Chapter 17 Sloane
SLOANE
If I don’t leave the house, I’m going to start measuring time by counting how many times I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep the tears at bay.
In headache rubs. In the way Pops’s eyelids droop heavier some days than others. In the pile of pamphlets that keeps migrating across the counter no matter how many times I straighten it. In the staged equipment sitting off to the side like a quiet reminder that this isn’t temporary—none of it is.
So when Jade texts,
Jade: GET DRESSED. GIRLS DAY. NO ARGUMENTS.
I stare at the screen for a full thirty seconds like I’m deciding whether I’m allowed to breathe.
Then I type back:
I have things to do.
Jade: YES. being a human is a thing. see you in 20
Blakely: please. we’ll keep it low-key.
And because Blakely never says please unless she means it, and because Jade will actually come to my house and drag me out by my ponytail, I do the unthinkable.
I agree.
Which is how I end up standing in front of my mirror ten minutes later, tugging on leggings and a sweatshirt like I’m going into battle.
Because I am.
The enemy is my own brain.
The enemy is the way it keeps trying to replay last night like it’s a new problem to solve.
Logan’s hands on the counter on either side of me.
The heat of him.
The way his eyes dropped to my mouth like he was checking if it was real.
The way my body leaned in before my pride could stop it.
It’s the only thing that feels distinctly mine right now—this stupid, complicated, infuriating spark—because everything else belongs to doctors and timelines and hospice schedules and reality.
And that makes it dangerous.
My phone buzzes again.
Jade: also we are getting you a coffee the size of your head.
Jade: you need joy.
Joy.
I snort under my breath and grab my keys.
When I step into the hallway, the house is quiet. Not silent—Pops is watching something in the living room, volume low—but calm. Controlled. The kind of calm that feels like a fragile truce.
Logan is on the couch with his leg propped, ice pack balanced over his knee, just like nearly every day. He looks up when he hears my footsteps.
Not desire. Not exactly.
Recognition.
Like he’s seeing a version of me he hasn’t seen in a while.
I hate the way it makes my stomach flutter.
I make my voice sharp on purpose. “Don’t start.”
Logan’s mouth twitches. “Start what?”
“Whatever you’re thinking.”
He lifts a brow. “You’re assuming I’m thinking.”
“Don’t play dumb,” I mutter, grabbing my coat from the hook.
Logan’s gaze tracks my movements, careful. “Where are you going?”
“Away,” I say, because it’s the truth and it’s not.
Logan snorts softly. “Helpful.”
I glare at him. “It’s a girls’ day.”
His brows rise. “You? Voluntarily?”
I narrow my eyes. “Say one more word, and I’ll throw my keys at your head.”
He tilts his head, like he’s actually considering the physics. “With that aim, you’d probably hit the TV.”
“I would hit you,” I correct.
Logan’s mouth curves faintly. “Sure.”
I hate the warmth that blooms in my chest at his stupid confidence.
Pops’s voice drifts from the recliner, amused. “Don’t break anything expensive, kids.”
I freeze for half a second, then force myself to keep moving, because if I stop, my face will betray me.
Logan shifts on the couch. “You need anything before you go?”
“No,” I snap automatically.
Then I inhale and soften it by a fraction, because Pops is watching and because I’m not a monster.
“Be nice,” I add, pointing at Logan with a warning.
Logan looks genuinely offended. “To who?”
“To my dad,” I say.
Pops chuckles. “I think he can handle that.”
Logan’s gaze holds mine for a beat too long. “Drive safe,” he says quietly.
The words shouldn’t hit me.
They do anyway—because he didn’t say them like a joke. He said them like he meant them.
I force my voice back into armor. “Don’t tell me what to do.”
Logan’s lips twitch. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
I walk out before my heart can do anything stupid.
—
Jade pulls up with Blakely in the passenger seat, both of them blasting a song that is aggressively upbeat for ten in the morning.
Jade leans across the center console when I get in and shoves a coffee into my hands. “Drink. Immediately.”
I blink at the cup. It’s huge.
“This is not coffee,” I accuse. “This is a beverage-based cry for help.”
Jade grins. “It’s a coping mechanism.”
Blakely smiles softly. “We’re starting with coffee. Then Target. Then lunch. Then…whatever you want.”
I stare at her. “Target is not girls’ day.”
Jade gasps like I slapped her. “Target is the cornerstone of female mental health.”
Blakely nods with dead seriousness. “It’s science.”
I snort despite myself, and Jade’s eyes light up like she just scored a point.
“There,” she says. “That. More of that.”
I stare out the window as we pull away from my house, the tension in my shoulders easing by half a degree.
The relief is immediate and also guilty.
Because how dare I feel lighter when Pops…and Logan…are back there.
My brain tries to drag me into that guilt spiral.
Blakely’s voice cuts through it gently. “How’s your dad today?”
I swallow. “He’s okay.”
