Chapter 27
The apartment was dark when I got home, and for half a second I hoped Angelica wasn’t there.
Not because I didn’t want to talk to her, because I absolutely did, but because I didn’t know how to start explaining what the hell had just happened without sounding like I’d lost my mind.
Then I saw the strip of light under her bedroom door.
I sighed, kicked off my shoes, and knocked once before pushing it open.
Angelica was sitting cross-legged on her bed in an MIT sweatshirt, eating cereal straight out of the box with her laptop balanced on her knees. She looked up, took one look at my face, and winced.
“You look like shit,” she said.
“Good evening to you too.”
“What happened.”
It wasn’t a question.
I closed the door and flopped face-down onto the end of her bed, narrowly missing her feet.
“I got fired,” I said into her comforter.
There was a beat.
Then: “I’m sorry, what?”
I rolled onto my back, stared at the ceiling. “And then immediately hired by someone else.”
Another beat.
I could feel her staring at me like I’d just started speaking in tongues.
“Okay,” she said slowly. “I’m going to need you to back all the way up and explain that in a way that exists in reality.”
So I did.
Andrew. Him firing me. The rink. The locker room—no, not that part. Kirk showing up. Kirk hiring me on the spot.
I hesitated.
“The Porsche,” I said.
Angelica’s spoon froze halfway to her mouth. “What about the Porsche?”
I dragged a hand down my face. “He climbed on top of it.”
Her face did something strange, like her soul briefly left her body.
“He climbed—Matthew.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “No. Don’t.”
“He yelled.”
She made a small, wounded sound. “Matthew.”
“He announced his feelings.”
She groaned and dropped backward onto her pillows, one hand covering her face. “Oh my god.”
“In the parking lot,” I added.
Angelica uncovered one eye. “Stop.”
“In public.”
She fully screamed into her sweatshirt. “I’m going to pass away.”
“I didn’t ask him to!”
“Why would you ever ask him to do that?” she shot back, sitting up again. “That’s not a thing people do. That’s a movie. That’s—” She waved her hand helplessly. “That’s so embarrassing.”
“For him or me?”
“Yes.”
She buried her face in her hands again. “I cannot believe a grown man with a Porsche did that. I need a minute.”
I waited while she processed, rocking slightly like she was trying to shake the image loose.
“So what happens now?” she asked.
I hesitated. “There’s. . . his hearing coming up.”
Her expression shifted. “The league hearing? For his suspension?”
“Yeah.”
“Isn’t he not supposed to be around the team right now?”
I thought of the ice. The locker room. The way he’d looked completely at home there.
“Yeah,” I said. “He’s not.”
She leaned back against her pillows, processing. “Okay. First of all? I hate this for you.”
“That feels correct.”
“And second—” She squinted at me. “You still didn’t get a vote in any of this, did you?”
The humor drained out of the room.
I sat up, picking at a loose thread on my sleeve. “I mean. He asked eventually.”
“After he fired you.”
“Yeah.”
“And after he told another man to hire you.”
“Yes.”
She crossed her arms. “And you said yes.”
“I need to have a job.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
I looked at her. “What was I supposed to do? Tell Kirk no? He was trying to help. And he was right; I do need a job.”
“Were you trying to help,” she asked gently, “or were you just doing what you always do?”
My stomach tightened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Angelica looked at me for a long moment. “You let people decide things for you, Matthew. You always have.”
“That’s not—”
“It is.” Her voice was gentle but firm. “You’re really good at doing what other people need. What they want. But you’re shit at figuring out what you want.”
“When did you start talking like this?”
She sighed, shifted to sit beside me, shoulder to shoulder. “I’ve been thinking a lot about mom lately.”
The change in subject threw me. “Mom? Why?”
“Just because. I don’t remember Dad at all. He was just. . . never there. But Mom—it was always you and Mom and me.”
“Yeah.”
“You were basically my dad,” she said quietly. “You know that, right? Like, you did everything. Made sure I ate. Helped with homework. Came to school stuff when she couldn’t. You were my age, and you were already raising me.”
My throat felt tight. “Someone had to.”
“I know. And I’m grateful, I am. But Matthew. . .” She turned to look at me. “Do you ever do things you want to do?” Angelica’s voice was steady but sad.
I stared at my hands. “Angie.”
“I like Andrew,” Angelica said. “I do. He’s clearly crazy about you, and you’re clearly crazy about him. But Matthew . . .” She grabbed my hand. “You’re allowed to want things. You’re allowed to say no. You’re allowed to not be useful to someone for five fucking seconds.”
I couldn’t look at her. If I looked at her, I was going to lose it completely.
My phone buzzed.
Email notification. I pulled it out, half expecting it to be Andrew.
It wasn’t.
From: Boston Wardens HR Department
Subject: Employment Termination - Matthew Quinn
I opened it. Scanned the formal language, the effective date, the severance package.
