Page 48

I watch myself on screen and barely recognize the guy.Not because I look different—same hoodie, same too-long hair curling at my collar, same scar over the bridge of my nose from the junior league brawl I never talk about. But the way I talk?

That’s new.

Not smoother. Not flashier. I still get stuck on words.

Just… open.

“Okay,” Tristan says, dragging the timeline bar back a few seconds. “This one. You say your pregame meal’s usually plain rice, boiled chicken, and eggs, and someone in the comments says that’s criminal behavior.”

I grin. “They’re n-n-not wrong.”

She hits play again and my voice fills the room—slower than most people talk, careful, rhythmic. But confident. There’s a beat where I pause, stutter once on rice, and push through it without flinching.

We let the video play. The one I filmed in my living room with my dog on the floor behind me.

I talk about rituals. About the song I always skate to during warmups. About the way my Amma always says peppermint helps with focus. About Howl, and how he’s learned the word treat in both languages.

The screen freezes on my smile at the end.

“You like it?” Tristan asks.

I stare for a second, then nod. “I… think I d-do.”

“It’s honest,” she says. “It’s you. That’s what people want.”

“Even with the stutter.” Not a question.

“Especially with the stutter.” A statement. “You know most of us don’t even notice anymore, right?”

I shrug, rub the back of my neck. “F-feels weird to be l-l-liked for b-being boring.”

She laughs. “You’re not boring, Rags. You’re low volume. That’s different.”

I huff a laugh, but I’ll take it.

She scrolls through her notes. “We’ll roll out the first three clips tonight. Then do one every few days—more if you’re comfortable. I’ll schedule some Q&As. Keep the pressure light, but steady.”

“Thank y-you, Tristan. F-for d-d-doing this.”

“Thanks for trusting me.”

I glance back at the frozen frame on the screen.

My mouth is open mid-smile, my eyes crinkled in the way Sadie says she loves.

I never used to think of my face like that—something anyone would want to look at.

Now? Now I see someone who belongs here.

Someone real. And for the first time, I don’t feel like I’m playing catch-up to the rest of the world.

I feel… like myself

“Get out of here Rags,” Tristan tells me with a grin. She’s already turning back to her laptop, fingers typing away at a frenetic pace. “I relinquish you. You’re free. Go say hi to your girlfriend for me.”

She doesn’t have to tell me twice.

Sadie and I meet at the fall fair just after five.

The sun’s starting to dip, casting gold over the tents and hay bales.

The air smells like cider and kettle corn, and someone’s blasting old country songs from a speaker that crackles every third beat.

Sadie’s standing near the entrance, bundled in a deep green jacket and wearing one of those knitted beanies with a tiny pom on top.

Her cheeks are pink from the cold, her glasses fogging as she sips something warm.

She looks up and sees me—and her whole face lights. It hits me harder than it should. She jogs the last few steps and practically launches herself into my arms. I catch her easily, spinning her once before setting her back down.

“You came,” she says, breathless.

“W-wouldn’t miss it.”

She narrows her eyes. “Even though I said it was corny?”

“Only b-because you s-said it would b-be.”

She groans, sending me a mock glare, before leaning up to kiss my cheek.

“I’m even in weather-appropriate attire today.”

“Y-you are.”

Sadie tips her head to the side at less-than-enthusiastic look on my face. I kiss her forehead instead of explaining that I secretly liked when she gave me her scarf. The one still hanging in my closet. Or that I pathologically need to see her bundled up in layers I provide.

She laughs and tugs me toward the first row of booths.

There’s apple bobbing, face painting, a pie walk.

Kids in Halloween costumes dash between hay bales while parents hover with paper cups of cider.

The whole thing feels like a postcard from a town that only exists in stories—but Sadie belongs in it.

Somehow, so do I.

We try everything. She beats me at ring toss and gloats shamelessly. I win her a tiny stuffed fox by lobbing ping-pong balls at rubber ducks. Only succeeding by sheer stubborn goalie determination. We split a caramel apple and a paper cone of fries.

Every time she brushes my arm, I lean into it like it’s instinct. And eventually, it becomes one.

“I haven’t done anything like this since I was a kid,” she says, licking sugar off her thumb as we walk past the row of craft booths. Kids paint pumpkins, glue googly eyes on paper plate scarecrows, wind yarn around popsicle sticks to make spiderwebs . “I forgot how fun it is to just… play.”

“I think w-we forget o-o-on purpose,” I say. “So we don’t m-miss it.”

She looks at me, tilting her head. “That’s deep.”

“Sorri.”

“Don’t be. It’s true.”

We slow down near the edge of the fair, where a string of lights runs along the fence line and a small bench sits tucked under a tree.

We claim it like it’s ours. She leans against me.

I slide my arm around her shoulders. She fits like she always has.

After a minute, she pulls out her phone and snaps a photo of me.

