apart on live television.
My Adam's apple bobs as I swallow down the emotion.
A ripple moves through the studio crew. It's quiet but unmistakable. Lane’s hands grip together on her lap, her knuckles blanched from the force of her grip. Carly reaches over and squeezes Luke’s knee with a mother’s pride and ache.
Sanders continues without missing a beat, his words tumbling over themselves.
“And I was like, that’s not fair! So I said maybe I could help him.
My family wanted to do a Save Christmas challenge, and I thought, what if we did it for Luke?
So he could get his kidney sooner and not have to come to the hospital so much. He's a kid. He needs to live his life.”
Robin glances toward the camera, clearly charmed. “You're right about that. And Send Luke to Duke was born.”
Sanders beams. “Yep. I can't take credit for that hashtag, but isn't it great? It's my favorite. That, and Hashtag-Save-Christmas, of course.”
Luke ducks his head, grinning. “One person who commented on our first video came up with the name. Sanders does all the videos. I pick the songs. And bring the rizz, of course.”
Both boys laugh, and that gets a laugh out of Robin, too.
Leigh, perched at the edge of the couch, pipes up in a small, proud voice. “And I helped, too. I like to give them ideas for dance moves.”
The audience chuckles.“Of course you did. Every great team has a girl behind it. You're Luke's little sister, right?”
"Yes. My name is Leigh. I'm more like a big sister, only he's older."
Everyone laughs again, as if on cue. She's precious with her blonde braids and confidence.
My throat tightens as I watch the whole lot of them. Sanders, all golden energy and conviction. Luke, smaller but sitting up tall in his own way. Two boys filling living rooms across the country with their story, with their hope.
I glance down the line at Carly, eyes bright with unshed tears, then at Lane, her smile trembling at the corners. For the first time in years, it's like we’re all in this together.
Robin leans back as the cameras close in. “This is what Christmas is about, folks. Community. Hope. Friendship. Two boys reminding us that even in the hardest times, we can give each other light.”
Applause swells, not just from the crew but from somewhere deeper, a resonance that hits me square in the chest. I blink hard, straighten my shoulders, and force myself to breathe.
After a few more questions, a lot more laughs, and some tears, they move on to Ginger Zee for the weather. Once the focus shifts, the stage lights dim.
"You guys did awesome. Thank you for coming out for this. It's such a wonderful story," Robin says as she shakes everyone's hands. She's such a warm and genuine person.
Cameras wheel backward on slick tracks. The entire crew moves like dancers in some post-show ballet, coiling cables and adjusting equipment with practiced efficiency.
Robin reaches for Carly first, clasping both her hands. "We're going to follow Luke's journey. This isn't just a Christmas story. It’s a life story. We're in this with you, now."
My throat tightens. This isn't the first time I've watched a parent absorb news about their child, but it's different seeing hope rather than despair wash across Carly's face.
Lara Spencer sweeps in with her megawatt smile, crouching to Sanders and Luke's height. "You know what? I think we have future broadcasters here. Want to see the control room? Where all the magic happens?"
Sanders nearly jumps out of his shoes. "Actually? Can we really go?"
Luke's eyes widen, his thin face brightening. "Is that allowed?"
"It absolutely is." Lara winks at Leigh. "Especially for our choreography consultant."
Leigh preens, slipping her small hand into Lara's. "I have more dance ideas."
"Come on, future anchors!" Lara's laugh trails behind them as she leads the children away, their excited voices fading down the corridor.
Carly catches my eye, mouths "bathroom," and disappears in the opposite direction.
And just like that, it's only Lane and me.
The studio is different now, more intimate in the half-light, without all the buzz. The smell of hairspray and coffee lingers.
I notice the fine lines at the corners of Lane's eyes, the way her hands still shake slightly from the interview. The familiar gestures of a woman I once knew better than myself.
"You okay?" I step closer, drawn by something I can't name.
She nods, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Just processing. That was intense. I've never told you, but I'm grateful you helped Sanders that first morning and made this happen. I'm really so grateful to be doing this with him. With you."
"You don't have to thank me. You both were amazing out there." My voice comes out low, almost sultry. I didn't intend for it, but as the electricity and emotion of the moment shoot through my body, I'm no longer in control.
Her eyes flick up to mine, almost startled. An electric pulse passes between us, a current that started last night before we both chickened out. I'm not letting it pass by me this time.
I move before I can think better of it, before I can remember all the reasons I shouldn't. One step, then another, closing the space between us.
When my mouth meets hers, everything falls away—the studio, the years, the hurt. Her lips are softer than I remembered, warm and yielding beneath mine.
Her fingers curl into the fabric of my shirt, pulling me closer. The kiss deepens, and I taste mint and something uniquely Lane, familiar even after all this time.
My hand finds the small of her back, fitting perfectly in the curve there. Years of restraint shatter in one blinding moment of contact.
Fuck. Jerry. I forgot about Jerry. I pull away, but stay so close I can feel her breath on my lips. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't—"
Footsteps echo suddenly from the corridor. "Has anyone seen George? We need him in makeup!"
We spring apart. Lane's hand flies to her mouth, her eyes wide. My heartbeat thunders in my ears. Her cheeks flush scarlet as she takes one step back, then another.
The anonymous footsteps disappear, growing fainter with each click.
"We should—" She stops, swallows. "The kids will be wondering where we are."
A polite, practiced smile slides across her face like armor. Her hands still tremble as she smooths her blouse, turns away.
I follow Lane down the hallway, the ghost of her touch still burning on my skin. My mind spins. What the hell was I thinking? One unguarded moment, and I've erased seven years of careful distance.
The GMA greenroom door stands open. Sanders's voice rises above the others, rapid-fire with excitement. I pause, watching Lane square her shoulders before entering. The practiced smile she gives our son doesn't reach her eyes.
"Ms. Lara said we were naturals!" Sanders bounces on his heels, gesturing wildly as I step inside. "Dad, you should have seen the control room! There were like a million screens! Actually."
Luke nods beside him, his thin face animated despite the exhaustion that shadows his eyes. "And buttons! They let us press some."
"Not the important ones," Leigh corrects, chin high. "But Lara showed us the real anchor desk. The one they use for the real show."
Carly rolls her eyes, affection softening the gesture. "According to Leigh, she's co-hosting tomorrow."
I laugh, grateful for the diversion. The casual banter barely conceals the unspoken tension, which electrifies the room. Lane sits perched on the edge of the sofa, her posture too rigid, fingers clasped too tightly in her lap.
I grab a plate, piling it with sandwiches, and sit across from Lane rather than beside her. Distance seems safer.
"Want half my sandwich?" I hold out the plate.