The severance package was. . . generous. Extremely generous. Three months’ salary, continuation of benefits, a letter of recommendation.
Andrew had negotiated this. Had to have. The league wouldn’t have offered this much on their own.
Fuck.
My phone buzzed again. Text this time.
Kirk: Hey man! Not sure what I’m supposed to have you do tomorrow? ?? Knox said you’d know but I feel like he was messing with me lol
Another buzz.
Kirk: Or should I just text you my schedule and you tell me if I’m doing it wrong?
Kirk: Sorry if these are dumb questions!! I’ve never had an assistant before
Kirk: Wait do you prefer assistant or coordinator or something else? I don’t want to use the wrong word
Angelica was reading over my shoulder. “Oh my god, he’s precious.”
“He’s confused.”
“He’s harmless.” She smiled. “You’re safe there. He’s not going to fire you in a jealous rage.”
I looked at her. “Andrew wasn’t—”
“Matthew. He fired you because he’s in love with you and doesn’t know how to handle it. That’s literally what happened.”
I wanted to argue. Couldn’t.
My phone buzzed again.
Kirk: Also I’m supposed to be at the rink at 6 a.m. tomorrow for practice but I think I have to check in with the trainer so I’m just going to like. Not go? Is that okay?
Kirk: Anyway let me know what I should be doing! Thanks dude ??
Angelica was grinning now. “I like him. He’s like a golden retriever in human form.”
“He’s a professional hockey player.”
“He’s a golden retriever who plays hockey.” She bumped her shoulder against mine. “This job is real, Matthew. He actually needs you. You’re going to have to show up.”
“I know.”
“Do you want to show up?”
I looked at the texts. At Kirk’s earnest questions, his genuine confusion, the fact that he was asking me because he actually needed help.
Not because he wanted to control me. Not because he was trying to protect me. Just because he needed an assistant, and I was good at the job.
“I don’t know,” I admitted.
Angelica squeezed my hand. “That’s okay. You don’t have to know right now.”
We sat in silence for a moment. Then she said, “I got into MIT.”
I turned to stare at her. “What?”
“The email came today.” Her smile was huge, genuine. “I got in.”
“Angie—” My voice cracked. “Holy shit. That’s incredible. That’s—why didn’t you tell me?”
“I’m telling you now.” She was watching me carefully. “Full ride. Scholarship covers everything. Room, board, tuition.”
Everything.
My eyes burned. I pulled her into a hug, held her tight. “I’m so proud of you. So fucking proud.”
“I know.” Her voice was muffled against my shoulder. “You tell me all the time.”
Because I did. Because saying it felt like proof I hadn’t failed her.
When I pulled back, my eyes drifted—automatically, instinctively—to her desk. To the neat stacks of notebooks, the color-coded pens. To the things she kept that reminded her she was doing well.
The National Honor Society certificate was there, leaning against the wall above her desk. Not hung, just set there, half-forgotten, like she hadn’t decided yet whether it mattered enough to frame.
I stood without really thinking about it and crossed the room.
“I was proud of you that night too.” I turned the frame over absently, thumb tracing the edge.
And froze.
On the back was some writing in black sharpie.
Keep making your brother proud. He works hard for you. – A.K.
Andrew’s handwriting. Sharp. Confident. A little slanted.
This was from the night I’d forgotten the ceremony. The night he’d driven us home. The night he’d signed this without telling me.
He’d seen it then. Seen her. Seen me. Seen the whole picture and, somehow, thought I was doing okay.
I set the frame carefully on her desk, couldn’t quite let go of it.
“I haven’t needed you to save me for a while now.” Angelica’s voice was gentle.
I couldn’t speak.
“So maybe stop deciding what to do based on what other people need,” she continued. “And start figuring out what you want. What you actually want.”
Later, lying in my bed in the dark, I stared at the ceiling.
Angelica was right. About all of it.
I’d spent my whole life being useful. Being needed. Doing what had to be done because if I didn’t, who would?
Mom needed me to help with Angelica. Angelica needed me to raise her. Ben needed me to be whatever he wanted me to be. Andrew needed me to keep him in line. Kirk needed me to teach him how to function.
Everyone needed something.
But what did I want?
Keep making your brother proud. He works hard for you.
Andrew had written that awhile ago. Before the kiss. Before the movie. Before any of it.
He’d seen me. Really seen me. Not just what I could do for him, but who I was.
And then he’d pushed me away because he thought that’s what I needed. Another decision made for me, even if it broke both of us.
I didn’t text Andrew. Didn’t text Kirk back. Didn’t decide anything.
Just lay there in the dark, asking myself the question I’d been avoiding my entire life:
If I wasn’t being useful to someone else, who was I?
What did Matthew Quinn want, just for himself?
I didn’t have an answer.
Not yet.