Novels by Joy Jodiee

Carter's Pov The cold metal of the empty stadium seat pressed against my back, but I couldn't feel it. I sat alone in the dark shadows of the practice rink, watching the early morning sunlight slowly creep across the ice. I had left the penthouse before sunrise because I couldn't bear the thought of Lena waking up and watching me struggle with the crushing reality that my playing career might actually be over. But the quiet solitude I expected brought me no peace at all. It only brought a deafening silence.I spent hours sitting in those empty stands, letting my mind drift back through the years. I remembered how desperately I had once wanted to become a professional player, skating day and night just to hear my father say he was proud of me. But sitting here now, the truth hit me like a physical blow. My father had spent my entire life teaching me to equate success with obedience. The fear of disappointing Victor had influenced nearly every important decision I had ever made, turnin

Lena's Pov My heart felt like it was trapped inside a cage made of cold iron. I woke up to an empty room, the sunlight streaming across the bed, but Carter’s side of the mattress was completely cold. His cell phone sat alone and abandoned right on the wooden nightstand, glowing with a blank screen. My breath hitched in my throat as I spotted a piece of white paper resting right beside it. My hands shook so badly I could barely unfold the handwritten note.*Lena,* it read in his familiar, hurried scrawl. *I need time to think. Please, do not follow me.*I read the note twice, and then a third time, praying the words would magically change. But they didn't. My heart sank straight down into my stomach like a heavy stone as I realized that Carter had once again chosen to face his darkest fear completely alone, instead of trusting me enough to let me stand beside him.The pain of it cut right through my ribs. After everything we had shared—after all the walls we had torn down, the late-ni

Carter's PovThe paper in my hand felt heavier than an anvil. My eyes scanned the words of the official medical report over and over again, each line burning like fire into my brain. The championship was only days away, and the doctors had made it crystal clear: playing in this game could destroy my knee completely and leave me walking with a permanent limp for the rest of my life.The silence inside our apartment was suffocating. Lena sat across from me at the kitchen table, her brown eyes wide and full of quiet worry. She didn't say a word, giving me the space to breathe while she waited for my final decision, knowing that whatever choice I made would change the future we had just started imagining together.For months, the pressure to lead my team through this championship had been the only thing driving me. My father had pounded it into my head since I was a little boy: a Hayes never quits, a Hayes never shows weakness, and a Hayes wins at all costs. But looking across the table a

Carter's PovMy blood ran colder than ice the second Mia's words registered in my brain. I looked across the penthouse living room and saw Lena standing frozen by the window, tears spilling over her eyelashes, holding the phone like it was about to explode in her hand.I didn't need to ask who had made the donation. The moment Mia mentioned the Hayes family foundation, my stomach completely dropped. It was Victor. My father had found another way to weave his filthy, controlling hands into Lena’s life without my permission."Lena, wait!" I shouted, rushing across the room toward her, my hands raised defensively. "Listen to me! I swear to you, I didn't know anything about this! I didn't arrange the scholarship!"Lena slowly lowered the phone, her hands shaking so violently she dropped the device onto the sofa. When she looked up at me, her eyes weren't angry anymore. They looked shattered."How am I supposed to know what's real, Carter?" she whispered, her voice cracking with pure heartb

Lena's PovThe warm sunlight spilling across the expensive white sheets felt like a dream I didn't want to wake up from. For one beautiful, quiet moment, I lay there in Carter's arms, letting myself believe that I had finally found the kind of safe, honest love I had stopped expecting years ago.Carter was still sound asleep beside me, his strong arm resting protectively and heavily across my waist. Without his usual guarded, arrogant expression, he looked completely peaceful. The sharp lines around his mouth were relaxed, and seeing him like this made a soft smile spread across my face, even though a cold, sharp fear was already beginning to settle deep in my chest.When his dark eyelashes fluttered and his deep-blue eyes finally blinked open, he didn't move away. Instead, he pulled me just a fraction closer, pressing a soft, lingering kiss against my bare shoulder."Good morning," he murmured, his voice thick and rough with sleep. He looked up at me, his eyes searching my face. "Tel

