Chapter 23 Sloane
SLOANE
Big Bro: Sorry about the loss today. Any chance you want to grab a meal before you head back to Chicago?
I stared at the text, eyes wide, pulse racing, stomach clenching because my brother texted me. The one I hadn’t talked to in over a year. The one who lashed out at me, turned my parents against me. The one I grieved because I loved him, but he’d turned into a shell of himself.
I didn’t even realize I’d stopped breathing until Ivy brushed past me near the tunnel entrance, her arm bumping mine.
I stepped to the side, out of the flow of the postgame chaos.
The hallway buzzed with players heading for the bus, voices low and exhausted, a quiet tension hanging in the air after the loss.
I stayed in the shadows, staring at the screen. My brother’s name burned into me.
He hadn’t texted after I got the job. He didn’t congratulate me when I got published. He didn’t even send a card when I moved across the country. And yet—he watched the game and reached out?
I didn’t know what this was. A peace offering? A guilt trip? A trap?
But I also knew the truth. I would give anything to fix what was broken between us.
I tapped out a reply, then deleted it. Then tried again.
Sloane: I have a little time. Where are you thinking?
Three dots appeared. Vanished. Appeared again.
Big Bro: There’s a diner a few blocks from the hotel. The one with the outdoor patio. You know it.
Sloane: I’ll be there.
I did know it. We used to go there after his football games in high school. I’d sit in my slides and hoodie and pick fries off his plate. My chest squeezed.
I inhaled, clicked off my phone, and turned toward Mac. He stood by the bench near the staff bus, clipboard in hand.
“Hey,” I said. “I need to catch a later flight. Can I head back tomorrow?”
His brow furrowed slightly, but he didn’t ask. He nodded. “You good?”
“Yeah, I have family in town I want to see,” I said, gripping the phone even tighter as I waited for his answer.
He ran a hand over his jaw, then nodded. “Yeah, take tomorrow off. We’ll see you Tuesday.”
“Thank you.” I offered a weak smile then took off toward the exit.
I was unsure how the hell I felt. First the thing with Oliver, now my brother.
My world was about to turn to absolute chaos.
God, Oliver. He wanted to hang out tonight, but I couldn’t.
I just couldn’t. This was the perfect excuse, and without worrying about the ramifications, I sent a text to the leadership text thread about seeing them in the office later tomorrow afternoon.
I had a family thing come up. I also typed up a quick text to Oliver, saying something urgent came up and I had to sneak out.
Ivy’s response was immediate: take care, see you soon!
After confirming another night at the hotel, I grabbed a protein smoothie from the lobby bar and made my way toward the diner.
It was nearly eleven, but the place stayed open twenty-four hours.
We’d been coming here since middle school—after games, after movies, when life was easier and neither of us had felt like disappointments. Back when we were us.
The streets were quiet. Lowlight spilled from lampposts onto the cracked sidewalk. The same blue-and-white striped awning fluttered faintly in the breeze. A chalkboard sign still leaned by the front window, advertising a pumpkin spice milkshake like nothing in the world had changed.
But everything had.
My phone buzzed in my hand.
Oliver: Why are you staying back? Couldn’t share that with me?
I swallowed hard, thumb hovering over the screen. I owed him an explanation, despite my own confusion over what happened. Before I got my brother’s text, I’d been a mess deciding what to do about tonight. Did I visit him? Did I stop this between us?
No.
I knew I couldn’t walk away from him, but my brother’s text reminded me everything you wanted could be taken away from you in seconds. My brain couldn’t handle splitting, not when Caleb texted me after a year.
Sloane: I’m sorry, Oliver. It came up suddenly. It’s… about my family. I…I’ll be back tomorrow, I promise.
I couldn’t worry about him now. I slid the phone into my pocket and stepped forward, hand closing around the familiar brass handle on the diner door. The bell above it jingled as I stepped inside. The scent of burnt coffee and sugar hit me instantly, sharp with nostalgia and something like guilt.
The place wasn’t crowded. A couple sitting side-by-side in a booth shared a milkshake.
A dad helped his toddler with a grilled cheese.
The same night-shift waitress from decades ago refilled a mug with coffee and didn’t look up when I walked in.
Nothing about the place had changed. Same chipped tile floor.
Same yellow overhead light that made everyone look a little tired. A little older.
I spotted him right away.
Gray hoodie. Ball cap pulled low. He sat in the back-left booth, our booth, fingers tapping restlessly on a water glass.