Jade glances at me in the rearview mirror. “Okay like okay, or okay like you’re lying to make me shut up?”
I roll my eyes. “He’s…stable. We’re managing.”
Jade nods, then, because she can’t help herself, adds, “And how’s Mr. Limping-But-Still-Annoying?”
My stomach flips.
I keep my face neutral. “Logan’s fine.”
Blakely’s gaze slides to mine. “Fine like okay, or fine like you’re still lying to make us shut up?”
I glare. “Traitors.”
Jade laughs, delighted. “So, it’s like that.”
“It’s not like anything,” I snap.
Jade hums. “Sure, Sloane. Sure.”
I sip my coffee just to have something to do with my mouth that isn’t thinking about Logan’s mouth. That thought makes my cheeks warm.
Jade sees it instantly. Her eyes go wide like she just witnessed a miracle. “OH MY GOD.”
I groan. “Jade—”
“You’re blushing,” she announces like she’s calling a game-winning shot.
“I am not.”
Blakely smiles faintly. “You are.”
I clamp my jaw. “Stop looking at me.”
Jade grips the steering wheel like she’s fighting for her life. “Did something happen?”
“No.”
Jade’s grin turns feral. “That was the fastest ‘no’ I’ve ever heard in my life.”
Blakely’s voice is soft, careful. “We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”
I exhale hard. I should say no. I should shut this down.
But there’s something about being in a car with two girls who love me and aren’t afraid of my edges that makes the truth feel…possible.
“It was…a moment,” I admit, staring out the window.
Jade almost swerves. “A moment? That’s not a denial.”
Blakely’s eyes widen, but she stays calm. “Sloane…”
I grip my coffee tighter. “It doesn’t matter.”
Jade makes a noise of deep offense. “It matters to me.”
Blakely tilts her head. “Do you want it to matter?”
My chest tightens.
Do I?
The worst part is my body already answered that question last night. My pride just hasn’t caught up.
“I don’t know,” I whisper.
Jade’s expression softens—rare. “Okay. That’s a start.”
Blakely reaches over and squeezes my knee gently. “You don’t have to decide everything right now.”
I swallow hard and nod once, because if I talk, my voice will crack.
—
Target is, unfortunately, effective.
Jade throws me into the women’s clothing section like she’s on a mission to distract me with soft fabrics and seasonal candles.
“This,” she says, holding up a fuzzy throw blanket. “You need this.”
“I do not need a blanket,” I argue.
“You need comfort,” she corrects. “And if you won’t accept emotional comfort, you’ll accept textile comfort.”
Blakely picks up a mug and reads it aloud. “‘You got this.’”
I snort. “Lies.”
Blakely smiles. “Maybe. But it’s a cute lie.”
Jade keeps tossing things into the cart like she’s stocking a bunker. Snacks. Tea. A stupid little plant that will absolutely die under my care.
“Jade,” I say, exasperated. “I can’t—”
“You can,” she interrupts. “Because we’re doing this.”
I stare at the cart. It looks like a sleepover. Like a normal life.
And the ache in my chest shifts into something complicated.
Because I want this.
I want normal. I want laughter and stupid mugs and a blanket that smells like lavender instead of antiseptic.
I want…
My brain betrays me with Logan again.
I hate that I can’t stop thinking about him.
I hate that the hate-to-love tension feels like the only thing in my life that isn’t purely grief.
Jade nudges me with her shoulder. “Earth to Sloane. You’re doing the stare thing again.”
“What stare thing?” I snap.
“The one where your eyes go all murdery, and your mouth goes all…” Jade gestures vaguely. “Well, hanging open. Maybe drooling even.”
I choke. “Excuse me?”
Blakely laughs softly, cheeks pink. “She means you look…distracted. Maybe by a certain football player.”
I groan, covering my face. “I hate both of you.”
Jade beams. “No, you don’t.”
I drop my hand and glare at her. “I do.”
Jade leans in, voice lowering like she’s sharing state secrets. “Is it weird because he’s Cameron’s best friend?”
My stomach flips.
“Yes,” I say immediately.
“And because you’ve hated him for two years,” Jade adds.
“I don’t hate him,” I say automatically—then freeze.
Jade’s grin goes slow and wicked. “Oh.”
Well, shit. Didn’t mean to let the inside thoughts outside.
Blakely’s eyes widen slightly. “Sloane…”
My cheeks burn. “Shut up.”
Jade laughs, triumphant. “You don’t hate him.”
I grab a pack of gum off a shelf and toss it into the cart like I’m punishing them. “I hate him.”
Jade smirks. “Sure.”
Blakely’s voice is quiet, gentle. “What do you feel then?”
My throat tightens.
The honest answer is too messy.
Because it’s not one feeling.
It’s anger braided with longing. It’s resentment braided with comfort. It’s the ache of old jealousy and the shock of realizing he still sees me.
It’s the way I’ve spent two years convincing myself I was over it.