Chapter 24 Felix
Chapter twenty-four
Felix
The fire’s going to die any minute now.
I should put another log on, but my body’s on strike. Maybe it thinks that if I stay exactly like this—sprawled on the couch, staring at the ceiling—maybe time will get confused and skip tomorrow.
Yeah. Right.
Liam’s in the armchair by the window, a book open in his lap. He hasn’t turned a page in half an hour. His eyes are fixed on some random point, fingers tapping a restless rhythm on the armrest.
In the kitchen, another cabinet door shuts a little too hard. Silas has been “tidying” since dinner. From here, I can tell he’s now on his third pass of the same drawers. Alphabetical spices. Again.
“December twenty-second,” I say, to no one.
Liam’s fingers pause.
“In six hours,” I add, “it’ll be the twenty-third.”
Two years since she walked out and our reality collapsed.
And tomorrow we’re supposed to lace up and smile for the cameras like it’s any other game.
“Want to talk about it?” Liam asks, eyes still on that one spot.
“Nope.”
“Want to drink until we forget what day it is?”
“Tempting. Still nope.”
He huffs, almost a laugh. “Then what?”
“I want to fast-forward,” I mutter. “Wake up on the twenty-fourth with this all behind us. We could still pull out, you know. Sudden outbreak of food poisoning, tragic but unavoidable.”
“You don’t mean that,” Liam says, finally closing the book. “We agreed. We said we’d stop letting this date own us.”
“Yeah, don’t even joke about bailing,” Silas calls from the kitchen. His footsteps thud closer; a second later he’s leaning in the doorway, beer dangling from his hand. “We can’t back down now.”
He's right, obviously. We did agree. Growth. Healing. Facing our demons, yada yada. Hard to walk that back, especially after telling Naomi not to let fear control her life this afternoon. Backing out would be the ultimate hypocrisy.
Ahhh, Naomi.
Is she even still in Lakeview? She could already be in Manhattan by now, relieved to be done with three messy alphas and their equally messy feelings.
My chest squeezes and I sit up. “Getting a beer.”
I head to a very clean kitchen, thank you Silas, open the fridge, grab a beer, and twist the cap. It ping-pongs across the counter and disappears under the stove.
“Felix.”
Silas is suddenly there, silent as a horror movie, watching me.
“You good?” he asks.
“Fantastic. Living the dream.” I gesture vaguely with the bottle.
One corner of his mouth twitches. “Since when do you do sarcasm?”
"It's always been a hidden talent."
“Felix.”
“What do you want me to say, Silas?” I spin to face him. “That I’m scared shitless? That my brain feels like a snow globe someone keeps shaking? That between the anniversary and Naomi, I don’t know which way is up anymore?”
“Yeah,” he says simply. “That.”
Some of the air leaks out of me. I rest my hip against the island, head dropping back.
“Tomorrow’s going to suck,” I say.
“Yes.” He folds his arms, beer bottle dangling from his fingers. “But we’ll survive it.”
“Will we?” I ask. “You really ready to play in front of the whole town on the worst day of the year?”
Footsteps whisper behind us as Liam appears.
“Ready and willing are different things,” he says. “We don’t have to be ready. We just have to show up and do our best.”
"Fortune cookie wisdom." I take another sip. "Super helpful."
“And here’s another one for your collection,” Liam adds, unbothered. “We’ve already lived through two years of this day. Tomorrow’s not some brand-new monster. It’s the same one, just with some people watching.”
I grimace. “Love that for us.”
“But the game aside…” I add after a beat, my throat working around the words. “What about Naomi? We don’t even know if she stayed. If she’s gone—”
“Then she’s gone,” Silas cuts in, his jaw tight. “We play anyway, because that’s what moving forward is. Doing stuff even when every part of you is screaming to just lay in bed.”
I look between them. Liam’s gaze holds mine. Silas stares past my shoulder like he can see tomorrow already.
Nothing else to say, really.
“Fire’s low,” I mutter, because the silence starts getting awkward. That gets an actual snort out of Silas.
We drift back to the living room like moths attracted to light.
I crouch by the hearth, grab a fresh log, and set it on the glowing embers. Flames lick up after a second, throwing new light across the room.
Liam sinks into the armchair by the window again, Silas drops onto the far end of the couch with a huff, and I fall into my usual spot in the middle.
Two years ago, on this night, we sat there and watched the fire burn down to ash without saying much of anything. Last year, we just… drank until the date blurred.
This year, we're choosing to face the anniversary head-on.
My hands tremor, my stomach’s a knot.
But at least we're making progress.