The ointment smell was still hanging in the air when my mom appeared.
Mrs. May.
She leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, eyes doing that thing where they scan a room and immediately know something went wrong.
"Jake," she said calmly.
Too calmly. "Why do you look like you lost a fight with your reflection?"
I almost laughed. Almost.
Jake shifted on the couch, wincing. "I tripped."
"Into a wall?" my mom asked.
"A very aggressive one."
She sighed, already walking toward the freezer. "Ice. Sit. Don't move."
That's when my mouth betrayed me.
"I invited him."
She stopped mid-step.
Slowly—dangerously slowly—she turned around. "Invited who?"
I swallowed. "Mr. Ronson. My dad."
Jake's head snapped toward me. "You did what?"
"I invited him to my competition," I said, trying to sound casual and failing miserably. "He said he'd come."
Jake pushed himself upright. "Why would you do that?"
My mom's voice went sharp. "Ayana. Why would you bring him back into our lives?"
"I'm not bringing him back," I said quickly. "It's just… one night. He's my dad."
"If he wanted to be here," she shot back, "he would've been here already."
Jake nodded, jaw tight. "She's not wrong."
That stung.
I felt heat rise in my chest. "Why are you both acting like he's some kind of disease?" I demanded. "Why does everyone refuse him?"
My mom snapped.
"BECAUSE HE'S A CRIMINAL."
The word hit hard.
Loud.
Final.
"He left us for money," she continued, voice shaking now.
"He took ours too. Everything. And then—" she let out a bitter laugh, "then his company became successful."
I stared at the floor.
Suddenly very interested in a crack in the tile.
"So no," she said. "You don't get to invite him back like none of that happened."
Silence stretched.
Then she exhaled, long and tired. "Don't bring him back into our lives," she said quietly.
"If he wanted to come back, he would have."
She walked away down the hall, leaving the sentence hanging like unfinished homework.
I stood there, arms crossed, heart pounding.
After a moment, I looked at Jake. "So… what actually happened to you?" I asked softly.
"You don't bruise this creatively by tripping."
He didn't answer.
Just shook his head once.
Then he stood, grabbed his jacket, and headed for the door.
"Jake—"
He paused, hand on the handle.
"Some doors," he said quietly, "are closed for a reason."
Then he left.
The door clicked shut.
I stood alone in the living room, surrounded by silence, ointment smells, and truths nobody wanted to say out loud.
Great.
Glow-up day: successful.
Family drama: unlocked
--
I lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling like it had answers. It didn't. Just a crack shaped like a question mark and my mom's voice on loop.
He's a criminal.
The word echoed, dramatic, judgmental—like it deserved background music.
Why was Jake bruised?
Did he fight someone? Gravity? His own bad decisions? My fingers twitched, itching to call him.
To ask.
To demand.
But no. Jake never picked up when it mattered.
Jake was nothing, of course.
I grabbed my phone, scrolling through my contacts.
Nena? Nope.
Absolutely not.
She'd panic, then panic louder, then post memes about it. Possibly both at the same time.
Mom? Absolutely not.
Jake? Again—nothing.
Liam.
I hesitated, then hit call.
"Hello?" His voice sounded wrecked.
Tired in a way that felt heavy, like sleep had given up on him days ago.
"Hi… Liam."
"Yes, Ayana," he said. "It's the middle of the night. I'm exhausted. Like zombie‑who's-been-zombified-too-long exhausted. I've been tired all week."
I blinked at the ceiling. "Wait—why? Is it… Emma?"
A soft chuckle.
Low. Brief. "Not Emma. Someone else. Someone you don't forget."
My throat tightened. "Oh. I—never mind then."
"Go to sleep, Ayana," he said, calm and firm. "Seriously. Good night."
The call ended.
I stared at my phone like it had personally offended me.
That was it? No lecture. No questions. No digging. Just—done.
And somehow… it worked.
His voice—steady, slightly annoyed, real—cut through everything like a clean blade. No drama.
No chaos.
I dropped the phone onto my chest, closed my eyes, and pictured Liam standing there with his arms crossed, giving me that I warned you look I didn't ask for but definitely deserved.
For once, the night didn't feel heavy.
Just quiet. A little ridiculous. And somehow… that was enough.
-
Morning came too fast. I don't think I really slept at all.
I dragged myself out of bed and into the bathroom, brushing my teeth on autopilot, splashing water on my face like it might reset my brain.
It didn't.
I pulled on a cardigan, a simple shirt, high‑waisted jeans—safe choices for a day I already didn't want to face.
I let my long blonde hair fall loose down my back, grabbed my bag, and turned my head—
Pain exploded behind my eyes.
I hissed, pressing my fingers to my temple.
Great.
Either the headache was from not sleeping… or my body was officially protesting school.
Probably both.
I stepped into the living room.
"Mom?" I called.
No answer.
Her bag was still there, though, tossed near the door like she'd rushed out. I moved into the kitchen and stopped short.
Pancakes. Still warm.
Sitting neatly on the counter.
Next to them, a folded piece of paper.
You better eat this. Mom forced me to make it.
I snorted.
"Of course," I muttered. Jake.
I sat down and started eating, chewing slowly, my thoughts already spiraling.
A criminal.
The word surfaced again, unwelcome and heavy.
How was I even supposed to ask Mr. Ronson about that? Just walk up and say,
Hey, so… were you arrested or is my mom being dramatic?
And how would I even see him?
Maybe I could look for him at his company.
He was the CEO—or… the old CEO.
Former CEO.
Something like that.
I let out a soft, humorless laugh, then sighed, pushing the plate away.
Nothing about today felt simple.
And somehow, it hadn't even really started yet.