14. Sophie
SOPHIE
The stadium lights do weird things to time. The field is blindingly green, impossibly bright even as dusk tries to muscle in from the corners. I’m planted on the bottom row of the bleachers, knees jammed up against cold aluminum, and I can’t seem to get comfortable.
Noah sits next to me, forearms balanced on his thighs, hands clasped like he’s bracing for impact. His whole frame vibrates with a tension that feels contagious. It’s like we’re both holding our breath, waiting for a moment that could go so very wrong.
The players warm up in long, lazy arcs. I spot Trent in the cluster—he’s all height and motion, bounding from one side of the formation to the other, but not once does he glance this direction.
I’m tempted to check the time, but the scoreboard says it’s still sixteen minutes to the buzzer. Sixteen minutes to make this conversation happen or lose my nerve forever.
Noah doesn’t speak first. I get the feeling he’d wait out the apocalypse rather than force it. So, I do what I always do. I rip off the Band-Aid without counting down.
“I’ve been thinking about us.” My voice is so low the field almost swallows it.
His jaw flexes. “Yeah?”
I nod, uncertain of what I’m about to say. “I care about you. More than I thought I would, honestly.” My hands knot in the cuff of my jacket. “But I have to be honest—if Trent’s not okay, I can’t keep doing this. I can’t let us be another thing that makes him miserable.”
There. If the world ends, at least I didn’t chicken out.
Noah processes it in silence. For a heartbeat, I wonder if he heard me at all. Then he scrubs a palm over his jaw. “I get it.” He stares at the field. “You think I don’t, but I do. He’s your family. You’re not gonna pick a guy over your brother.”
I don’t know why, but that lands wrong.
A sad little smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “If it was Danny, I’d do the same. Probably worse.”
I tilt my head to glance at him. His eyes are fixed on the grass, but all the brittleness in him has gone soft. “I just want everyone to be able to sit at a table together without it feeling like it’s a hostage situation.”
He huffs—either a laugh or a self-defense mechanism. “If I could snap my fingers and make Trent trust me, I would. But I’ve got a heck of a track record on this island, Soph. I’ve spent a lot of years showing people I don’t need them.”
He’s not wrong, but I don’t say it.
“I love you.” His voice is stripped down to the wire. “There’s no other way to say it. I don’t expect you to say it back, and you don’t have to fix anything for me, but I do. I love you, and I’ll do whatever it takes to make it work with Trent. Even if it means waiting forever.”
What follows is not a romantic high. It’s a punch to the solar plexus. I suck in a breath, my chest constricting. That’s the one thing I hadn’t prepared for—the truth spoken so bare it leaves no place to hide.
He glances over, searching for a reaction, then quickly looks away. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to weird you out.”
“You didn’t! I just—I wasn’t expecting it.
That’s all.” The wind whips across the bench, cutting straight through my jeans.
“I want this, too, Noah.” I force him to look at me, to see the truth in my eyes.
“But I need to know Trent’s okay. Otherwise, I’ll always be looking over my shoulder for the next blowup. ”
He nods, jaw set in that stubborn way of his. “I get it. You don’t have to worry about me—just tell me what you want, and I’ll get in line.” There’s something fierce in the way he says it. Like if the world demands it, he’ll go toe-to-toe with God just to make me feel safe.
The conversation should end there. Instead, we both watch Trent jog down the sideline. He’s paired up with Danny, both of them shadowboxing in tandem, heads together—plotting, or maybe just existing in a way I can’t access.
Noah slouches a little, letting his gaze drift. “He’s lucky to have you. Not everyone fights for their family that hard.”
My mouth opens, but whatever I was about to say dies on the way out. For a second, the only thing between us is the stadium noise. The chill works its way into my bones. I rub my hands together for warmth, but it’s pointless. I don’t think I’ll ever be warm again.
Then, right on cue, the universe decides awkward needs more company.
Caroline arrives from the far end of the bleachers, wrapped in a ridiculous blue-and-white Nantucket High scarf. She hovers a few feet away, scanning for an open patch of bench, then shuffles in behind us.
Noah clocks her before I do. And, miracle of miracles, instead of ignoring her or issuing a barbed “Hey,” he actually meets her eyes. “Nice scarf. Did you make that yourself?”
She snorts, plopping onto the metal. “If I had, it’d be three inches shorter and full of holes. Got it from the booster club last spring.”
He nods, the ghost of a smile flickering. “Is Rebecca here tonight?”
