Chapter Twenty-One
SIDNEY
The next week felt wrong. So goddamn wrong.
The locker room was the same. The drills were the same. The arenas, the ice, the roar of the crowd, and the post-game interviews—it all melted together in sameness.
Yet at the same time, everything felt slightly off axis, like I’d shifted half an inch to the left and the world hadn’t caught up yet.
It was all because Eddie wasn’t a part of my days.
I had given her three days of silence, thinking it was enough time for her to see that my PR team was working miracles and changing the narrative, and come back to me. I thought she’d text me, at least, respond to my messages.
But we were back to radio silence.
I’d resorted to calling her and leaving voice messages. Borderline pleading with her to call or text me back. Show me proof of life.
Nothing.
Then, almost a week and a half after our world blew up, she contacted me.
It came on a Thursday night. We’d just finished a home game. Solid win. The crowd was happy. Coaches were happy. Stats looked good.
I didn’t care. What I cared about was the text waiting on my phone in my locker.
EDDIE: Joey keeps asking if this is his fault.
Absolutely not. Him thinking that was the last straw. I couldn’t let this stand any longer. I needed to see them. Reassure both of them and maybe get my family back.
I threw off my pads and grabbed the closest pieces of clothing I had hanging in my locker. I grabbed my keys and bolted for the door, throwing on a hoodie over my compression shirt.
Max called after me, Crane, where are you going? I thought you were doing press—
Gotta go, I said. Family emergency.
And for the first time, saying that didn’t feel like an exaggeration.
***
Eddie’s porch light is on when I pull up. Parking my car, I pause to give the surrounding area a scan, making sure there isn’t anyone lurking with a camera. Nothing that I could see.
With quick movements, I head up the front path and up the porch steps. I knock.
After a beat, the door opens slowly.
Eddie looks tired. Not in the I worked a long shift way. In the the world is weighing on me again way. Shadows under her eyes, shoulders tight, hair up in a messy bun that had seen better days.
Hey, I say softly. Can I come in?
She hesitates, then steps aside.
Joey is on the couch, knees drawn up, blanket around his shoulders. The TV is on but muted, casting blue light across his face. He glances up the second I round the couch. His expression does something I hate—flickers with relief, then guilt.
Hey, bud, I say, sitting on the coffee table so I can be eye level with him. Your mom said you had some questions.
He stares at his hands. Everyone at school won’t shut up about the pictures. And the articles.
I clench my jaw. What did they say?
Some of them think it’s cool, he says. Because you’re famous and you were at our house. But some of them…some of them said I’m just lucky. That you’re only around for publicity. Or mom’s using you.
He swallows hard. And then I thought about my game. And how I messed up before. And…I don’t know. It just feels like everything’s my fault. Like if I hadn’t gone to that stupid party, none of this would be happening.
The words punch the air right out of me. Eddie also makes a hissing sound.
No, I say sharply. Absolutely not. Don’t say that. He flinches. I force myself to soften my voice. Look at me.
Joey’s eyes flutter down, then reluctantly come back up to mine.
This is not your fault. You hear me? Not even a little bit. Grown-ups make choices. I chose to be here. I chose to spend time with you and your mom. I chose to walk out that door, knowing people might see. None of that has anything to do with you being wrong or bad, okay?
He blinks fast.
I like being here, I say. I like being part of your life and spending time with you.
Whether we’re playing Xbox or just hanging around.
You’re not the problem. You’re a gift. I’m so incredibly lucky to have you and your mom in my life.
There are just some people in this world who think taking pictures of others without their consent is okay. But it’s not.
A tear escapes down his cheek. He wipes it away with an annoyed swipe. But now my mom’s family is mad at her again. And everyone keeps talking about what she did back then. When she had me. Like that was some huge mistake.
It wasn’t, I say fiercely. You are not a mistake. You’re the best thing that ever happened to her.
He swallows. She told you that?
She didn’t have to.
He looks away, eyes shining. I glance up at Eddie, seeing her standing near the doorway, arms folded tight over her chest, face fragile and fierce all at once.
Time to fix this.
Hey, Joey? I say. Would you give me a few minutes to talk to your mom alone? Then we’ll all hang out, okay?
He sniffs. Yeah. I’ll be in my room. He stands, and I pull him into a quick hug before he can escape. He hugs back harder than I expect.
Don’t go away, he mumbles.
My throat closes. I’m not planning to.
When he’s down the hall and his door clicks shut, I turn to Eddie.
She’s already shaking her head.
Sidney—
No, I say. My turn.
Her eyes widen a fraction at my tone. I cross the room, stopping close but not too close.
You’re scared, I say. I get that. I respect that. But you don’t get to decide this for all of us by pulling away and hoping the storm passes. Her jaw tightens. You keep trying to make yourself and Joey smaller so no one can hurt you, I continue. But that’s not living, Eddie. That’s hiding.
That hiding kept him safe, she says, voice shaking. From my parents. From judgment. From situations exactly like this.
And now? I ask gently. Is this safety? You flinching every time your phone buzzes? Him thinking he’s the reason you’re being attacked again? The reason you’re so sad all the time.
Her eyes flood. Don’t.
I talked to the team PR, I say. We’re going to do one controlled media availability.
One. No gossip outlets, no tabloids. Real sports journalists.
I’m going to make it clear that you and Joey are important to me.
That you’re not distractions. That my game is better because you’re in my life, not worse.
And I’m going to make it crystal clear that my personal life is not up for dissection.
Her mouth parts. You’d…say that? Publicly?
Yes. I’m done letting other people define this.
What if it makes them dig deeper? she whispers. What if it blows up bigger?
Then they’ll see me standing next to you instead of you standing alone, I say. And I will crush them.
Her breath shudders.
This isn’t about saving face, I add. If this affects endorsements or media narratives, fine. So be it. I’ve worked my ass off to get where I am. I can weather a little noise.
Her voice goes small. What if I can’t?
I step closer, heart pounding. Then I’ll hold some of it for you, I say simply. For as long as it takes.
Silence pulses between us. She stares at me like she’s trying to decide whether to believe me.
I’m not going anywhere, Eddie, I say. I love you. I love Joey. I want to be in this—really in it. Not just when it’s cute and easy, but when it’s messy and hard and people are being awful and the internet sucks.
Her eyes flare. You…love us?
Yes. Have for a while.
A sound breaks out of her, a half sob, half laugh. Tears spill down her cheeks, and she wipes at them angrily. I hate crying.
I don’t, I say softly. It means you’re letting yourself feel things.
She lets out a shaking breath. I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to stop waiting for everything to be taken away.
Then we’ll learn together, I say. Just…don’t shut me out. Please.
Her shoulders slump, the fight slowly draining out of her.
I’m so tired of being scared, she whispers.
I got you, Eddie. I got you, I say.
For a long moment, we just stand there, breathing the same air, the weight of the last week heavy around us. Then she moves. One step forward. Then another. Until she’s close enough to reach.
I don’t pull her in.
She grabs my hoodie and fists her hands in the fabric, tugging me down into a kiss that shatters whatever distance we’ve been trying to maintain.
It’s not soft this time.
It’s hungry. Desperate. Full of all the words she doesn’t have yet.
I kiss her back, one hand sliding into her hair, the other settling at her waist, anchoring her to me.
She breaks away on a gasp. Tell me again, she demands.
I love you, I say against her mouth. You. Joey. This.
She makes another broken sound and kisses me again, deeper, backing us toward the couch.