Chapter 32
THIRTY-TWO
ANNIKA
SUNDAY NIGHT
I don’t remember the drive home.
I don’t remember unlocking my door or kicking off my shoes or even setting my bag down. All I remember is the silence. The kind that presses in from every direction until I’m gasping for air.
Somehow I make it to my bed before it consumes me. Tears come first, burning under my lids before I even realize I’m crying.
The weight of Parker’s words hits me again. Then everything I said. Then everything I didn’t.
You let him hurt your friends and teammates.
The words bounce off my walls because there’s nothing to soften them. No noisy fans leaving the game, or honking horns.
There’s no noise.
No distraction.
No Parker.
Just me, alone with a thousand-pound elephant on my chest.
I curl into the fetal position, making myself smaller so I can fold into a version of me that doesn’t have to carry this.
Parker’s face is the only thing I see when I close my eyes. The face without dimples. The face with tears welling up. Noelle was right—he’s a gentle soul.
Then my thoughts revert to what I could have done and who I would have told. Who would’ve believed me?
I was a kid who was afraid for my life. My chest tightens, aching to the point that even breathing is painful.
Pressing my face into the pillow, I let out a blood-curdling scream and hope it’s muffled enough that the neighbors don’t hear and call the police.
I’m at a breaking point and I need to pull myself up by the bootstraps, as Texans say, and not let it define me, but also figure out a way to make me whole again. Parker is as close as I’ve ever gotten.
The words from the notes plague my mind. I need to stop pretending and face the truth.
I squeeze my eyes shut.
I didn’t know everything and I didn’t watch it happen, but I saw enough and I hid. I went back out and skated, but I knew enough. Enough to question and to doubt, especially since my dad did similar things to me before.
Could I have stopped it like Parker said?
My stomach twists violently.
I don’t know. Maybe I could have or maybe it would have made it worse.
But I should have tried.
And now, I’ve lost Parker. That singular thought carves deeper into my heart.
The way he looked at me like he didn’t recognize me. Like I wasn’t the person he thought I was.
A sob cracks through my lips, raw and unfiltered. I cry until my body gives out and exhaustion drags me under.
Even then, when my eyes are closed, I see the locker room. Nadia’s eyes and Parker walking away.
MONDAY
I wake up with swollen eyes and a headache that sits behind them as a reminder. Of everything.
My phone lies on the nightstand, dark and silent. I stare at it for a long time before I reach for it and open the thread of messages between Parker and me. The ones from before my life blew up in my face. I secretly hope that when I open my messages, there will be one from him.
There’s not. I knew there wouldn’t be. Parker is a gentle soul, and he needs time to process, but I type anyway.
Me: Are you coming to your appointment today?
I sit there, waiting and watching the screen and praying it might give me a crumb.
Minutes pass, then an hour. Nothing.
I type again.
Me: I’m sorry. Please come so we can talk. It’s a controlled environment where you can speak freely.
The message shows delivered, not read.
I set the phone down and pick it back up several times. I’m an adult acting like a teenager waiting for a boy to call.
I survived my dad. I’ve handled worse. So why does it seem to be the worst thing that’s ever happened to me?
Because it is. I was finding my place with Parker, having a real relationship.
But this isn’t something I can control. This is him choosing whether I’m worth sticking around for.
My phone rings and Parker’s name flashes on the screen.
Parker: I’m not ready.
That’s it. No anger or softness, just distance.
I stare at the words until they blur, then leave a message for Jenna to schedule someone in Parker’s place.
Then I lock my phone and set it face down with nothing left to say.
TUESDAY
Jenna pounces on me as soon as I walk in. “You look like hell.”
“Good morning to you too.”
She doesn’t smile. “I called you twenty-eight times.” She shows me her outgoing call log. “What happened?”
I toy with the idea to tell her about how my life exploded, but I end up giving her a short version, not every detail but enough. About my past. About Parker.
Her expression shifts from curiosity to shock in seconds.
“Anna…”
“I know. I know,” I cut in, rubbing my temples. “You don’t have to say it.”
She reaches for my hand. “I’m not judging you.”
“You should.” I let out a hollow laugh.
“You were a child without the knowledge you have now. You did the best you could.”
“Did I?”
“Yes.”
There’s a certainty in her voice that almost breaks me again.
Because I didn’t do anything to help them.
I ran.
WEDNESDAY
Noelle’s name blinks on my phone. I stare at it then let the call fall, but does she let it go?
No. I’m sure Parker confided in her and she knows everything that’s happened.
In all likelihood, his entire family knows of my dark past and bad judgment.
They probably had Sunday dinner at Mr. O’Ryan’s house where my dirty laundry was aired.
I think about it and realize that’s not fair. They’ve been nothing but kind to me.
