Page 158 of Scrum Heat

“No,” I shake my head. “You’ve got the kind of light that makes people uncomfortable. That’s not on you.”

She doesn’t answer, so I keep going.

“Sometimes it takes strength to stay and fight. But sometimes...” I pause. “Sometimes the bravest thing is just knowing when to stop giving something your attention. When to leave.”

Her brow furrows slightly, eyes flicking to mine.

“You leave the comments,” I say. “You stop scrolling and torturing yourself with it. You post, and then you walk away. That’s not giving up. That’s calling time on something that hurts you.”

She blinks.

“It’s not weakness,” I say. “It’s survival. And it’s smart.”

She exhales, then she leans her head against my shoulder.

“I didn’t want to look soft,” she whispers.

“You’re not.”

“I didn’t want to disappoint anyone.”

“You won’t.”

She looks up at me. “How do you know?”

I reach up and touch her cheek, thumb brushing just under her eye.

“Because you’re still here,” I say simply. “And nothing’s broken you yet.”

Her eyes fill, but she doesn’t cry. Not really.

She just lets out a laugh—barely there—then she lies back on the grass beside me, and our fingers find each other again.

And for a while, we stay like that.

Connected. Grounded.

And, finally, quiet.

*

The sun’s dropped lower now.

There’s a glow across the fence, long streaks of gold catching on the tips of the grass and the line of Frankie’s shoulder. She’s still lying beside me, one hand in mine, the other resting lightly on her stomach.

We haven’t said much since the last words settled between us. We didn’t need to.

It’s quiet. The good kind.

Until the back door creaks, and Finn stumbles out, barefoot, holding a bowl of strawberries in one hand…

And a bag of shredded cheese in the other.

“What in the domestic hell are you doing?” Frankie calls.

He grins. “We didn’t have whipped cream, okay? Don’t come for my innovation.”

I blink. “Cheese?”

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