Chapter 21
JADE
Newport was lit—literally. Twinkle lights wrapped around every streetlamp, carolers staked out every corner like they were auditioning for a Hallmark movie, and the historic mansions flung open their doors for their holiday tours. Picture-perfect. Like something out of a glossy travel blog.
And I was in the middle of it. Sort of.
Aunt Susan had gone full cookie mode—there were at least four dozen gingerbread men cooling on every surface in the kitchen.
The cats were already batting sprinkles across the floor like festive hockey pucks.
And Christmas music was playing in a constant loop, even while I bundled up in a knit beanie and scarf and slipped out the front door with my therapist’s address in my phone.
Session five. Still felt weird saying that out loud. We skipped one last week because of a scheduling mix-up, but I hadn’t missed it. Not really. Not with everything swirling like a snowstorm around me—Leo, Kannon, the rumors, the lawsuit, the winter ball that everyone assumed I’d be at.
“Let’s talk about Kannon,” My therapist said after we’d settled in. Her office was warm and smelled like peppermint tea and cinnamon. Safe. Neutral.
I blinked. “Kannon?”
She smiled lightly. “You brought him up last time. Said he’s been spending time with you.”
I exhaled through my nose, tugging the sleeves of my sweatshirt over my hands. “He’s nice. Solid. Normal.”
“Do you think it’s wise to get romantically involved right now?”
“Is that what I’m doing?” I asked, half laughing, half exhausted. “I’m just trying to be a normal high school girl. That’s all I’ve ever tried to do—be normal. Not the lawsuit girl. Not the scandal girl. Not the one people whisper about. Just… me.”
She didn’t interrupt. She was good at that. Letting the silence stretch long enough for the truth to bubble up.
I picked at the hem of my sleeve. “He doesn’t judge me. Not like everyone else does. And he knows what it’s like being on scholarship. Being different.”
She nodded, scribbling something in her leather-bound notebook. “Have you talked about your future with him? What comes next after graduation?”
“Sort of,” I said, sitting straighter. “I’m waiting on offers. A few D1 schools are interested. I should hear something soon, but…” I trailed off.
“But?” she prompted gently.
“But everything’s paused.” I hated the way my voice thinned out. “Because of the attention. The lawsuit. The media. It’s like they’re all holding their breath, waiting to see if I’m worth the trouble.”
She tilted her head. “Do you think you are?”
I met her gaze dead-on. “I know I am. But I’m tired of having to prove it every single day.”
And that was the truth. No matter how many awards I won, how many goals I scored or articles were written about how brave I was—it never erased the pressure. The expectations. The spotlight.
And now, with the holiday break coming up and my family asking me to come home—to Ohio—I didn’t know what to tell them.
They couldn’t afford to fly out again. And even if I did go back, it’d feel like giving up. Like running. I’d built something here. A life. Friends. Shani. Aunt Susan. And Leo—whatever was or wasn’t happening with Leo.
Not to mention... Aunt Susan couldn’t do the holidays alone. She was scared of flying. She needed me, even if she’d never say it.
I needed her too.
She tapped her pen lightly against the side of her notebook, the soft click-click-click echoing through her cozy little office. Outside the window, snow flurries smudged the view of the wharf—gray sky, gray ocean, gray mood. Perfect.
“Tell me what’s happening with the suits,” she said calmly.
I let out a breath, watching it fog in the cold light that filtered through the old glass panes.
“Well… they’re waiting on me,” I said, sinking deeper into the couch. “Waiting for it to be over. Waiting for me to just… sign something and disappear.”
“What exactly are they asking you to sign?”
I swallowed. My voice sounded thin and brittle. “A settlement. High six figures. Low seven, maybe. They’ll make it sound generous. Like charity.” My jaw tightened. “In exchange for my silence.”
Her brows lifted slightly. Not shocked—just listening. “Do you want to be silent?”
“No.” The word shot out like a spark. “Hell, no.”
“Tell me why.”
“Because I deserve justice,” I said, sitting up straighter, heat rising up my neck. “Not hush money. Not a bribe. Not a shiny check stapled to a non-disclosure agreement that lets them pretend nothing happened.”
She watched me, steady, patient.
“They’re offering to cover ‘damages,’” I said bitterly, using air quotes. “Like this is some broken window they can fix with a trip to Home Depot. Like money can patch over the last two years of my life.”
I laughed—a hollow, angry sound.
