Chapter 30
SAWYER
The Father-Son Breakfast is held in the gymnasium of Theo’s school.
Walking into the cavernous space, it’s funny that I’ve equated it to basketball, gym class, and other gym-like school options.
Today I’m at a long folding table on center court, in a gym that smells like syrup, and it’s buoyant with the kind of optimism only children can generate before noon.
Theo sits on my right, his friend Mitch on my left, Mitch’s dad across from us, and all around us we’re surrounded by a rotating cast of dads, uncles, grandpas, and one very enthusiastic stepdad who keeps insisting on refilling everyone’s juice.
Theo is beaming and has been since I showed up. Like, full-face, no-filter, this-is-the-best-day-of-my-life beaming.
And honestly? Same.
Ever since Charlie texted me Theo’s there alone—nothing else has mattered. Not practice. Not drills. Not the fact that I’d been halfway to the ice, skates already laced, planning to burn off the tension the old way.
I didn’t do that. I told my coach, then I ran.
Actually, no. I flew.
In fact, I’ve never moved so fast in my life. Even on ice skates. It felt like someone strapped wings to my back and pointed me in the right direction. I didn’t think. I didn’t hesitate. I just went.
Theo nudges my arm. “Sawyer, do you want another waffle?”
“Always,” I say solemnly. “That’s just who I am as a person.”
Mitch squints at me. “Do hockey players eat waffles?”
“All elite athletes do,” I say. “It’s science.”
That earns me a laugh from the table and three more kids sliding over with trays, eyes wide.
“Are you really a hockey player?” one of them asks.
“Someone has to do it,” I say. “It’s a tough life.”
“Have you ever scored a goal?” another kid asks.
“Yes.”
“How many?”
“Enough to know waffles are still better.”
Theo laughs so hard he snorts, and I pretend not to hear it because this is a sacred moment.
The room is loud in the best way—chairs scraping, kids talking over each other, adults laughing too hard at bad jokes. I’m halfway through telling a story about accidentally tripping over my own stick when something in the energy around us shifts. It’s subtle, but I feel it.
I look up to find Juliette standing in the gym’s doorway.
Her hair’s a little messy, but she looks beautiful. Even from here I can see the pink flush on her cheeks. She looks like she ran here on adrenaline and sheer force of will.
Then our eyes meet, and she smiles. It’s not polite or careful, it’s full-on relief. My chest tightens in a way that feels permanent.
Mitch’s dad takes a sip of his coffee, pulling my attention partially back to our table. “You’ve set the bar really high today.”
I smile, eyes still on Juliette.
“That was the goal,” I say. “Showing up for those who trust me.”
“I trust you.” Theo looks up at me, confused but pleased. “That’s me, right?”
“Yep,” I say, reaching over to ruffle his hair, while my heart cranks up its applause. “That’s you.”
And standing there—waffles, noise, kids, coffee, Juliette watching from across the room—I know it.
This isn’t just showing up.
This is falling in love.