Page 115 of Love is a Game

“Everyone has an equal chance at happiness, Tuck. But only if they decide to actually go after it. You gotta take the time to figure out what the hell you’re chasing.”

A heavy pause.

Then Mason presses again, his voice quieter but no less insistent.

“You can’t win a fight if you don’t even know what you’re fighting for.”

I stop pacing, my grip tightening around my phone.

“So, Tuck. What are you fighting for? Because I’d bet my last dime it goes way beyond just donating sperm.”

I don’t answer. Because I don’t know how to.

Didn’t I wage a decent fight already? Isn’t there a point where you have to accept defeat? When you weigh up the odds, balance the possibilities against the barriers, and realize the math just doesn’t work?

A loud crackling noise breaks through my thoughts. Then, the announcement echoes overhead and the waiting area comes to life as people stir, gathering their things.

“What was that?” Mason asks, a note of suspicion creeping in. “Wait a second, are you—?”

“Yep.” I glance at the gate. “That’s my flight being called. I’m going back to the city.”

Chapter 34

Penelope

From the fetal position on the couch, I find myself cocooned in my mother’s bed. Curled into her pastel sheets, my knees pressed to my stomach, and my hands fisted—as if with that tension, I can physically hold myself together.

I let the shadow of her presence wrap around me. The indent of her against this mattress, the pillow where I bury my face. Whatever is left of her, I draw into my lungs, trying to ease the burn of my heart. If I just stay still enough, quiet enough, maybe I can find space between the crushing waves of self-hatred.

Where does it live, this warped self-esteem of mine? Is it in my mind, my bones, my soul? Because whatever foundation it’s built on is about as stable as Jell-O.

I accepted Tuck’s attention like a gambler on a winning streak: reckless, greedy, convinced it would never run out. Used him as a buffer against the emptiness, as if I deserved even a fraction of the effort he poured into me.

Like, who do I think I am? For god’s sake, I got naked in a spa room with Mia Madson—I know exactly where I rank. I’m not the most beautiful, not the smartest, not the most talented. Definitely not the easiest woman to deal with.

And yet, I took it all for granted. Even when he walked away, I let nearly a whole day slip by before going to apologize.

Only to find out from Susan—wearing an expression filled with vivid disappointment—that it’s too late.

He’s gone. He left. Without me.

I should be satisfied. This is what I wanted, right? I’m the one who pushed Tuck to this—laughed off his efforts, shut him down, made sure he knew exactly how replaceable he was. As if he deserved less respect for believing in me. For wanting me.

There’s no excuse. I’m fucked up. Broken beyond repair. Because what kind of person does this? Rejects something good, something real, then acts surprised when it’s gone?

I curl deeper into the bed, sinking into my past. My mother always told me to fend for myself. To reject boys’ advances. To never rely on anyone. And maybe that shaped me. Left a mark. But it runs deeper than that.

Am I really so textbook? Just another case study in fatherless daughters with intimacy issues?

A sharp heat flares in my stomach, anger taking root, spreading through my limbs.

Why?

That was always the first question.

Why didn’t my father love me enough? To ever wonder if I was okay? If I was safe? If I was happy? Time passed. No answers. So I made up my own. It must’ve been me. Something I did, something I lacked.

It crept in, always. On birthdays, holidays—those moments when people are supposed to feel loved, celebrated. Instead, I felt invisible.

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