Chapter 24 TALIA
TALIA
Rehab
For a second, I’m convinced I’m hallucinating.
“Katia?” My voice cracks on her name.
I move before I can think.
I push past Jake and step onto the porch, and then I’m wrapping my arms around my sister.
“Katia,” I whisper into her hair, and the smell of her hits me all at once.
I squeeze tighter, like if I hold on hard enough I can keep her here.
“You’re here,” I say, pulling back just enough to look at her face. “You’re really here.”
Katia gives me this wobbly smile that looks like it’s trying its best.
“Hi,” she says, voice bright in that forced, brave way. “Surprise. I know. Ten out of ten entrance.”
My throat tightens instantly.
Even with the shadows under her eyes and the too-thinness of her cheeks, she’s trying to make me laugh so I won’t cry.
Jake’s presence is a solid weight beside us, quiet and steady.
“Come inside,” I say quickly, stepping back and holding the door open wider. “Please. Come in.”
Katia walks in and is immediately greeted by Bear, his tail wagging so hard his whole body wiggles. He looks up at her like she’s the most important person in the world.
Katia’s face softens instantly.
“Oh my God,” she whispers, and there’s real warmth in her voice now. “You have a dog?”
“He’s Jake’s,” I explain.
Katia crouches down. Bear sniffs her fingers with solemn focus, then gives her a single approving lick.
Katia lets out a startled laugh.
“Okay,” she says softly, petting him. “You’re the best dog I’ve ever met.”
Bear promptly sits like the good boy he is, clearly convinced he deserves a medal.
Jake clears his throat.
“I’m going to take him outside for a minute,” he says calmly.
I glance at him, grateful and overwhelmed all at once.
He doesn’t wait for an answer. He just clips the leash on Bear and heads toward the back door, giving us space.
Before he disappears, his eyes flick to mine.
You’ve got this.
Katia stands and turns toward me.
Her smile is still there, but it trembles at the edges.
“Okay,” she says, taking a breath. “Before you start yelling at me or crying or murdering me, can I just say—you look… really good.”
I blink. “Katia—”
“No, seriously,” she insists, her voice warm and teasing. “You look relaxed. Like someone who actually has fun.”
She tilts her head slightly.
“And not like someone living in a constant stress migraine.”
My chest squeezes.
“You’re deflecting,” I whisper.
Her smile flickers. “I know.”
I step closer and take her hands. Her skin is colder than it should be.
“Katia,” I say softly. “Sit down. Please.”
She nods quickly, like she’s relieved I’m giving her an instruction.
I guide her into the living room and she sinks onto the couch, arms wrapped around her middle.
I sit on the coffee table across from her so I’m close without crowding her.
My heart is pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat.
“Where have you been?” I ask carefully. “I’ve been so worried. I— I tried to find you.”
Katia’s eyes lift to mine, glossy but open.
“I know,” she says quietly.
“And I’m sorry,” she adds quickly. “I wasn’t… I wasn’t in a place where I could answer without ruining your life.”
“You can’t ruin my life,” I say, voice cracking. “You’re my sister.”
I squeeze her hands. “What’s going on?”
She stares at our linked fingers for a second, as if she’s gathering herself.
Then she looks up and her voice goes soft. Honest.
“I need help,” she says.
My breath catches.
She tries to smile again, like she hates how serious it sounds.
“Like… real help,” she adds quietly. “Not ‘I’ll drink water and do yoga’ help.”
“Katia,” I whisper, tears burning behind my eyes. “Okay. I’m here.”
She nods, fast. “I’m tired, Tal.”
The words are simple, and they break me anyway.
“I want to go to rehab,” she says, the rest tumbling out in a rush, like she’s afraid she’ll lose the nerve if she pauses. “I’ve been trying. I swear I’ve been trying. I’ve called places. Emailed. Shown up and begged. And they all say the same thing.”
My chest tightens. “What?”
“Waiting lists,” she says, but there’s no sharp bitterness. Just exhausted disbelief. “Months. Like… cool, thanks, I’ll just schedule my crisis for September.”
She tries to laugh, but it breaks halfway.
I grip her hands tighter. “That’s insane.”
Katia nods, eyes shining. “It is. And I’m scared.”
The softness in her voice guts me.
“I’m scared I’m going to mess up again,” she whispers. “And I’m scared that one day I won’t want to stop. That I’ll just… let it take me.”
My throat closes.
“Katia,” I say, swallowing hard, “listen to me. You came here. That matters.”
Katia’s gaze drops. Shame flickers across her face.
“I know I’ve been a disaster for a while,” she says quietly. “I lied. I stole. I did dumb, ugly things. But I’m ready for a change.”