Carter’s PovI spent the whole day trying to act like Lena’s answer didn’t matter. Every time she looked at me, though, I remembered the way she kissed me back outside the hotel. That kiss stayed in my head like a song I couldn’t turn off.At training I was a mess. My passes went wide. I missed easy shots. Ryan Cole started laughing at me. “Captain finally found a reason to smile that ain’t about winning,” he said. “Mind your own business,” I told him. He just grinned bigger. “You’ve been staring at your phone every two minutes. Waiting for her to text, aren’t you?” I didn’t answer. He was right. I kept checking the screen like a fool, hoping Lena would send something. Anything.When I got back to the penthouse that evening, I found her in the kitchen. No private chef. Just Lena, trying to make dinner by herself. The place looked like a storm had hit it. Pots everywhere. Flour on the counter. Smoke coming from the pan. The food was a little burnt. She turned when she heard m

Noah’s PovI looked over the request with Sophia, reading through the details of the children’s hospital’s proposal carefully. “A partnership program,” I said slowly. “Bringing kids from the hospital here, or bringing some version of this here to them?”“Both, it sounds like,” Sophia said, scrolling through the letter. “They want to talk about adaptive programming, something for kids managing illness or recovery, who still want to feel connected to art, to sport, to simply being around other children instead of just hospital rooms.”We met with the hospital’s representative the following week, a thoughtful woman named Dr. Alvarez who explained carefully how isolating long-term treatment could feel for young patients, how something as simple as a weekly visit from mentors, or a small adaptive art program, could make an enormous difference in a child’s emotional resilience during difficult years.“We’re not asking you to solve everything,” she said gently. “Just to open a door, the same

Sophia’s PovWinter settled over the city slowly that year, and the community center became something of a second home for our family, Noah stopping by most evenings after his own coaching sessions wrapped up, often finding me already there, helping organize the growing library or simply watching the younger kids practice in the small rink.One Thursday afternoon, while sorting through donated art supplies in the back office, I found myself unexpectedly pulled into conversation with a new volunteer, a quiet woman named Priya who had recently moved into the city with her teenage son. She worked carefully, labeling boxes of paint and brushes, occasionally glancing toward the hallway where her son sat alone, sketching in a notebook rather than joining the other boys his age in the rink.“He doesn’t talk much,” Priya admitted softly, following my gaze. “Not since his father passed last year. I thought maybe being around other kids might help, but he mostly just sits by himself.”Something

Noah’s PovConstruction on the community center moved steadily through that year, the skeleton of the building rising slowly against the skyline near the arena, and Grace spent countless weekends at the site with a small team of local artists, sketching out the mural that would eventually cover the entire west-facing wall of the main hall.“I want it to start with just two people,” she explained one afternoon, showing Sophia and me her latest draft spread across the hood of the car. “Not Tyler, not Victor, not anything about the danger. I want it to start with a storm, and two strangers who didn’t know yet how much they’d come to mean to each other.”Sophia leaned closer, studying the careful sketch of a snow-covered lodge, two small figures standing near its entrance. “You’re starting with us,” she said softly.“Everything else came from that,” Grace said simply. “I thought it made sense to begin there instead of somewhere painful.”Over the following weeks, the mural grew steadily a

Sophia’s PovI set down my mug, considering Grace’s question carefully before answering, the fire crackling softly between us as Tyler looked up from his notes, equally curious to hear what I would say.“I think he would be amazed,” I said slowly. “Not just by how big everything grew, but by how much love is woven through all of it. The foundation, the mentorship program, your book, Tyler’s committee work, none of that would mean anything without the people carrying it forward with genuine care.”“I think he’d be proudest of the small things,” Noah added gently. “Marcus finding his voice. Fenna choosing social work. You, standing in front of your whole school and telling the truth about what happened with Mia.”Grace nodded slowly, absorbing this, before glancing toward Tyler. “Do you ever feel like you’re living for him too? Not just for yourself?”Tyler considered the question seriously, the way he considered everything that mattered. “Sometimes,” he admitted. “But it doesn’t feel h

Noah’s PovTyler settled into the chair across from us, his expression carrying the particular thoughtfulness he always brought to conversations he considered genuinely important. “He wants me to consider joining a new advisory committee,” he explained. “Something the national federation is putting together, athletes who’ve balanced elite training with outside commitments, helping shape policy on how young players are supported, not just pushed.”“That sounds like exactly the kind of work that matters to you,” Sophia said, leaning forward with genuine interest.“It would mean traveling occasionally for meetings, working directly with league officials on recommendations,” Tyler continued. “Daniel said they specifically thought of me because of the Balance Initiative. They want someone who actually understands what it’s like from the inside, not just adults making decisions from the outside looking in.”I studied my son carefully, pride swelling steadily as I considered how far he had t

