Page 35 of The Pucking Date (Defenders Diaries #3)

EVEN NOW

JESSICA

B y the time I make it to Sophie and Liam’s apartment, night has settled in, the city humming below their high-rise in a restless, sleepless thrum.

I’ve been holding myself together with pure willpower for twelve hours.

Now, standing in their hallway, I finally feel safe enough to fall apart.

I step inside and kick off my heels with a groan—part exhaustion, part soul-deep ache.

The place smells faintly like lavender from Sophie’s diffuser. Liam’s not home; he drove to Brooklyn to have dinner with his parents. Sophie stayed behind. For me. Didn’t say it, but I know. And I’m grateful.

Sophie’s curled up on the couch in leggings and a Columbia sweatshirt, nestled under a throw blanket.

She holds her mug in both hands, the picture of calm.

She glances up when I walk in, her expression all concern and restraint—no pity, which is probably the only reason I don’t burst into tears on the spot.

“You look like you went to war,” she says gently.

“I did.” I wrestle out of my blazer, the silk blouse underneath clinging to my skin in a tragic homage to sweat and stress.

She gestures to the cushion beside her. “Tea’s still hot. You need something soothing and non-lethal.”

I drop onto the couch and reach for the mug with both hands. It’s warm. The scent is soft and floral. Chamomile. It’s the first thing today that hasn’t made my chest ache.

“Did you tell him?” Sophie speaks carefully, her tone that usually comes right before something messy.

“‘That isn’t exactly what happened. But he knows.”

She doesn’t press. Just waits, calm, clinical, gently terrifying. It’s both reassuring and wildly annoying. But she’s the only person who feels safe right now, so I take the bait.

“I was about to tell him everything. The moment was perfect, he’d just fucked me senseless, we were still half-asleep, and he’d forgotten the condom. He asked if I was on anything.”

I take a long sip of tea. “I had the words. They were right there. Hovering. And then my phone buzzed. Again. And I picked it up. It was Joy telling me Under Armour signed. The Defenders matched.”

I glance down at the mug. Steam curls around my face like it’s trying to comfort me. Spoiler: it fails.

Sophie doesn’t blink. Just sips her tea.

“And when I finally get off the phone and turn around, he’s holding my prenatal vitamin.

They must have slipped out of my bag while I was fishing for my phone.

Jaw clenched, eyes flat and furious, nothing soft left in them,” I grind out.

“One second, I’m flying high—he stays in New York, we’ll figure this out together.

The next, he’s holding that bottle like I’ve ripped his spine out. ”

My throat closes. I swallow hard.

“He didn’t yell. He didn’t even move. He just stood there, asking me if I was ever going to say anything. If I was just waiting to see which jersey he picked before I decided whether he was worth it.”

Sophie’s face sharpens—brows pinched, lips tight—but she doesn’t interrupt.

“I told him I didn’t want to be the reason he stayed.

That I wasn’t trying to hijack his career or back him into a corner.

” I let out a laugh, tight and bitter. “And I actually thought I was being generous. Mature. Protecting him from making a decision he’d resent later.

” I pause because the truth is heavier now that I’ve said it out loud.

“I was afraid he’d choose me and regret it. So I took his agency.”

My chest tightens.

“He came out of the gate campaigning to be my guy and never let up. Not subtle about it, either, a blind person could’ve seen it.

Hell, everyone saw it. You told me. Joy told me.

Dad warned me multiple times. Jenna practically screamed it into a pillow.

” I shake my head, stunned by my own stubbornness.

“But I never let myself believe it. That someone like him could actually want me.”

“Especially not after Chad,” Sophie murmurs.

My throat tightens. “Yeah, Chad was a disaster. But Finn always showed up. Again and again. And I just kept bailing on him. Kept rewriting the story in my head to make it mean less, because the alternative was scarier. The alternative meant I had to believe I was worth that kind of love.”

The next words drag out of me. “That’s on me, not him.

Because here’s the thing, I’ve spent my whole life proving I’m good enough.

Good enough daughter. Good enough professional.

Good enough to earn love. But Finn never asked me to prove anything.

He just wanted me. And I couldn’t believe it was that simple.

Because believing it meant I could lose it.

And I was right. If I don’t think I’m lovable, if I don’t even like myself half the time, how can I expect him to get it right? ”

I sink deeper into the couch. Sophie sets her mug down and leans in, arms wrapping around me in a tight, silent hug. No, It’s okay . No, He’ll come around . Just her, steadying me while everything inside trembles.

