Chapter 9 #2
A reluctant smile pulls at my mouth.
On stage, Jillie stands between two children wearing silver star headbands. Her eyes scan the audience until she spots us.
Then she beams. Not just at me. At both of us.
My heart squeezes.
No. This is exactly what I was afraid of.
She delivers her line with dramatic flair, one hand raised like she’s announcing the return of royalty.
“Winter lights help every heart find its way home!”
The entire audience claps politely. Colby claps like she just scored the winning goal in Game Seven.
Loud.
Proud.
Completely unembarrassed.
Jillie glows.
I stare down at my lap because if I look at him too long, my face will reveal things my brain has not approved.
When the classes file offstage, a commotion starts near the side doors. One of the smaller kids begins crying behind the curtain, overwhelmed by the crowd. Teachers move toward him, but Colby is already half-standing.
Then he pauses and looks at me.
Asking.
Always asking.
I nod before I realize I’m doing it.
He moves carefully down the side aisle, crouches near the little boy, and says something too low for me to hear.
The child sniffles. Colby pulls a clean tissue from his coat pocket like this is normal equipment for a professional athlete.
A minute later, the boy nods, and Colby helps him rejoin his teacher.
Miss Angie mouths thank you with actual tears in her eyes.
Teachers are doomed.
Absolutely doomed.
So is half the cafeteria.
So, apparently, am I.
By the time the final song ends, Briar Cove Elementary has collectively decided Colby Reid is no longer a hockey scandal. He is a community asset.
People crowd around us afterward.
Not aggressively. Just Briar Cove aggressively, which means everyone pretends they are being casual while forming a social semicircle.
“That was kind of you,” Miss Angie tells him.
“My sister used to panic at recitals,” Colby says. “Figured he just needed someone not wearing a teacher badge.”
“You’re very good with children.”
Something flickers in his face. Soft. Almost startled. “Thanks,” he says.
Jillie bursts through the crowd before I can think too much about that expression.
“Did you see my line?”
Colby crouches instantly. “I may have witnessed the greatest delivery of winter-themed dialogue in recorded history.”
She squeals and throws herself into his arms. He catches her… one arm around her back, one hand careful behind her head…like holding her is natural. Like she belongs there.
My lungs forget their job. Around us, phones rise again.
A flash from somewhere near the cafeteria doors. Then another.
Colby stiffens slightly, but he does not set Jillie down abruptly. He just shifts so his shoulder blocks her face from the worst of the cameras.
Such a small movement. Such a devastating one. Because this time, my first thought is not about the headlines. It is not about the fake relationship. It is not about what people will say.
It is this: What if she starts believing this?
What if I do too?
Jillie pulls back, hands on Colby’s shoulders. “You really came.”
“I said I would.”
“Some people say things and don’t.”
The words are so simple, so brutal.
Colby’s expression changes. My heart cracks right down the middle. He looks at her for a long second, then says quietly, “I’m sorry that happened.”
Not defensive. Not dismissive. Not uncomfortable. Just sorry.
Jillie studies him, then nods like she accepts this offering.
“Okay.”
One word, a small one. But I know my daughter. I know when a door inside her opens.
And I know how hard it will be to close it again.
Colby stands slowly, still holding her hand.
The crowd begins to thin, though plenty of people keep glancing back. Mrs. Bellamy is already telling someone that she “always knew there was more to that boy than slap shots.”
I gather Jillie’s coat, my purse, the program, and what remains of my emotional stability.
Outside, the night air hits cold and sharp. Snow falls beneath the school lights. Parents guide children toward cars.
Kids compare recital snacks. Somewhere near the curb, a photographer pretends to check his camera while very much photographing us.
Colby walks beside us, careful and quiet.
Jillie chatters the entire way.
“Did you see Tyler forget the second verse? Miss Angie made her calm face, but I could tell she was worried. And Abby’s bell went flying. And I didn’t trip even though my shoes are slippery. And you clapped really loud.”
“You earned loud clapping,” Colby says.
She beams up at him. I should stop this. I know I should. But how do you stop a child from smiling at someone who keeps showing up?
We reach my car near the edge of the lot.
And that is when Darren appears.
Miserable timing.
He steps away from a dark SUV, wearing a navy coat and the same polished smile he used the night he told me Vanessa “understood his ambitions” in a way I apparently didn’t.
Vanessa waits near the passenger side, arms folded, watching with sharp interest.
My body goes tense instantly as Jillie’s hand tightens around mine.
Colby notices.
“Sadie,” Darren says. Not warm. Not apologetic. Possessive.
I lift my chin. “Darren.”
His gaze cuts to Colby, then to Jillie, then back to me.
“This is getting a little ridiculous, don’t you think?”
Every nerve in me sparks. “Excuse me?”
He gestures between the three of us. “Playing house with a hockey player. Dragging Jillie into it. Letting the whole town watch.”
Colby goes very still beside me. Not angry. Worse. Calm.
Darren mistakes that calm for weakness.
He always was bad at reading people who didn’t need to raise their voices.
“I mean,” Darren continues, forcing a laugh, “come on, Sadie. We all know what this is. He’s passing through. Guys like him don’t stay for women like—”
“Stop,” Colby says.
One word.
Quiet.
The entire parking lot seems to notice.
Darren’s mouth tightens. “This doesn’t concern you.”
Colby steps forward just enough to place himself between Darren and Jillie.
Not dramatically.
Not aggressively.
Simply enough that my daughter no longer has to look at the man who once taught her how to build blanket forts and then left without saying goodbye properly.
“It concerns me if you’re upsetting them,” Colby says.
My breath catches.
Darren scoffs. “Them?”
Colby does not blink. “Yes,” he says. “Them.”