I lean forward and pull her into a hug.
She hugs me back immediately. Tight. Her arms wrap around me like she’s been starving for this, too.
“I’m so glad you’re alive,” I whisper into her hair. “I love you.”
“Love you, too,” she whispers back.
When I pull away, her face looks exhausted.
She rubs her eyes and attempts a small grin.
“I haven’t slept in two days,” she admits. “Which is probably why I’m being weirdly emotional.”
A laugh escapes me before I can stop it.
“Okay,” I say, wiping my cheeks. “You can stay here. We have a guest room.”
Katia nods like that sounds like the best thing in the world.
I lead her upstairs, talking softly the whole way.
I open the guest room door. “I’m going to help you,” I say firmly. “I promise.”
Katia nods against my shoulder. “Okay.”
I help her get ready for bed and tuck her in like she’s a small child.
I sit beside her until her breathing evens out.
Only then do I slip out and quietly close the door behind me.
Downstairs, Jake is in the kitchen washing his hands. Bear is sprawled on the floor, chewing on something.
Jake looks up the second he hears me coming down the stairs. “Is she okay?”
I exhale. “I think so. For now, at least. She wants to go to rehab, but she can’t get in anywhere. They all have waiting lists. Months before she can get help.”
His jaw tightens. “That’s not acceptable.”
I let out a shaky laugh. “Tell that to the rehab facilities.”
Jake steps closer. “Where is she now?”
“In the guest room. She’s asleep. She hasn’t slept in two days.”
He nods once.
My throat tightens. “I’m sorry.”
He frowns. “For what?”
“For bringing my mess into your house,” I say quietly. “This has nothing to do with you, so—”
“It does have something to do with me,” he cuts in, firm but calm. “She’s your sister.”
He steps closer, warm and steady in front of me.
“You live here,” he says, his voice low. “You’re my wife. Your problems are my problems.”
His gaze holds mine.
“And I can help. I have people. Doctors. Connections.”
His tone shifts into captain mode. Certain. Decisive.
“We’ll get her a place.”
Relief and guilt twist together in my stomach.
“Jake—”
“No,” he cuts in gently. “Don’t apologize. Just let me.”
I swallow hard.
“Okay,” I whisper.
Jake nods once, already pulling out his phone.
“We’ll figure it out,” he says, his voice steady. “She came here because she trusted you. We’re not letting her fall through the cracks.”
We.
I don’t know when we became a real we.
But standing here in the kitchen, my sister safe upstairs, it hits me all at once.
My husband is already mobilizing his entire world to help me.
How could I not love him?
***
Early the next morning; we’re all in the car.
Katia sits quietly in the backseat, staring out the window while Jake drives. The sky is overcast, a soft gray that makes everything feel muted.
I twist in my seat every few minutes to check on her, even though she hasn’t said more than three words since we left the house.
“You okay?” I ask gently.
She nods once.
Her fingers are knotted together in her lap.
The facility isn’t far outside the city. Private. Quiet. The kind of place you’d miss if you didn’t know it was there.
Jake made two calls last night. Two.
This morning, we have an intake appointment.
I still don’t know who he called or what strings he pulled. I only know that when he says he’ll handle something, he does.
When we park, Katia sits there for a second, staring at the building through the windshield.
“Well,” she says, forcing a small smile. “Five stars on Google would’ve been nice.”
My heart squeezes.
“I’m really proud of you,” I tell her, because I need her to hear it.
She glances at me. “Thanks, Tal.”
Jake steps out first, circling the car without hesitation. He opens Katia’s door and offers her his hand.
Katia looks at it, then up at him.
“Well,” she says lightly, “if you’re going to be this polite, I guess I have to accept.”
She takes his hand.
He helps her out, calm and solid.
Inside, the place smells like disinfectant and fresh paint.
A woman with kind eyes greets us at the front desk. There’s paperwork. Questions. Forms.
Katia straightens her shoulders like she’s about to present a school project.
“Okay,” she mutters under her breath. “Radical honesty era.”
She answers the intake questions with surprising clarity.
When they ask what she wants out of treatment, she doesn’t hesitate.
“I want my life back,” she says simply.
After the paperwork is done, we walk her down a short hallway to a door that separates intake from residents.
She turns to us before stepping through.
“Well,” she says, managing a crooked grin, “if I come out a yoga-loving, green-juice-drinking wellness influencer, you have to pretend you always believed in me.”
I laugh through tears. “Deal.”
I pull her into a tight hug.
“Call me,” I whisper into her hair. “Every chance you get.”
“I will,” she says. “You’re stuck with me.”