She texts.
Noelle: Margarita night. You in?
Another message pops up before I can respond.
Sutton: Please come. You need to have some fun.
Yep, they all know.
How much did Parker tell them?
Birdie: Come. I won’t make you sing.
The smallest chuckle escapes my lips.
The fact they care about me makes everything worse. My chest aches because I want to go because I found a group of friends and maybe a family. I want the noise and the laughter, but most of all, a distraction.
But I can’t. These are Parker’s sisters. He wins them in the breakup.
But I don’t even know if we did break up. Did he ask them to touch base with me?
The life I’ve worked so hard to build is unraveling.
Me: Sorry, I overbooked and I have appointments late into the night.
It’s a lie. A weak one at that. But it’s easier than the truth.
THURSDAY
I stare at the screen longer than I should.
The Armadillos have an away game this weekend, which means he'll be traveling. He’ll be alone with too much time to think and could spiral like I am.
My fingers hover over the keyboard before I can stop them.
Me: I know you have an away game. But I’m a phone call away if you need me or want to talk. I’m still your performance coach.
At least I hope I am.
I hit send and immediately regret it. It’s too much too soon when he said he’d call me when he’s ready.
It goes unanswered all day. All night.
FRIDAY
All week I’ve been thinking of how to fix this.
Not just with Parker but with myself.
With Nadia.
With all the girls.
So I sit on my stiff gray couch, pull a ruffled throw pillow onto my lap and send Parker another message.
Me: Do you have Nadia’s phone number?
The response comes faster than I expect, considering he blew me off yesterday.
Parker: Why?
I fold my lips over my teeth.
Me: Because I need to talk to her. I want to.
There’s a pause in answering this time.
Parker: Yeah, I’ll send it.
A second later, the contact information comes through. I stare at it like it might change or maybe disappear.
Am I really doing this?
Parker: How are you?
My chest flutters with hope.
Me: I’ve been better.
Three dots—gone—then back.
Parker: Yeah. Me too.
I exhale, the sound low and drawn out.
Me: I listened to what you said. I’m going to figure out how to make it right. I’ll call her.
It takes a beat or two but he messages back.
Parker: Good. That’s the Annika I... know.
My courage flickers, then I type the one thing I shouldn’t.
Me: Do you still like me?
The pause is long. Like maybe he went out and mowed the yard or took out the trash. My heart pounds harder with every silent second. Then…
Parker: Like you? I fucking love you but…
My breath catches. He hasn’t used those words. Not exactly.
Parker: Talk to Nadia first. There’s more you don’t know.
A knot forms in my gut. More? What more could there possibly be?
SATURDAY
DeRosa’s smells the same. Bread baking. Italian sausage frying.
Nadia’s already here, leaning against a video game in the corner, quietly lurking like she’s been waiting for this moment for years.
The past closing in on me from all directions—Novadia, Dad, college, tutoring.
“You showed up. Who knew?” she says, her voice curt.
“I called you.”
Her lips curve up slightly. “Parker must mean a lot to you.”
“He does.”
She nods like she already has firsthand knowledge of our relationship. “He loves you,” she says simply.
Her admission hits me hard, never considering that he would confide in her. “Yeah,” I whisper.
“And you’re going to lose him,” she adds.
I flinch and she watches it happen. Satisfied she got another jab.
“Do you know what it’s like to live with… what your dad did to me?” she continues, shoving a quarter into the game.
I don’t say anything because it's time I listened to her story. She doesn’t need to know mine, not yet.
“Every time someone touches me,” she says, voice flat and empty. “I wonder if it’s going to turn into something else.”
I know the feeling and Parker is the first man to make it past that point where I was no longer scared.
She shoots down the spaceship. “I don’t trust men. Not completely and I probably never will.”
I close my eyes for a beat. Because I helped create that fear for her in some ways by not calling my dad out and reporting it.
“I built a life. I function and pretend I’m okay,” she says, her gaze locking onto mine. “But I’m not.”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “He did it to me too. That's why I didn't say anything—he threatened to kill me if I told anyone.”
She nods like she believes me.
“Will you ever forgive me?” I ask, placing my hand on her elbow. She flinches at the touch and she makes me suffer through a long stretch of silence.
When her last man fighter plane dies, she pulls out her phone and says, half-smiling, “I have a daughter.”
My heart stutters. “You do?”
She turns her phone screen toward me, showing me a young girl maybe nine or ten, with dark hair and big round brown eyes. The knot in my stomach twists tighter.
“She’s….”
Nadia watches my reaction.
“Say it,” she says.
I shake my head. “No.”
But I already know. I already know it, feel it.
“She’s…” I whisper.
Nadia’s expression doesn’t change and I feel my world tilting as she says, “Your half-sister.”