Whispered Promises

Chapter 33 - Winter's Chill, Family's Warmth

Josy's POV

New York's skyline looms ahead as the plane begins its descent. The city is blanketed in snow, and the icy, winter air seems to creep through the windows even at 30,000 feet. I tug my coat tighter around me, trying to imagine the warmth of the West Coast.

Marques is waiting for me at the arrivals gate, leaning heavily on crutches, his leg still stiff from the injury that cut his football season short. He grins as I approach, his boyish face lighting up despite the obvious discomfort.

"Look who decided to grace us with her presence," he says, pulling me into a one-armed hug.

"Missed you too, bro," I reply, squeezing him back.

Marques laughs as he starts limping toward the parking lot. "You sure you didn't just come back to check on your favorite sibling?"

I roll my eyes. "Oh, yeah. I came all this way just to watch you limp around like an old man."

We walk slowly, with Marques cracking jokes about his injury. It's been a few months since the accident, but the road to recovery is longer than he anticipated, and it's clear the downtime is wearing on him.

"So, how's the leg?" I ask as we reach his car.

He shrugs. "Doc says it'll take time, but I'll be back on the field before long. It's the mental part that sucks. I'm used to playing, not sitting on the sidelines."

We load my luggage into the back, and as he pulls away from the airport, the conversation turns to our parents. Our family's townhouse is decorated for the holidays, but it feels more like a pristine hotel than a home. The scent of expensive candles and the sight of perfectly arranged holiday décor is somehow both comforting and sterile at the same time.

"How are Mom and Dad?" I ask, already dreading the answer.

"They're... around," Marques says with a sigh. "Dad's busy with the company as always, and Mom's knee-deep in country club nonsense. But they've been making more of an effort lately. It's kinda weird, honestly."

"Weird?"

"Yeah," Marques chuckles. "They're trying to be more... involved. Like, dinners every night, asking about my rehab, actually showing up to stuff. It's like they woke up and realized they have kids or something."

I laugh, but it's forced. "That's new."

"Tell me about it. It's getting annoying, though. I can't go anywhere without them asking a million questions."

I lean back in my seat, staring out the window as the city blurs by. "I'm sure they'll be all over me too."

"Oh, definitely," Marques says. "You're their little girl. Prepare to be smothered."

At the townhouse, the warm glow of chandeliers and the faint hum of classical music greet me. My mother, dressed in some designer ensemble, glides into the foyer as if she's hosting a gala instead of welcoming her daughter home.

"Josy, darling!" she coos, pulling me into a tight embrace.

"Hi, Mom," I say, feeling her arms squeeze me a little too tightly.

My father appears moments later, looking as sharp as ever in his tailored suit, though his phone is glued to his hand as always.

"Josy, good to see you," he says, giving me a brief hug before checking his phone again. "How's school?"

"It's good, Dad. Busy."

We make our way into the living room, and I can't help but feel a sense of detachment. It's like stepping into a life I don't quite belong in anymore. My parents are trying, I'll give them that. But it's hard to shake the years of distance.

Over the next few days, my parents hover more than usual, and it feels suffocating. Marques and I retreat into our sibling banter, our shared jokes and stories a refuge from the sudden flood of parental attention.

"Remember that time Mom tried to make us go skiing, and you broke your arm?" Marques teases as we sit in the kitchen one evening.

"Uh, yeah," I laugh. "Because you dared me to go down the steepest slope!"

"Hey, I didn't think you'd actually do it!" Marques grins, grabbing a cookie from the tray in front of us.

We fall into easy conversation, the kind we've perfected over years of sibling bickering and mutual understanding. But there's something on my mind that I haven't mentioned yet. Jackson.

I miss him. More than I thought I would. The fake relationship we concocted has become something else, something more. We've been texting and calling more than I expected for a "fake" couple.

"Still texting Jackson?" Marques asks casually, popping another cookie into his mouth.

I nearly choke on my coffee. "What? Yeah, sometimes."

Marques gives me a knowing look. "Sometimes? Josy, you've been glued to your phone since you got here."

I feel my face heat up. "It's not like that. We're just... keeping up appearances."

Marques raises an eyebrow. "Uh-huh. Sure. 'Keeping up appearances' by texting him all day and FaceTiming him at night? You might want to rethink that strategy, sis."

"Shut up," I say, swatting his arm. "It's not that serious."

Marques leans back in his chair, his tone softening. "Look, I know you and Jackson have this whole fake thing going on, but I've known the guy for a long time. He's not exactly the relationship type, you know? I don't want you to get hurt."

I bite my lip, his words hitting closer to home than I care to admit. "It's fine. I know what I'm doing."

"I hope so," Marques says, his eyes full of concern. "Just... be careful."

Later that night, after the usual family dinner where my parents try too hard to connect, I retreat to my room. My phone buzzes almost immediately, and a familiar name lights up the screen. Jackson.

Jackson: "How's New York treating you? Missed me today?"

I smile, despite myself.

Josy: "It's cold. And my parents are... well, my parents."

Jackson: "Sounds fun. Miss you though."

The conversation flows easily, like it always does. Jackson tells me about how Rocco (his dog) has been running wild, and how his mom keeps pestering him about "future plans." I laugh, but there's a strange warmth in my chest when I read his messages.

Jackson: "Can't wait till you're back. Fake or not, it's weird without you here."

Josy: "Yeah... same here."

I stare at the screen for a long moment after his message, trying to process what I'm feeling. Is it possible that this fake relationship has turned into something real? And if it has, what does that mean for us?

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