"I want to tell you what happened with Coach Savard," I say. "The real version, not the TikTok version."
My mom reaches for my dad's hand. He takes it and squeezes.
I tell them. Not every detail, because Rosie is here, but enough. How Savard made me feel special when I was sixteen. How the attention shifted over time, so gradually that I couldn't see it happening. The comments about my body. The way he isolated me from everyone else until he was the only voice I trusted.
I tell them about the fight before Nationals. I use euphemistic language since Rosie is still here, telling them about how I tried to push back and he called me ungrateful. And the last thing I say is that I went outon the ice twenty minutes later and missed the jump. I don't tell them the specific physical details.
My mom still ugly cries. She wipes away her tears with a tissue she pulls from her purse, her other hand still gripping my dad's. She doesn't interrupt me. For once in her life, my mom just listens.
My dad doesn't say anything for a long time after I finish. He stares at a spot on the coffee table and I can see the muscles in his jaw working. He's not angry in the loud way that Beck was. He's angry in the way that dads get when they realize they failed to protect their kid.
He realizes, maybe, that there's no way to go back and fix it.
The silence stretches until it's almost unbearable. Rosie peels another sticker and places it carefully on my forearm. A sparkly purple butterfly, right on my wrist.
"Pretty," she announces.
"Very pretty," I tell her.
“Mollie. I’m… I’m so sorry. We both are. I’m just devastated,” my mom says, sniffling.
I look at my parents and offer what I can. "You raised me to say no. Whatever else happened, I had enough backbone to push back when it mattered. He tried to take it further, and I stopped him." I swallow. "I didn't have the words for what was happening at the time. I didn't know how to tell you. But the reason it didn't go further is because you raised a girl who knew that something was wrong, even when the person doing it was someone she trusted."
My mom's face crumples. My dad blinks hard and clears his throat.
What I offer them isn’t forgiveness. They should have been paying closer attention and we all know it. But it's the past.
All we can do now is try to navigate around it and do better in the future.
Alex's arm drapes across my shoulders. His hand finds the back of my neck and his thumb traces a slow circle against my skin, steady and warm. He doesn't say anything. He's been quiet through the whole conversation, letting me lead, letting my family process it at their own speed. But his body beside mine says everything I need him to say.
After a few minutes, he leans forward and looks at Beck. "So… are you going to be cool about me dating your sister, or not?"
The directness of it catches everyone off guard. My mom blinks. My dad's eyebrows shoot up. Beck, who has been sitting in the armchair with his arms crossed and his jaw set for the entire conversation, drops his head and stares at his hands.
Beck frowns. "I can't just flip a switch and be fine with it, Thorne. You lied to me. For months."
"I did,” Alex says. “And I’m sorry about that. I really am.”
I release a sigh. “Alex wanted to tell you right away. The reason he didn’t was because I asked him not to. I was selfish and wanted to enjoy ourselves a little first.” I bite my lip. “I’m still not sorry about it.”
Beck lifts his head and looks at me instead of Alex. "I also know that you got ignored a lot. By me, by our parents, by everybody who was supposed to be watching out for you." His throat bobs as his gaze flicks to Alex. "I'm glad someone has her interests at heart. Even if that someone is a pain in my ass."
Alex nods. "I can work with that."
Rosie's tummy grumbles loud enough for everyone to hear. She looks down at her stomach and then up at me with an expression of deep betrayal.
"I think we should eat," I announce. "Before this one stages a revolution."
"I could throw some steaks and chicken on the grill," Alex says, already standing. "There's salad stuff in the fridge, and potatoes we can prep."
“You got a grill?” My dad perks up at the mention of grilling. "I'll help."
"Excellent. Dan, you're on steak duty." Alex claps my dad's shoulder and steers him toward the kitchen. "Beck, can you scrub and microwave the potatoes and get them ready for the grill?"
Beck catches the bag of potatoes Alex tosses them one-handed, because he's still a professional athlete even when he's sulking. "Fine."
My mom and I claim the kitchen counter and start assembling a salad. She washes lettuce while I slice tomatoes and cucumbers. Gordie positions himself directly underfoot in case anyone drops something edible, which my dad does twice within the first three minutes.