Sophia’s PovI sat up a little straighter on the couch, exchanging a careful glance with Noah before turning my full attention to Grace, who stood in the doorway holding her phone gently in both hands, the glow from the screen lighting her face softly in the dim room.“Come sit with us,” I said, patting the cushion beside me. “Tell us what she sent.”Grace crossed the room and settled between us, turning the phone so we could both see the photograph Renee had shared, an old, slightly faded picture of a woman standing proudly beside a large canvas, paint smudged across her hands and forearms, her smile warm and familiar in a way that made my breath catch softly.“That’s your great-grandmother,” Grace said softly, reading the message beneath the photo. “Renee says she was a painter too. A real one, who sold her work in galleries back before Renee was even born.”“She looks like you,” Noah said gently, studying the woman’s careful, thoughtful expression. “Something in the eyes.”Grace sm

Point de vue de NoéSophia et moi avons échangé un regard attentif, chacune voulant s'assurer que Grace comprenne bien la portée de ses paroles. « Tu es sûre ? » ai-je demandé doucement. « Il n'y a pas de délai à respecter. Cela peut se faire quand tu le sentiras. »« J’en suis sûre », dit Grace d’une voix plus assurée que je ne l’aurais cru. « Je ne veux plus me poser de questions. Je veux la connaître, ne serait-ce qu’un peu. »Nous avons contacté Patricia la semaine suivante, en lui expliquant soigneusement les souhaits de Grace, et l'agence a entamé le processus délicat de prise de contact avec sa mère biologique, une femme nommée Renee Castillo, en confirmant d'abord si elle restait ouverte au contact après tant d'années.La réponse arriva quelques jours plus tard, chaleureuse et immédiate. Renée n'avait jamais cessé d'espérer ce moment précis.Nous avons soigneusement organisé la rencontre, en choisissant un lieu neutre et rassurant, un parc tranquille près des bureaux de l'agen

Point de vue de SophiaJ'ouvris le message avec précaution, Noah jetant un coup d'œil par-dessus notre épaule tandis que nous nous tenions près de la voiture, nos sacs à moitié chargés dans le coffre. L'assistante sociale de l'agence, une femme nommée Patricia Ames qui nous avait aidés des années auparavant lorsque nous avions commencé à rechercher des éléments de mon histoire, avait écrit un petit mot doux.Sophia, j'espère que vous allez bien. Je tenais à vous contacter personnellement plutôt que par une lettre type. Nous avons récemment mis à jour notre système d'archivage et, ce faisant, j'ai trouvé une lettre scellée dans le dossier de Grace. Sa mère biologique nous l'avait laissée lors de son placement et elle ne devait la partager que si Grace souhaitait en savoir plus. N'hésitez pas à m'appeler dès que vous aurez un moment.Je l'ai lu deux fois avant de le montrer à Noah, tous deux silencieusement stupéfaits par le timing, arrivant quelques heures seulement après que Grace ait

Point de vue de SophiaNoah et moi nous sommes installés sur l'herbe fraîche à côté d'elle. Le lac s'étendait devant nous, silencieux et sombre, la lune faisant doucement onduler sa surface. « Tu peux nous demander n'importe quoi », dis-je doucement. « Absolument n'importe quoi. »Grace serra un peu plus ses bras autour de ses genoux, choisissant soigneusement ses mots comme elle le faisait toujours avant de dire quelque chose qui comptait vraiment pour elle. « J'ai pensé à ma famille biologique », dit-elle doucement. « Pas celle de l'oncle Mason, ni celle de papa. Ma vraie famille. Je sais que tu m'en as déjà parlé un peu, mais je ne t'ai jamais vraiment posé de questions. »Ma poitrine s'est légèrement serrée, non pas de peur, mais avec la douce conscience que ce moment finirait par arriver, la curiosité naturelle que chaque enfant adopté finit par éprouver quant à ses origines.« Que veux-tu savoir ? » demanda doucement Noah, sa voix ne trahissant aucune des hésitations auxquelles

