Chapter 47 THE AFTERMATH

Chapter 47 THE AFTERMATH
RYAN

The notification counter on my phone hasn't stopped climbing.
It's been less than twenty-four hours since I posted the Achilles video, and the comments keep flooding in—hundreds of them. Some from old track teammates, some from total strangers. Messages from people sharing their own stories about recovery, injury, burnout. A girl from UCLA wrote, "Thank you for saying this out loud. I tore my ACL last year and thought I was the only one who couldn't move on." Even a few coaches and therapists from other schools chiming in, saying how much they love Achilles and what it stands for.
It's overwhelming—but in the best way. For once, it's not about gossip or speculation or who I'm dating. It's about something that matters.
I'm curled up on the couch in Sean's hoodie, scrolling through the messages, half smiling, half stunned, when my phone lights up with Fynn across the screen.
I swipe to answer. "Wow, the prodigal brother calls."
"Hey, careful," he says, his voice warm but teasing. "You might guilt me into calling more often."
I grin. "You should, you know...I don't bite."
"Depends who you ask. Anyway, I saw your video."
My stomach does a quick somersault. "Oh God. You too?"
"'Oh God'? Ry, it was great." I can hear him moving around—probably pacing in his sleek office. "You sounded like yourself again. I mean, the real you. Not the some 'PR damage control' version. Not the overachiever trying to impress Dad. Just you. I miss that girl on the video."
That hits harder than I expect. "Thanks," I say quietly. "It felt good. Scary, but really good."
He hums in approval. "That's usually the sign you're doing something right."
I laugh softly, leaning back against the couch. "I actually wanted to tell you about that—Achilles. It's... special, Fynn. The people, the energy. It reminded me why I fell in love with running in the first place. I think I might volunteer with them more regularly, maybe even join the fundraising team when I'm cleared to run again."
"I love that," he says. "You needed something like that to keep your mind on recovery and thinking straight again."
"I know." My voice dips a little. "And... there's something else."
"Oh my," he says immediately. "That tone never ends with something boring."
I take a deep breath. "Sean and I have been talking about next semester. He asked if I wanted to move in with him."
There's a beat of silence on the other end. Then, "The Sean Callahan?"
I roll my eyes, smiling. "Yes, the Sean Callahan. Captain of the BU Terriers. Future Bruin. Great jawline. Terrible at folding laundry."
Fynn laughs. "Good description. And what did you say?"
"I said yes." The words come out quiet but sure. "It just feels right...And... I've been thinking about maybe not taking the Goldman internship. I don't know if that path fits me anymore, and I think it might be good to just step back for a bit. Sean thinks that might be good as well."
He hums thoughtfully, the way he always does when he's weighing a dozen arguments before speaking. "You know what, Ry? I think that's okay."
"Really?"
"Yeah. You've been sprinting your whole life—track, school, internships, trying to outpace Dad's expectations. Maybe this is the year you stop running for something and start living in it."
My throat tightens. "You make it sound easy."
He chuckles softly. "It's not. But you're allowed to choose different now. And for the record, you've got time. One more year and you'll have full access to your Trust. You could quit everything and live off Dad's allowance until then and still be fine. The man is cruel but he is never going to let his princess go broke."
"You think so? Thanks," I say dryly. "Maybe I'll retire early."
He laughs, and it's the kind of sound that fills the empty spaces between us. "Yea right... You'll figure something out. You always do."
I close my eyes, letting his words sink in. Fynn's not the emotional type—none of us McKennas really are—but when he says stuff like this, it sticks.
"Thanks, Fynn," I say softly. "For not making me feel like I'm screwing everything up."
"You're not screwing up," he says simply. "You're just finally doing something for you."
The call stretches a little longer—Fynn telling me about his newest deal, me pretending to understand half the corporate jargon he throws around—but eventually, we say our goodbyes.
"Love you, trouble," he says before hanging up, his voice softening the way it only does when he forgets to sound like our dad.
"Love you too," I whisper, even after the line clicks dead.
The house is unusually quiet except for the low hum of the fridge and the faint murmur of voices from outside. I'm still sitting there, the phone warm in my hand, when the front door creaks open.
"Ry?" Sean's voice carries down the hallway, low and familiar. A second later, he appears in the doorway, gym bag slung over his shoulder, hair damp from the shower at the rink. There's always something grounding about the sight of him—like no matter what's spinning in my head, he's the anchor pulling it back to stillness.
"Hey," I say softly. "You're back early."
He drops the bag gently near the wall and comes over, his eyes scanning my face. "Yeah, practice got cut short. You okay?"
I nod, managing a small smile. "Just talked to Fynn."
"Oh?" He sinks onto the couch beside me, close enough that our knees touch. "How's the big bro doing?"
I laugh quietly. "Still terrifyingly efficient. But... he was good. Supportive, even. I told him about Achilles, about maybe skipping Goldman this summer, and about... us."
His brows lift slightly. "Us?"
"Yeah." I meet his gaze, my chest tightening a little. "I told him about moving in together."
A small smile tugs at his mouth. "And he didn't send a cease and desist?"
"Not yet," I tease, nudging him. "Actually, he was really great about it. Said I should do whatever feels right. That maybe I've spent too much time trying to outrun expectations."
Sean's quiet for a second, then reaches over and takes my hand, his thumb tracing slow circles across my skin. "Smart guy."
"Yeah," I murmur. "I think so too."
He shifts a little, turning toward me, his voice softer now. "You know... I saw your video."
"Oh god," I groan, burying my face in my hands. "Don't say that like it's a dramatic confession."
"I'm serious," he says, laughing. "It was perfect. You were perfect, Confident, honest, brave as hell."
I peek at him between my fingers. "You think so?"
He nods, still holding my gaze. "I know so. And I meant what I said before—whatever you decide about the future, I'm in your corner. Always."
Something inside me softens, the tight coil that's been sitting there all week finally loosening.
I lean into him, resting my head against his shoulder, and he wraps his arm around me, pulling me in closer. For a while, neither of us talks. The silence isn't heavy—it's full of everything we don't need to say.
I think about Fynn's words. About the future, the uncertainty, the freedom that still feels too big to grasp. And then I think about this—Sean's steady heartbeat under my ear, the weight of his arm around me, the quiet safety of this space we've built.
Maybe I don't need all the answers yet. Maybe this—right here, right now—is enough.