Caroline doesn’t hesitate. “I couldn’t keep her away if I wanted. She’s supposed to be applying for colleges, but I told her she could say hi to Trent before the game starts. You know how teenagers are.”
This is actual small talk—pleasant, almost. My brain can’t process it at first. It feels like more of an accomplishment than any shrink could coax from the two of them.
While this is happening, Rebecca appears at the edge of the field, ponytail flying behind her. She runs straight to the fence and waves until she’s sure Trent is looking.
He jogs closer, meets her at the fence, and the two of them start talking—heads tipped together, faces bright with a kind of lopsided relief. No drama. Just the easy shorthand of people who survived the same storm.
The clatter of footsteps interrupts my eavesdropping.
Eddie and Meredith appear at the bottom of the bleachers.
They move as a unit—Meredith scanning the crowd for a familiar face, Eddie anchoring her with a hand at her back.
If there’s ever been a better visual for I dare you to mess with us, I haven’t seen it.
They spot me instantly. Meredith lifts a hand, tiny and precise, and they make their way down. Eddie settles to my right, letting the bench groan under his weight, and Meredith claims the spot between us, knees pressed into mine in a way that’s more solidarity than comfort.
“Am I late?” Eddie asks, eyeing the field like he’s ready to sub in.
“Not even close,” I say.
Meredith drops her bag at her feet. “You look good, Soph. Rested. Or at least as close as you can get.”
I scoff, but the compliment lands. “It’s an illusion. I ran out of concealer two days ago.”
Eddie grins, catches Noah’s eye, and just nods. There’s no chest-thumping or weird male posturing; it’s just two guys sharing space, maybe understanding each other for the first time.
On the field, Trent is now laughing at something Rebecca said. Danny jogs past, splashing Gatorade on his left shoe, and the two of them flash matching grins that could melt glaciers.
Everything’s still complicated; the world hasn’t gotten any simpler. But tonight, in the glow of the stadium, with Noah’s arm resting just behind me and my family in a row, I let go of the need to rush or fix or force. I just let it be.
Nobody says the word love again. Nobody needs to. It’s all there, unspoken.
When the drama finally arrives, it’s not the ref’s whistle that gets everyone’s attention. It’s a ripple—just a shudder through the crowd, a hush that sucks every idle conversation out of the air like a flash squall.
June, spectacularly late and not alone—her hand twined in Ashton’s.
Like she never left, like he never disappeared, as if the last year was just a weird experimental dream we all woke up from.
They’re completely in sync, marching down the aisle.
They draw every gaze within a fifty-foot radius, but neither even blinks.
My jaw actually drops. For a second, I’m glad everyone’s focused on them, because my face is textbook shock. Meredith sees it, too; her spine straightens.
June just beams—too bright by a notch. She’s rocking the boho glam and thriving on the chaos, the center of her own painting.
The way she tosses her hand into the air is pure performance—a wave that says, Don’t worry, I’ve got this.
And there’s no way a single eye in the crowd misses the way that rock on her finger shines.
Ashton, for his part, looks like a man who expected resistance and isn’t even flinching. His coat is expensive, his posture pure confidence. His wedding band glints in the lights as they take the steps two at a time.
So much for taking things slow…
They settle into the seats behind us, June’s laughter ringing out just as the announcer gets the pregame going. I never thought she’d go public so fast, but here she is. Not an apology in sight.
Eddie leans over, whisper-rasp audible only to our patch of bench. “Well, that’s one way to make an entrance.”
I stifle a giggle. “And an announcement.”
But Meredith doesn’t; she’s all business. “Really, June?” she mutters, eyes rolling.
If June hears, she ignores it, wrapping both arms around Ashton and snuggling in like she’s here for the long haul.
Noah just shrugs, his gaze never leaving the field. “Let her have her moment. They look happy.”
The teams assemble at midfield. Trent jogs out, hair wild, chin tucked.
Danny’s right there with him, shoulder to shoulder, like they’ve patched up whatever needed mending.
And Rebecca stands near the fence—the cheer team isn’t performing tonight, but a few of them have shown up in support of the boys.
The whistle shrieks, and the action leaps off the sideline. Trent takes off down the field, a streak of focus and pent-up adrenaline. The first touch is his—a clean steal that draws gasps. He rides the challenge, spins off a defender, and finds Danny with a textbook pass.
I’m on my feet without even knowing it, hands cupped around my mouth. “Let’s go, Trent!”