Point de vue de NoéJ’ai pris délicatement la petite fleur des mains jointes de Grace, la faisant tourner doucement entre mes doigts, ses pétales blancs et délicats captant les derniers rayons du soleil couchant. « Tu as raison », dis-je, surprise par cette petite coïncidence parfaite. « C’est exactement la même variété. Nous en avions parsemé les tables à notre mariage. »« On peut appuyer dessus ? » demanda Grace avec enthousiasme. « Comme on le fait avec les vieux livres ? Pour qu'il ne disparaisse pas ? »Sophia sourit chaleureusement en prenant la fleur. « Je trouve que c'est une excellente idée. On peut la mettre dans l'album photo, juste à côté de la photo originale. »Nous avons passé le reste de la soirée à chercher un simple presse-fleurs dans la petite boutique de souvenirs du lodge, et nous en avons finalement trouvé un, caché parmi des cartes postales et des tasses souvenirs. Grace a délicatement placé la fleur entre les pages, concentrée intensément malgré la simplicité

Point de vue de SophiaGrace traversa le salon et s'installa sur le canapé entre nous, ouvrant soigneusement son carnet de croquis à une page encore brouillonne, les traits n'étant pas encore encrés, bien que l'image elle-même fût déjà indéniablement émouvante.« Je voulais que le livre se termine avec tout le monde réuni », expliqua-t-elle doucement en caressant la page du doigt. « Pas seulement notre famille, mais toutes les personnes que la fondation a aidées. Fenna, Marcus, Oliver, même le petit garçon de la séance de dédicaces qui a perdu son frère. »Noah se pencha en avant, étudiant le dessin avec une admiration silencieuse. Elle avait esquissé une large assemblée circulaire, des dizaines de petites silhouettes se tenant la main, leurs visages simples mais empreints de chaleur, une seule silhouette translucide se tenant doucement au centre, veillant sur chacun d'une présence calme et rassurante.« C’est magnifique », dis-je doucement, la gorge serrée par l’émotion. « Vous avez

Point de vue de NoéSophia relut la lettre à voix haute, sa voix mêlant surprise et fierté prudente. « Ils veulent qu'elle prenne la parole devant tout le collège », dit-elle. « Qu'elle parle de ce qui s'est passé avec Mia, qu'elle s'est dressée contre la jalousie et la méchanceté. »« C’est beaucoup lui demander, à quelqu’un qui est encore en plein processus de guérison », ai-je dit avec précaution. « Laissons-la décider, comme toujours. »Le lendemain matin, nous avons apporté la lettre à Grace et la lui avons expliquée doucement pendant le petit-déjeuner. Nous avons observé son expression passer de la surprise à la réflexion. Elle mâchait lentement son toast, visiblement absorbée par la réflexion.« Pourrais-je en parler à ma façon ? » demanda-t-elle finalement. « Et pas seulement répéter ce que l’école veut que je dise ? »« Absolument », ai-je dit. « Si vous faites cela, il faut que ce soit votre voix, vos mots, exactement comme dans votre livre. »Grace hocha lentement la tête.

Punto de vista de NoéSophia y yo intercambiamos una mirada cautelosa, ambas queriendo asegurarnos de que Grace comprendiera la importancia de sus palabras. —¿Estás segura? —pregunté con suavidad—. No hay un plazo fijo. Puede ocurrir cuando te parezca oportuno.—Estoy segura —dijo Grace con una voz más firme de lo que esperaba—. Ya no quiero seguir preguntándome. Quiero conocerla, aunque sea un poco.La semana siguiente nos pusimos en contacto con Patricia, explicándole cuidadosamente los deseos de Grace, y la agencia inició el delicado proceso de contactar con su madre biológica, una mujer llamada Renee Castillo, para confirmar primero si seguía dispuesta a ser contactada después de tantos años.La respuesta llegó en cuestión de días, cálida e inmediata. Renee nunca había dejado de anhelar precisamente este momento.Organizamos la reunión con esmero, eligiendo un lugar neutral y cómodo: un parque tranquilo cerca de la oficina de la agencia. Así, Grace tuvo la libertad de abordar el e

Punto de vista de SofíaAbrí el mensaje con cuidado, mientras Noah nos echaba un vistazo al estar de pie junto al coche, con las bolsas a medio meter en el maletero. La trabajadora social de la agencia, una mujer llamada Patricia Ames que nos había ayudado años atrás cuando empezamos a buscar fragmentos de mi propia historia, había escrito una nota breve y amable.Sophia, espero que te encuentres bien. Quería comunicarme contigo personalmente en lugar de usar una carta modelo. Recientemente actualizamos nuestro sistema de registros y, al hacerlo, encontré una carta sellada en el expediente de Grace, algo que su madre biológica nos dejó al momento de su adopción, con la intención de compartirla solo si Grace alguna vez expresaba interés en saber más. Por favor, llámame cuando tengas un momento.Lo leí dos veces antes de enseñárselo a Noah, ambos atónitos por la coincidencia, ya que llegó apenas unas horas después de que Grace finalmente expresara por primera vez su propia curiosidad en