〰️〰️〰️

The next morning, I wake up to the sound of chaos—which, in Hockey House terms, means normal.
Someone's burning something. Someone else is arguing about whose turn it is to unload the dishwasher. I can hear Rae's voice floating in from the living room, dangerously close to the words "study break", which means no one's studying anything.
By the time Sean and I make it downstairs, the kitchen looks like a breakfast bomb went off. Mason's at the stove flipping protein pancakes with zero spatial awareness, Ty's balancing a protein shake on top of a cereal box, and Zach's scrolling through his phone while Rae steals bites from his plate like it's a sport.
Sean slides in beside me at the counter, mug in hand. "You ready to tell them?" he murmurs under his breath, smirking like he already knows the answer.
I whisper back, "Are you?"
"Not remotely."
Before I can chicken out, Rae notices us. "Look who's alive! Morning, domestic duo."
"Morning," I say, trying to sound casual. "So... we have some news."
The entire room freezes mid-motion. Mason's spatula hovers mid-flip, Ty pauses mid-sip, Rae leans forward like she's about to watch a soap opera.
Sean clears his throat. "We're, uh... moving in together."
"Newsflash, you already live together," Ty adds.
A beat of silence.
"Oh!" Rae says.
Then chaos.
"WHAT?" Mason yells, nearly dropping the pancake. "As in, like, only you two?"
"Congrats, man," Zach says, because of course he's unflappable. He grins over the rim of his coffee. "You two trying to one-up us on couple goals?"
"We are not a couple, Zachary." Rae chimes in, then clutches her chest dramatically and looks at us. "My babies are growing up!"
Ty just whistles low. "Guess we should start a betting pool on who survives sharing a closet."
"Hey," I protest, swatting his arm, "we'll be fine. We've basically lived together already, minus the hockey gear and the roommate surveillance."
Sean nods solemnly. "Yeah, now we'll just argue over whether we need two coffee machines."
Mason perks up. "The answer's yes. Always yes."
"Thank you, pancake man," Sean says, grinning.
Rae's eyes glint mischievously. "Where are you moving? Please tell is close to campus or here, I can bother to ask Zach to drive me around."
"I told you to get a license..." He counters.
Sean pulls out his phone, opening a few saved listings. "We've been looking near the river. Decent commute to both the rink and campus, nice light, fewer frat parties per square foot."
Mason leans over his shoulder like a nosy golden retriever. "Oh, that one looks sick. Exposed brick, big windows."
"Okay, calm down, Joanna Gaines," Rae says, laughing. "You offering your decorating skills?"
He shrugs. "I have taste."
Zach, without looking up from his phone: "Debatable."
Ty joins in, deadpan. "Just don't let Mason pick the paint colors. You'll end up with terracotta and greige."
Sean snorts into his coffee, and I can't help laughing. "You're all giving input like you're moving in with us."
Rae gasps theatrically. "Can I have visitation rights? I want brunch privileges."
"Absolutely not," Sean says.
"Seconded," I add.
Zach grins. "Don't worry, we'll bring housewarming gifts. Probably something cursed."
I roll my eyes, but there's warmth blooming in my chest. It's ridiculous and loud and so very us.
Somewhere between Rae's interior design suggestions and Mason asking if he can crash "just sometimes," I glance at Sean. He's watching me, that quiet, steady smile tugging at his lips.
And in that moment, amid the chaos of our friends debating the merits of a dish rack, I realize it: we're really doing this. Building something of our own.
It's messy and impulsive and a little bit terrifying. But it feels right. Completely, utterly right.