His posture was smaller than I remembered—shoulders not quite hunched but not squared either.
Like the weight of the last two years had finally registered somewhere in his spine. Like he’d given up trying to fake it.
When he looked up and saw me, he stood abruptly. Too fast.
He hovered for a second, uncertain, one hand twitching like he might go in for a hug but didn’t want to make a mistake.
Neither did I.
“Hey,” I said, my voice clipped and shaky. How could this be my brother? The same guy who TP-ed my ex-boyfriend’s house when he was mean to me in high school?
His eyes—still the same color as mine—flicked to my face, then down again. “Hi.” He rubbed the back of his neck and nodded once. “Thanks for coming. I-I wasn’t sure if you would.”
I sat without answering. The vinyl bench stuck slightly to the backs of my thighs. I kept my bag in my lap like a shield.
He sat across from me, slow and cautious.
The silence spread out between us, thick and sharp. A dull roar in my ears that only amplified the sound of my own breathing. My fingers clenched around the strap of my bag.
“I watched the game,” he said, finally. His voice was low. Careful. “Team looked good. That number twenty-two is a beast.”
“Oliver.” I nodded, blinking once. “Yeah. He’s solid.”
Another beat of silence. I shifted slightly. My pulse thudded against my collarbone.
Then, he exhaled, the tension in his shoulders releasing as he splayed his hands out on the table.
“Sloane, look, I’ve been in an outpatient program for six months now,” he said.
“Got a sponsor. Meetings twice a week. I’m…
trying, Sloane. I’m really fucking trying, and I don’t know where to start. This is hard.”
I didn’t move.
His words landed like a brick straight to my sternum. Six months. A number I’d never been given. A milestone I hadn’t been allowed to celebrate. A version of him I didn’t get to witness because he decided I wasn’t good enough to be in his orbit.
My throat burned. I swallowed hard. “You left,” I said, quietly. “You blamed me for everything, and then you left. You made Mom and Dad think I was selfish for building a life without you. You disappeared.”
“I know.” His voice cracked. “I know, and I can’t take that shit back.”
His hand trembled on the table, just slightly.
He clenched his fist and stared down at it like he was afraid it would betray him.
“I was bitter. Angry. Watching you get everything right when I couldn’t even stay sober for more than a week after not making it to the NFL—God, I hated how good you were at holding your feelings together, and I hated how bad I was at pretending I didn’t need help. I blamed you.”
I looked away. The overhead light flickered. My fingers dug into the seam of my bag as I tried to stay grounded.
“I didn’t want you to see me like that,” he said, quieter now. “It was easier to make you the villain than to admit I was drowning.”
My nails bit into the canvas. “I knew you,” I snapped.
“I covered for you. I excused the absences and the spirals. I cleaned up your messes and kept my mouth shut because I thought that was what family did. I would’ve done anything for you, Caleb.
Even now, you’ve destroyed my trust and my heart and yet I’d give you whatever you needed if you asked. ”
He winced, like I’d physically hit him. “I know.”
“No, you don’t,” I whispered. “Because you didn’t just push me out. You weaponized me. You let them turn on me.”
“I know,” he repeated, softer. “And I’m sorry.”
I blinked hard, once, then again.
He wasn’t crying. He looked like he wanted to, but he wasn’t. And somehow that made it worse.
“I’m not here to fix it all tonight,” he added.
“I just… I wanted you to know that I’m trying.
I don’t expect you to trust me again. But I wanted to say I’m sorry.
In person. While I had the chance. I’m not really comfortable traveling to Chicago, not while I still feel like every day is a struggle. ”
I looked at him for a long time and finally I saw it. Not the brother I lost. Not the kid who spiraled. Not the man who blamed me for surviving what he couldn’t. I saw someone struggling, someone trying to be better.
“I didn’t hate you,” he said, quiet but firm. “I hated myself. And you were just… the mirror I couldn’t look at. You had this drive, this strength, and I was drowning in it. I’m not blaming you anymore, Sloane. I swear to God I’m not. I came tonight because I miss you. I miss my sister.”
Tears pricked the corners of my eyes, and I looked away, embarrassed. I had no idea what to say. I imagined this moment so many times, and each time I’d yell and pull him into a hug.
“I want to do better,” he added. “For real this time. Not just words. I know I hurt you. I know I can’t erase it. But I want to rebuild what we had. Even if it’s slow. Even if it takes time.”
I took a breath and let it shake. “I don’t know what to do with this.”