Page 17 of Heartstruck

Jared

Alli’s tense—I can tell by how her fingers drum against her knee—but I’m not sure if it’s because of her family or just because I’m tagging along.

“Everything okay?” I finally ask, keeping my tone chill, even though my pulse is anything but.

She turns to me, conjuring a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Yeah, just… thinking.”

“About what?”

“About how my family’s going to react to this.” She gestures between us, and her expression makes me wonder if she’s feeling the same weird mix of dread and excitement that’s been gnawing at me since we left campus.

I smirk, trying to lighten the mood. “Don’t worry, I’m charming as hell. They’ll love me.” I glance down at her, then at our outfits. “Well, it helps that we’re coordinated,” I say, gesturing at my navy sweater that matches the stripes on her dress.

She blinks, noticing the unintentional match for the first time. “Huh, guess we’re just that good.”

“Guess so,” I say with a half-smile, and the way her eyes linger a beat too long makes my chest tighten in a way I’m not ready to unpack.

I let out a quiet laugh, cutting through the moment. Just like that, the tension eases a bit. But underneath it all, there’s still this nagging feeling that I need to prove myself, not just to her family, but to her.

“So, I’ll be in the venue suite getting Victoria ready for a couple of hours.

I don’t think you’ll need to be there until the party starts.

” Her voice pulls me back to the present, and I nod, even though my mind is still wrapped around the last thought.

It feels like more than just an act. I shift in my seat, trying to play it cool.

“Got it. I’ll hang out, make myself useful…

maybe charm some of your relatives before you’re even done. ”

“Um, no, I don’t need you to suffer with me there. It’s fine.”

I flash a cheeky smile, reclining back into my seat. “Suffer? I’d call it a challenge. Winning over your family might be my new favorite sport.”

“Whatever,” Alli says with a light laugh, the sound light and easy. But then her smile fades, the sparkle in her eyes dimming just a little. “Hey, by the way… how’s your mom doing?”

I freeze at her question, taken off guard.

I haven’t seen my mom since I left for college, so it’s been about a year.

We’re not exactly estranged, but we’re not close either.

I write letters to her because, well, it’s easier to put things on paper than to say them out loud.

I tell myself it’s just the way we are, detached, like distant planets in orbit.

But sometimes I wonder if that’s just me making excuses.

I glance over at Alli, and I feel that familiar pang of guilt in my chest. “She’s… doing okay, I guess. We don’t talk much, but I send her letters every now and then.”

“Letters?” She looks at me like I just told her I have carrier pigeons.

“Yeah”—I tighten my grip on the wheel—“it’s our thing. I’m not really comfortable seeing her yet. Each visit at the rehab gets harder and harder.”

She stays quiet, and I can feel her trying to piece it together. “I heard about the last few visits, I’m sorry about that.”

My mom didn’t show up to our last visitation or the three before that.

It’s part of the rules our lawyer put together once my dad got full custody.

I remember the excitement bubbling up inside me when I got signed to play college football.

I bought her t-shirts, sweatpants, and even a hat.

She used to be the pillar of my football journey, always there, taking me to practice, bringing snacks for the team, and cheering the loudest in the stands.

But that was long ago. She’d gotten used to not showing up and not writing in months.

The memories are sharp, like a highlight reel I can’t turn off. Every game, every practice, she was there. It’s weird how you don’t realize how much those moments mean until they’re just… gone. And now? Now it feels like I’m playing without her in my corner, and the silence is deafening.

I try to tell myself it’s not her fault, that she’s going through her own struggles. But the truth is, it’s easier to be angry. It’s easier to let the frustration sit in my chest than to face the hurt, the nagging feeling that I wasn’t enough to make her stay, to make her fight harder.

I grip the steering wheel tighter, glancing at Alli. I swallow the urge to tell her everything, keeping the words locked down. It’s just better that way. Less messy. Less painful.

“I was so excited when I got signed,” I let out breathily. “I bought her all this stuff to wear for the games or when she’s in her room. She used to be there for everything, and then… nothing.”

Alli’s hand slides to my arm, her touch light like a feather. “Jared, I’m really sorry.”

I swallow, fighting the lump in my throat. “It’s fine. I’m fine. I just… I don’t know. I wish things were different.”

“It’s okay to feel that way. You don’t have to act like it doesn’t hurt.”

I exhale slowly, the pressure in my chest easing a little. “Yeah, maybe. But it’s complicated. I get why she’s been distant. She’s dealing with her own stuff, and I can’t force her to be ready until she is.”

Alli’s eyes give away quiet understanding. “You don’t have to go through it all on your own, though.”

“I know,” I reply, though a part of me still feels like I do. “Thanks.”

We fall into a comfortable silence after that, the kind that makes me feel like, maybe, things aren’t as messed up as they seem.

I keep my eyes on the road, but every so often, I steal a glance at Alli.

And I wonder, for just a moment, if having her beside me could be enough to fill the empty spaces.