SYMPATHY FOR THE DEVIL, J.HUGHES

FIFTY EIGHT

I enter the apartment with grocery bags in hand, and they're not even mine. It's their crap. The Hughes grocery haul of the week. I know this seems a bit pathetic, but I find doing the grocery shopping super therapeutic. Like, walking around with a list and thinking about all the meals I can whip up for them, for us. 'Cause at this point, we're basically a family. Gab's been hanging around too sometimes, but she just started her new job and now she's been busy with that.

The boys are yelling at the TV like little kids, controllers in hand. When they spot me struggling with the heavy bags, they both jump up and rush over, grabbing them out of my hands. I giggle, letting them do their thing.

My eyes catch their concerned looks, and Luke's the first to speak. "You okay?"

"Yeah, seriously, give these to us. Go relax, babe," Jack adds, his voice soft in a way that makes my heart do this stupid little flip. Like, who knew this boy could sound so gentle?

"You guys, I'm not about to die," I laugh, though it comes out more like a sigh. Yeah, for some, the word cancer sounds like a death sentence, but in my case, it's not. I'm not dying.

They both exchange worried glances, and I know I scared them. I feel like absolute shit about it. Like, words can't even describe how bad I feel.

The day after Nico's birthday, we all sat at the table. I'd barely slept, while Jack had finally knocked out once we got into bed. Poor guy sobbed until he passed out like a baby. His cries just drained him.

So the next morning, we're all around the table—Jack, Luke, Gab, and me. And out of nowhere, Luke goes, "Fuck, for a sec when I walked into the kitchen and saw the look on Thomas' face, I thought I was about to hear you guys were screwing each other."

Gab lost her shit at him for that, literally slapped him upside the head. I was too foggy to even process what he'd said at the time. It wasn't until a day later, when I was replaying everything in my mind, that it hit me. I stormed into his room and beat the hell out of him. He gave me those stupid puppy eyes and said, "I swear I never doubted you for a sec, I just thought like a guy with a dick," you fucking piece of shit.

Anyway, back to the present. I told them everything—every single detail from the day I found out. Jack held my hand the entire time, and I swear, it felt like I could finally breathe. Like I could actually trust him with this. Even if shit went down when I was seventeen, I still can't figure out why Jack did what he did to me. But now? Now I know that things aren't the same. Everything's different. Our love is different. Better, stronger, and forever.

"I'm not going to die," I repeat, my eyes flicking between them.

"I hope so," Jack mumbles, his voice laced with that awkward humor he can't help but resort to. He's got this weird habit of laughing at shit that's anything but funny, and honestly, I kinda dig it.

I settle into the couch, letting the boys finish unpacking the groceries. Jack's still hovering, though, his eyes darting to me every few seconds like I might disappear if he looks away too long. It's cute, but also a little annoying. I know he's worried, but damn, I'm not a fragile doll. I've been through worse shit than this.

Luke's tossing bags of chips and cereal onto the counter, trying to act like he's not watching me too. He's always been the quiet one, the thinker. But when he finally speaks, it's like a punch to the gut every time.

"So, what's the plan, M?" he asks, turning to lean against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. "You gonna keep us all in the loop, or are we just along for the ride?"

I roll my eyes, but there's no bite behind it. "I'm not planning on making this some big drama, Luke. It's under control. I'm doing what the doctors tell me, I'm taking care of myself. You don't have to babysit me."

Jack drops a carton of eggs into the fridge a little too hard, making me wince. "We're not babysitting you, Morgan. We just don't want you to shut us out. We're in this together, remember?"

I lean back into the cushions, rubbing my temples. "Yeah, I know. But you guys have your own lives to live. I'm not trying to drag you down with my things."

Jack shakes his head, a little smirk playing on his lips. "Alright, whatever you say."

Our eyes lock, and there it is—that look he gives when he's about to dig his heels in. It sends a shiver down my spine, the kind that makes it clear he doesn't give a damn what I'm thinking.

That's the thing about Jack. He's stubborn as hell, like, if stubbornness was an Olympic sport, he'd have gold medals hanging from his neck. It's that classic Taurus vibe—rigid, unyielding, always thinking he's right. And honestly? It's infuriating, but it's also why I love him. He doesn't back down, even when he probably should.

I still haven't answered Nico's text. Captain of the team or not, he's just gonna have to wait. He shot me a message at the end of the party, probably trying to check in after the boys decided to make a not-so-subtle exit. They thought they were being discreet, but obviously, they weren't. And I guess Luke showing up back at the party with his eyes all red and puffy was a dead giveaway that something was up. Poor bastard didn't even stay—just grabbed Gab and left because he felt off after dropping us home. Poor Luke...

But here's the thing—Jack isn't mad at me. I thought he was, at first. I mean, he looked pissed, like, really pissed. But it wasn't at me, not really. He was mad that I had to go through all this shit on my own, and he felt guilty about it. Guilt that I had to erase because it wasn't his fault. I made sure he knew that. He's been carrying this weight around like it's his burden to bear, and I'm just not having it.

"Seriously, man, what about we just order for tonight?" Luke says as he stands in front of the fridge, peering inside like it's some black hole swallowing up all his ideas.

I grunt, staring at him in disbelief. Is he serious right now? What the hell? I just bought out half the damn grocery store this morning, dragging my ass through every aisle, filling the cart with enough food to feed a small army. And now he's talking about ordering takeout? After I busted my ass?

"I mean, we could definitely order pizza," Jack chimes in, glancing over Luke's shoulder, his tone way too casual for my liking.

I'm too stunned to speak. "Y'all can't be serious. We literally have enough food in here to last a week."

"Yeah, but it's not our cheat day," Luke grumbles, shifting from one hip to the other like a kid caught between wanting something and knowing he shouldn't have it.

I roll my eyes, the annoyance bubbling up in me. "We can make pizza at home for sure," I say, pushing myself up from the couch. I glance at the fridge, taking in all the fresh, vibrant vegetables I picked out with care. "I'm sure they'll love it."

And what I mean by they, it's Cole and Trev. Tomorrow, the Devils are facing the Canadiens, and the boys decided to make it a thing—a pre-game hangout with everyone. And here these idiots are, trying to bail on home-cooked food for some greasy-ass takeout.

I start pulling out ingredients, laying them out on the counter. "We can make it work. We've got everything we need right here."

Jack and Luke exchange a look, and I can see it in their eyes—they know better than to argue with me on this. They know when I've made up my mind, that's it. We're doing homemade pizza, and they're going to enjoy every damn bite, even if it kills them.