Punto de vista de SofíaNoah y yo nos sentamos en la hierba fresca junto a ella; el lago se extendía ante nosotros, silencioso y oscuro, con la luz de la luna ondulando suavemente sobre su superficie. —Puedes preguntarnos lo que quieras —dije con dulzura—. Lo que sea.Grace apretó un poco más los brazos alrededor de sus rodillas, eligiendo cuidadosamente sus palabras, como siempre hacía antes de decir algo que realmente le importaba. —He estado pensando en mi familia biológica —dijo en voz baja—. No en la del tío Mason, ni en la de papá. Mi verdadera familia biológica. Sé que me has contado algo antes, pero nunca te pregunté mucho al respecto.Sentí una leve opresión en el pecho, no por miedo, sino por el silencioso reconocimiento de que este momento iba a llegar tarde o temprano, la curiosidad natural que todo niño adoptado acaba teniendo sobre sus orígenes.—¿Qué te gustaría saber? —preguntó Noé en voz baja, sin rastro de la vacilación que yo podría haber esperado.—¿Crees que querr

Punto de vista de NoéTomé con cuidado la pequeña flor de las manos ahuecadas de Grace, haciéndola girar suavemente entre mis dedos; sus delicados pétalos blancos captaron la última luz del sol del atardecer. —Tienes razón —dije, sorprendida por la pequeña y perfecta coincidencia—. Es exactamente la misma. Las pusimos esparcidas por las mesas en nuestra boda.—¿Podemos prensarlo? —preguntó Grace con entusiasmo—. ¿Como se hace con los libros antiguos? ¿Para que no desaparezca?Sophia sonrió cálidamente y tomó la flor. “Me parece una idea maravillosa. Podemos ponerla en el álbum de fotos, justo al lado de la foto original”.Pasamos el resto de la tarde buscando en la pequeña tienda de regalos del hotel una prensa para flores sencilla, y finalmente encontramos una escondida entre postales y tazas de recuerdo. Grace colocó con cuidado la flor entre las hojas, con una concentración intensa a pesar de la sencillez de la tarea.—Yo también quiero dibujar este momento —dijo en voz baja, imagi

Punto de vista de SofíaGrace cruzó el salón y se sentó en el sofá entre nosotros, abriendo con cuidado su cuaderno de bocetos en una página aún sin terminar, con trazos de lápiz y líneas sin entintar, aunque la imagen en sí ya era inconfundiblemente conmovedora.«Quería que el libro terminara con todos juntos», explicó en voz baja, deslizando suavemente el dedo por la página. «No solo nuestra familia, sino todas las personas a las que la fundación ha ayudado. Fenna, Marcus, Oliver, incluso el niño pequeño de la firma que perdió a su hermano».Noah se inclinó hacia adelante, estudiando el dibujo con silenciosa admiración. Había esbozado una amplia reunión circular, docenas de pequeñas figuras tomadas de la mano, con rostros sencillos pero llenos de calidez, y una única figura translúcida de pie en el centro, velando por todos con una presencia tranquila y firme.—Es precioso —dije en voz baja, con la garganta anudada por la emoción—. Has capturado algo realmente importante aquí.“Quer

Punto de vista de NoéSophia leyó la carta en voz alta otra vez, con una mezcla de sorpresa y orgullo cauteloso. «Quieren que hable delante de toda la escuela secundaria», dijo. «Sobre lo que pasó con Mia, sobre cómo enfrentarse a los celos y la crueldad».—Eso es mucho pedirle a alguien que todavía está lidiando con ello —dije con cautela—. Deberíamos dejar que ella decida, como siempre.Le llevamos la carta a Grace a la mañana siguiente y se la explicamos con delicadeza durante el desayuno, observando cómo su expresión pasaba de la sorpresa a la reflexión. Masticó la tostada lentamente, dándole vueltas a la idea en su cabeza.—¿Podría hablar de ello a mi manera? —preguntó finalmente—. ¿No solo repetir lo que la escuela quiere que diga?—Por supuesto —dije—. Si haces esto, tiene que ser tu voz, tus palabras, exactamente igual que en tu libro.Grace asintió lentamente. «Entonces creo que quiero hacerlo. No dejo de pensar en otros niños, como el pequeño de la firma de libros, el que pe