Eventually, we separate. I exhale shakily.

“I spent the whole day pretending to be fine. I kept my smile stapled on while taking legal calls. I locked myself in the bathroom stall and dry-heaved while someone in Accounting complained about the coffee machine. I reapplied concealer over tear tracks three different times and powered through.”

She leans in slightly. “Jesus, Jess?—”

“I had to.” The words snap out. “No one knows. And if they did, it’d be hormones. I’ve built my whole career on never cracking.”

The exhaustion hits like a wave. “He texted three times today. Each one perfectly polite. Perfectly distant. Hope you’re feeling okay.

Let me know if you need anything. When is your next doctor appointment?

” I murmur, almost inaudible, air quoting.

“No Red . No teasing or flirting. Like I’m a responsibility he’s managing instead of the woman he was inside of this morning. ”

Sophie takes my hand, grounding me again. “Rest,” she says. “Let yourself fall apart for a minute. Then, when you’re ready, figure out what comes next.”

My chest caves in first, like something vital has been scooped out. Then the tears hit fast. No warning, no buildup. Just a full-system collapse.

One second I’m upright, sipping tea. The next, I’m folded into the couch, shoulders shaking, breath coming in wet, uneven bursts. My hands cover my face, and for the first time all day, I stop pretending.

Sophie doesn’t speak. She doesn’t try to fix it. She just shifts beside me, holding my hand with one of hers and rubbing slow circles over my back with the other.

I don’t know how long we stay like that—quiet, tangled, my shame and regret leaking into her throw blanket—but eventually, the sound of keys in the door cuts through.

The lock clicks. The door swings open.

Liam’s voice calls out, bright and happy. “Hey, I talked to Mom. Dinner was great. They missed you, Soph. Said it wasn’t the same without your clinical dissection of the wine list.” He pauses. “Also, Erin crushed Vienna. We FaceTimed from backstage before the encore.”

Then he sees me. I hear him pause in the entryway. There’s a beat of silence before he lowers his voice, crossing to Sophie.

“What’s going on?” he murmurs, the shift immediate.

Sophie leans into him, keeps her voice low. “She told Finn this morning. It didn’t go well.”

Another beat. No follow-up questions. Just quiet understanding clicking into place. Liam moves toward me, unhurried and steady. His voice is soft when he speaks.

“Hey, Jess.”

I try to sit up, wipe my face, salvage some version of dignity, but my limbs won’t cooperate. My phone buzzes. I glance at the screen.

Finn: You okay? Just checking in.

I stare at the screen until it blurs. This morning, he would have written “How you feelin’, Red?” or “Missing you already.” Now it’s a wellness check .

I start typing I miss you and delete it. Type I’m sorry and delete it. Type I love you and delete it. Type Come home to me and delete it. Type Please and stare at that single word until my vision blurs, then delete that too.

In the end, I don’t respond at all. Because what’s the point of saying “I love you” to someone who’s already decided I don’t?

My phone slips from numb fingers. The sound it makes hitting the coffee table is too loud in the quiet, like something breaking that can’t be fixed.

Liam crouches down in front of me and, without a word, slips one arm behind my back and the other beneath my knees. Then he lifts me. I melt into his chest, exhausted and shaking.

He doesn’t ask questions. Doesn’t offer solutions. Just holds me like I’m something precious instead of something broken. The kindness undoes me completely.

Because this is what love looks like when it’s not complicated. When someone sees you shattered and doesn’t try to fix you, just holds the pieces until you’re ready to put yourself back together.

He carries me down the hall to the spare bedroom and lowers me onto the mattress.

The comforter smells like clean laundry and quiet.

He pulls it over me, tucks it in. Sophie appears a moment later with water and tissues.

She sets them on the nightstand, smoothing the hair from my forehead with a touch that cracks me open all over again.

Liam leans down, brushes a gentle hand over my shoulder. “We’ve got you, Jess. Sleep.”

I want to say “thank you.” I want to say “sorry.” But all I can manage is a broken nod.

Sophie slips under the covers beside me, warm and solid, tucking the blanket tighter around us both .

“He loves you, you know. Even now. Even after everything,” she whispers in the dark. “That’s the tragedy, not that he stopped loving you, but that you never believed he could.”

And that’s when I finally break. Because I do know. I’ve always known.

That’s what makes this so much worse.

And then I let go. I close my eyes and fall into the kind of sleep that only comes when you’ve finally hit the bottom, and your sister’s right there holding the net with both hands.