Page 39 of Pieces

“You have options here,” Liv says. “We can talk about them when you’re ready, but I don’t want you to think you’re stuck, because you aren’t. You have a choice.”

I know exactly what she means, but as soon as the thought crosses my mind, I want to throw up again. “Liv, there’s no way. I can’t do that. I can’t do anything, any of it.”

“Oh babe…”

Then my phone begins to buzz again. It’s a text from Finn that I can’t read properly, but I’m guessing he’s feeling some kind of way. I can’t even fathom talking to him at the moment.

Tears flow freely, streaming down my face, my shoulders shaking as I collapse fully onto the bed. “I don’t even know where to start.”

Liv leans closer to the screen, her voice softening. “You don’t have to figure it all out right now. First step? You breathe. Second? We sit down and make a plan when you’re ready. But tonight, you don’t have to do anything except feel whatever you’re feeling.”

I nod weakly, wiping at my face again. “I just… I feel so stupid, Liv. How could I let this happen? I’m always so careful and meticulous, and we even used protection, both times. I don’t understand.” I’ve built my life around control, planners, carefully balanced classes, everything perfectly aligned. And now, one night, one moment, has thrown it all into chaos.

“You’re not stupid. You’re human. Stuff happens, and it’s messy and complicated, but it doesn’t mean you’re stupid. You made a mistake. Welcome to the club. We all do.”

I let out a humorless laugh, the sound is broken. “This is bigger than a mistake, Liv. My whole life is changing.”

“You’re exhausted, and you’ve been through a lot today. Tomorrow, we’ll talk more, and we’ll figure out what’s next.”

My head feels too heavy to argue. “Okay.”

“Call me if you need me,” she says. “Doesn’t matter what time it is.”

“I will,” I murmur.

She pauses, studying my face for a moment before giving me a comforting smile. “Love you, Daph. You’re going to be okay.”

As the call ends, I’m left alone in the quiet of my dorm room. The test still sits on the bed beside me, a glaring reminder of choices I can’t take back and all the ones I’ll have to make going forward. Things I never thought to plan for.

I lie back on the bed, staring at the ceiling as the emotions swirl and settle in a way I can’t name. I’m too tired to sort through them now, too overwhelmed to make sense of what any of this means.

All I know is that everything has changed, and I’m not sure how I feel about it.

Chapter eighteen

Hudson

Sometimesongameday,you wake up and you justknowthe win is yours. Your body feels lighter, sharper, like it was built for this moment. And sometimes, like today, before the game even really gets started, you can feel the universe tilting the wrong way.

The first ten minutes against Washington felt like that tilt. Sloppy passes, missed assignments, their defense moving like they knew the playbook better than we did.

I’m pacing the sideline, my helmet tucked under my arm, already sweating beneath the rare winter sun. I’m supposed to be locked in, focused, but instead, I’m thinking about how their quarterback, some hotshot freshman, is shredding us with short, clean passes like he’s been doing it his whole life. Fucking rookies, man.

Seb jogs off the field after another stalled drive, yanking his chin strap loose. His jaw is tight, and he doesn’t look at anyone as he grabs a water bottle. I slap him on the shoulder as he passes me.

“Don’t let them in your head, Captain,” I say as he sits, squirting water into his mouth.

Seb swallows the water, then spits it out into the grass like it tastes as bad as this game feels. “They’re not in my head,” he snaps, though his clenched jaw and the way he grips the bottle says otherwise.

I sit next to him on the bench, resting my helmet on my knees. “Yeah, well, tell your face that.” I keep my voice low enough that Coach doesn’t hear.

Seb shoots me a look, but there’s no real heat in it. He’s frustrated, same as the rest of us, but he’s carrying it harder. He always does. Being quarterback isn’t just about throwing the ball; it’s about keeping the team together when shit hits the fan. And right now, the fan is working overtime.

“You think I don’t see it?” Seb says after a moment, voice sharp but quieter now. “We’re getting smoked, man.”

I glance at the scoreboard. He’s not wrong. We’re down two touchdowns, and the second quarter isn’t even over yet. The hotshot freshman has been lighting up our defense like a Fourth of July sparkler, and our offense can’t seem to find a rhythm. It’s a bad day to be wearing our jersey.

“We’ve been here before,” I say calmly, like I believe the words. “It’s just a slow start. We’ll turn it around.”

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