I pull back and cup her face. “Don’t disappear again.”
She shakes her head, serious now. “I won’t. I promise.”
Jake steps forward and offers his hand. “You’ve got this,” he says.
Katia looks at both of us. “I think I do, too,” she says quietly.
Then she turns, takes a steady breath, and walks through the door on her own.
***
On the way back, it’s just the two of us in the car.
A tiny part of me feels embarrassed that Jake has now seen the full extent of my family’s dysfunction.
Jake, on the other hand, seems to take it all in stride.
In fact, his thoughts move in a completely different direction.
He glances at me. “You want to come to practice tomorrow?”
I blink. “What?”
“I don’t have anything after,” he says. “Just practice. You could watch. I’ll drive you home after and we could hang out?”
The offer surprises me.
“You want me there?” I ask carefully.
He shrugs one shoulder. “Why wouldn’t I?”
I don’t have an answer to that.
“I’d like that,” I say.
He nods once, like that settles it.
The next day, I sit in the arena stands wrapped in one of Jake’s hoodies.
The team spills onto the rink in a burst of motion and noise.
And then Jake steps out.
Helmet on. Jersey loose over his pads. Skates cutting clean lines across the ice.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen him play before.
He moves like the ice belongs to him.
Fast but controlled. Aggressive but precise. His voice carries across the rink as he calls instructions, shifts lines, corrects positioning.
He’s confident here.
Certain.
There’s no hesitation in him.
He skates backward effortlessly, pivots, snaps a pass that lands exactly where it should. He laughs at something one of the guys says, shoves Rhys lightly, then refocuses in an instant.
Heat pools low in my stomach watching him like this.
God, he’s sexy.
And he has no idea I’m watching him like this.
Or maybe he does.
At one point, he glances up toward the stands.
Our eyes meet, just for a second.
He lifts his chin slightly in acknowledgment before pushing off again.
My heart stutters.
He looks proud that I’m here.
Or maybe I’m imagining it.
Because this is all fake, isn’t it?
It’s just my stupid feelings. My wishful thinking, turning it into something more than it is.
And what we have right now?
It’s good.
A great friendship.
Sex that makes my knees weak.
But I’m the only one who wants more.
I’m the only one watching him on the ice and thinking, I want this to be my real life.
When practice ends, the guys skate off laughing and shoving each other.
Jake lingers, pulling off his helmet and running a hand through his hair.
He looks up at me again.
This time, he smiles.
My chest aches.
On the drive home, I’m quieter than usual.
“You okay?” Jake asks after a few minutes.
“Yeah,” I say automatically.
He glances at me. “That wasn’t convincing.”
I stare out the window. “I’m fine.”
Silence stretches.
He tries again. “Is this about your sister?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
I shrug.
He exhales through his nose, patient but not letting it go. “Tal.”
My throat tightens.
“I just…” I trail off.
He waits.
I hate that he’s so good at that.
“I just sometimes forget,” I say carefully.
“Forget what?”
“That this isn’t… permanent.”
The words hang between us.
Jake’s jaw tightens slightly.
“What isn’t permanent?”
“This,” I say, gesturing vaguely between us. “Living together. Spending our weekends together. Everything.”
He doesn’t say anything.
My chest starts to hurt, but I try to play it cool.
I force a small shrug.
“I was just thinking about how I won’t be part of your life after this,” I continue, staring straight ahead. “And I guess what I mean is… I’ll miss you.”
Oh no.
That sounded desperate.
Too raw. Too real.
Heat crawls up my neck. I want to rewind the last thirty seconds of my life.
Did I say too much?
Can he hear what I’m not saying?
Jake doesn’t respond.
And why would he?
He already told me what he wants.
A divorce.
To cancel out this mistake.
I nod faintly, like this is exactly what I expected.
Of course he doesn’t want more.
But the longer he stays silent, the tighter my insides twist.
“I mean,” I add quickly, forcing lightness into my voice, “you’re a great roommate. And friend. And… you know.”
Jake’s jaw flexes.
God, stop talking.
“Forget it,” I say finally, waving a hand like I can physically erase the moment. “I know how you feel. That’s fine. I was just being silly. We both knew this wasn’t permanent.”
When we pull into the driveway, I unbuckle quickly, desperate to get out before I embarrass myself further.
But before I can open the door, Jake is already out of the car.
He walks around the front and opens my door.
Like a gentleman.
He holds out his hand, like he did for Katia, but he doesn’t let go like he did with her.
He pulls me to my feet and then, without hesitation, cups my face in both hands.
My breath catches.
“Don’t,” he says quietly.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t decide what I feel without asking me.”
My heart pounds.
He leans down and kisses me.