I raise a brow. “That b-bad?”

“That good,” she says, showing me the picture. I’m mid-laugh, eyes closed, teeth showing.

She softens. “That’s what happy looks like.”

I don’t know what to say to that. She’s not wrong.

So I kiss her.

We don’t rush. We sit on that bench until the wind picks up, and she tucks her hands into my jacket pockets, pressing her cheek to my chest like she’s trying to memorize the rhythm of my heart. I wrap both arms around her, tug her closer. Breathe her in.

“Do you w-want to head b-back?” I murmur.

She nods without lifting her head. “But don’t let go yet.”

“Never.”

Eventually, we make our way to my car. The sounds fade behind us in a blur of string lights and laughter, the kind that carries through the cold.

I drive with one hand on the wheel, the other on her thigh.

She taps through the pictures she took on her phone—half of them are me. A few are Howl, one is just the sky.

“You’re g-g-good a-at that,” I say.

“At what?”

“Capturing j-joy.”

She goes still for a second, then whispers, “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

I vow to top it every day. For as long as she’ll let me.

When we pull into my driveway, neither of us moves to get out. The windows fog. The engine ticks softly as it cools.

“E-everything okay?” I ask.

She turns to face me, legs curled under her on the seat. She never just sits, always a leg up, her spine contorted. Some position that I can’t imagine feels good, but that she once told me is the only way she can get comfortable.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said. About feeling safe.”

I hold her gaze and wait.

“I’ve never had this before,” she whispers. “This… ease. Not even with people I’ve known for years.”

“You’ve g-got i-i-it now,” I say, voice just as soft.

“You do too, Ragnar.”

I reach for her hand. Lace our fingers together. No rush. No pressure. No need to perform. Just two people. Together.

The car engine is off, but I leave the heat running low.

It’s cold enough that the windows have started to fog, but neither of us moves to get out.

The porch light glows faintly ahead, warm and familiar.

Howl’s face appears in the front living room window, pushing away the curtains before he ducks out of sight again.

Probably going back to sleep in the comfort of the warm house.

Sadie’s quiet beside me. Not her usual kind of quiet—this one’s heavy. Thoughtful. Her hands are tucked into the sleeves of her coat, and she keeps looking out the windshield like the trees in my front yard might have answers.

“I think I want to search for them.”

I turn toward her.

“My birth family? I’ve been thinking about it for a while now. Not even because I need them to be something—or anyone—but I think… I just want to know. Even if it’s nothing. Even if it’s terrible.”

She doesn’t look at me, and I know it’s not because she doesn’t want to. It’s because she’s scared, nervous. Trying to own this one thing she wants without letting my reaction color her need.

“They might not want to meet me,” she says quietly. “Or they might say awful things. They might be dead. Or—” her voice hitches, “but I want to try. To know.”

I reach over and wrap my hand around hers. It’s cold, a little shaky. I warm it with mine.

“Sadie,” I say, low, “w-whatever they s-s-say o-or do has n-nothing to do w-w-with who you are. It is n-not and w-w-will never be o-on you.”

She blinks hard, but doesn’t look away this time.

“You a-are not their m-mistakes. Or their shame. O-or their absence. You’re y-y-you, Sadie Jones, a-and you’re extraordinary.”

She gives me a watery smile, like she wants to believe me but hasn’t figured out how yet.

“I just don’t want to break,” she whispers.

“You w-won’t.” My voice comes out firmer than I expect. “Even if it h-h-hurts. You’ve already s-survived worse. You’ve b-built a whole l-life out of pieces n-no one g-g-gave you instructions for. If you go l-looking, it’s not weakness. It’s s-strength. It’s a choice.”

And I will not let her break. Not ever. Not without picking up all the pieces so she can put them back in place. I let a breath out through my nose.

“And i-if you want t-t-to stop, y-you can. If it’s too m-much, I’ll be r-right here. If it’s b-beautiful, I’ll be right h-here. If it’s both… I’ll still be r-r-right here.”

Tears slip down her cheeks, but she’s not hiding them. Not ducking her face, or blotting them with her sleeve. She’s letting them fall. Letting me see.

She turns to me, voice wobbly but steady. “You make me feel braver.”

I smile, throat tight. “You a-are brave all on y-your own. I just g-get to witness it.”

We sit like that for a while, hands entwined between us, the fog curling thicker on the windows. The driveway feels like its own little world.

Howl’s face appears in the window again, and even from this distance and the car between us, we can hear his annoyed yip.

She wipes her cheek with her sleeve. “I love—” losing the last word on a hiccup.

“I know,” I say, teasing gently. “He’s h-hard to resist.”

Her eyes flick toward me, warm with something bigger than a joke.

“I meant you,” she says, softly. And just like that, I’m breathless.

“I k-know,” I whisper back, voice cracking a little. “ ég elska tig líka”

I love you too.