“How much are my junior and senior years worth?” I asked quietly. “How much should I charge for being humiliated online? For being stalked, threatened, slandered? For having my face photoshopped onto bodies that weren’t mine?”
My hands balled into fists in my lap.
“What about my pride? My tears?” My voice wavered. “My hair they poured dye all over? The panic attacks? The nightmares? The way I can’t walk across campus without looking over my shoulder or scanning every screen for my name?”
A tear slid down my cheek before I could stop it. I wiped it away fast, annoyed at myself.
“I can’t put a price tag on anxiety,” I whispered. “On trust I can’t get back. On the way I still flinch when a guy walks too close behind me.”
Dr. Baer set down her pen gently, like every word I said weighed something.
“You want accountability,” she said.
“I want truth,” I corrected, voice sharp as glass. “And I want it loud. Public. Real. I want every single person who hurt me to feel the consequences—not hide behind generational wealth or connections or fancy lawyers.”
“Then why does the settlement bother you the most?” she asked softly.
“Because it feels like they’re trying to turn me into a problem they can pay off,” I said. “A headline they can bury. A girl they can buy.”
“And you’re not?”
I lifted my chin. “I’m not.”
Silence again—but this time it settled warm around me, not cold.
“For the record,” Dr. Baer said, “you don’t have to take the settlement. You don’t have to be silent. And you don’t have to let them define the price of your pain.”
My throat tightened. “But if I don’t take it… everything gets public. Messy. Loud. The court cases will drag on for months. Maybe years. And Kannon might rethink being associated with me. And colleges could… I don’t know. Retract things.”
“And Leo?” she asked quietly.
I looked away. “Leo’s already complicated as hell.”
“Then let’s keep the focus on you.”
I nodded, though part of me felt split between past trauma and future choices.
“Jade,” she said, folding her hands. “You’re standing on a fault line between who you were and who you’re becoming. Being silent… might keep things neat. But speaking up?” She held my gaze. “Speaking up is how you shake the earth.”
And damn it… something in me cracked open.
Not broken.
Just—waking up.
“Yeah,” I whispered. “I think I’m ready to shake something.”
“I’m not sleeping again,” I admit, arms crossed as I stare at the corner of the office. The walls are warm. The diffuser puffs out some lavender mist like it’s enough to drown out my memories. It’s not.
“I scream into my pillow sometimes,” I continue, not bothering to look at her. “Or I go up to the cliffs and let the wind take it. I yell until my voice cracks. I pretend the sea can carry it far enough that it stops haunting me.”
Dr. Bauerleans forward a little. “That’s something,” she says gently. “But sometimes… you need more than wind and pillows.”
I laugh, dry and sharp. “Like what? Punching someone? Burning things?”
She smiles, not in a mocking way—more like she gets it. “Actually… smashing things works wonders.”
I blink. “I beg your pardon?”
“You’re not the first girl who’s come to me holding rage and pain like a second skin.
” She pulls out her tablet, tapping through something.
“There’s a group I recommend every summer.
Some of my patients hike up to a spot in Maine.
In the woods. Remote. We bring goggles, safety gloves, and loads of breakables—old glass bottles, plates, ceramics. We smash them.”
I stare.
“Others chop wood. Some scream into the trees. There’s something about releasing pain with your whole body that helps the heart breathe again.”
“That’s therapy?” I ask, trying to keep the edge out of my voice.
She smiles. “You bet it is. Controlled chaos can be incredibly healing.”
She swivels the screen toward me. “Here, I’ll email you the link. Doesn’t mean you have to go. But it’s there if you need it. If you want it.”
I look at the photos of people mid-smash, faces wild with release. I can't lie—it calls to something deep in my chest.
“I don’t know what to do with the anger,” I whisper, eyes still on the screen. “Or the bitterness. It’s thick. Like tar. It sticks to everything. Sometimes I feel like I’ll never be clean.”
She nods. “You don’t have to know yet. But the fact that you’re here, trying… That means you haven’t given up. And you don’t have to carry that weight alone anymore.”
And for the first time in a long time, I believe her. Maybe not fully. Maybe not forever.
But just enough.
I step out of therapy into the crisp December air, coat zipped halfway and scarf pulled tight around my neck. Newport’s dressed to the nines—twinkling garlands on lampposts, wreaths with burgundy ribbons on every café door, and that faint scent of cinnamon drifting from somewhere I can’t place.
And maybe it’s the therapy talking, but I feel... not fixed, not healed. But clearer. Like I finally said something I needed to hear out loud.