Meredith jumps up, too, abandoning all pretense of cool, her shout not far behind mine. Even Eddie, low-key as always, thumps the railing and lets out a whoop. Our section turns into the Holloway cheering squad, and I don’t care who hears it.
On the field, Trent’s locked in. His footwork is sharper than I’ve ever seen. There’s a clatter at midfield—a tangle over the ball—and for a heartbeat, I worry he’ll get flattened, but he bounces up, shakes it off, and bolts for the goal.
The crowd erupts, a wall of noise that blots out everything else. Even my nerves.
Danny gets the ball, fakes left, and kicks it straight back to Trent, who’s already at the top of the box. The shot isn’t perfect—he drags it just a touch—but the intent is pure fire. The goalie barely nicks it as it sails by.
Trent turns to the crowd and pumps his fist triumphantly.
From behind me, Ashton says, “Impressive.” And I believe he means it.
Noah catches my eye, and for a second, we’re just people. Not parents. Not complicated. Just here, in this moment, letting the floodlights and the scent of grass and the noise of victory carry us.
For the rest of the game, I don’t sit down. None of us does. June and Meredith yell louder than the cheerleaders. The air is alive, and if anyone is judging us, let them rot. Because tonight, we’re not the family in the headlines, not the cautionary tale. Tonight, we are the ones worth rooting for.
Then the timer runs out.
And the scores are tied.
Here’s the thing nobody tells you about the last minute of a tie game—time slows to a syrupy crawl. Every shout from the bleachers is a cannon blast. The ball ricochets down the sideline, Trent bouncing it off his laces with impossible touch, Danny breaking away.
Midfield, Danny catches the perfect pass from Trent. He sprints like he’s being chased by every bad memory on the island, slips two defenders, then plants his foot and cracks off a shot so wild, so desperate, it should’ve sailed into the parking lot.
Except it doesn’t.
It curves—seriously, a miracle—just inside the post. The net ripples like ocean spray, and the ref’s whistle splits the night.
A beat of silence. Then mayhem.
I don’t remember standing. I just remember running.
Down the bleachers, nearly faceplanting on the second step. Onto the grass, where the boys are already mobbed. But I’m faster and get to Danny first.
He’s grinning like he just won the Super Bowl, sweat slicked in his hair, arms wide for the hug. “Did you see that? I thought I missed!”
I pull him into a bear hug, joy knocking the wind out of both of us. “You did it!”
He lifts me off the ground, like I’m the lightweight I was in high school.
Trent is next. He hangs back at first. His eyes are red but not from tears. He’s just that tired, that wired. I wrap him in my arms, forcing him to let me, and for once, he doesn’t squirm or protest. He just…leans in.
“I’m so proud of you,” I say, voice breaking. “You played the crap out of that field.”
Then, softer than a secret, he mumbles, “Couldn’t have done it without Danny. Or you.”
Everything—everything—is worth it for that moment.
When I finally let go, I turn and see Noah. He’s not barreling in like the other parents—he’s holding back. Maybe waiting to be told to leave. Or maybe just…waiting.
But Trent makes the call, not me. He walks over and sticks out his hand, awkward but determined.
Noah takes it—firm grip, eye contact, the whole bit. “Good game, kid. You kicked butt.”
Trent can’t stop the smile that erupts on his lips. “Yeah, well, don’t tell anyone.”
“If you say so.” Noah grins, and just like that, the wall drops an inch.
I’m so happy I could cry, but instead, I laugh—a little too loud, a little too bright. For the first time, maybe ever, it’s easy.
Nearby, Caroline sweeps Rebecca into a twirling celebration. Meredith musses Trent’s hair, Eddie tries to crush Danny in a hug, and the circle closes. Even June and Ashton drift into the scrum, as if they’ve always belonged there.
Ashton raises his voice just enough to cut through the party. “What do you say we take this celebration somewhere with an actual roof? The lighthouse is open, and I believe we have more than enough reason to toast.”
June laughs, looping her arm around his waist. “We’ve got a fireplace and hot cocoa. And if you’re really lucky, some chocolate pie.”
I’m shocked June has suddenly let go of her anger about the lighthouse, but I don’t bring it up. That’s her monkey and her circus. Although I’m sure the “we” in that sentence has something to do with her demeanor.
Rebecca high-fives Trent, who blushes—a first in recorded history. Even Noah laughs, shaking his head. The mood is contagious.
We head toward the parking lot, knowing the kids will catch up with us when the coach lets them out after their post-game huddle. The only thing louder than the celebration is the unspoken agreement that, tonight, nothing and no one can break this.