What do we know about his role on the show? Who is he playing? How long will he be around? Here’s all the information you need to know, whether you are a fan of the show from the beginning, or whether you’re going to be watching just for Connor.

Who Is Connor Storrie Playing On ‘Criminal Minds: Evolution’?

We don’t know that much about Connor’s role in Criminal Minds: Evolution, but we do know the name of the character he will be playing: Lance Kingston, a character described as  “a charming narcissist with a deep sense of entitlement.” He’ll appear in Episodes 4, 5, 6, and 9 of this season.

The character was briefly seen in the Season 19 trailer, and from context clues, we know he’s connected to the big bad of the season. He’s, after all, in an interrogation room, and he seems less than happy about being interrogated in the first place. Plus, he’s in one particular still with Tara and Emily talking to Voit and in new ones first released by Vulture that show him being tied up after presumably being tortured.

In fact, they’ve now released a clip of that first interrogation, which has enough swagger that we can’t help but be enthralled.

Showrunner Erica Messer told Us Weekly that Storrie’s character’s “story does have something to do with the big bad of the season, but—without wanting to give much away—that’s all I’ll say.”

Messer also told TVGuide Storrie was originally meant to be in just one episode, but everyone in the show was so impressed with him that his role was expanded. “He was shooting a scene with A.J. [Cook] that I believe made our trailer,” Messer said. “There was such a presence about him, super genuine, super talented — so much so that we expanded his character from one episode to four episodes.”

To Vulture, Messer said,  “We were very much interested in finding somebody that would stand out a bit. Connor won that, hands down,” adding, “The interesting thing is, none of us knew what Heated Rivalry was. Even if it was on his résumé, I think the conversation was, ‘He’s just finished this thing that hasn’t aired yet.’ It wasn’t anything more than that.”

And if we’re getting more of him, it’s 100% because he was so good. “We were like, ‘Okay, I know he was important for episode four, but we’ve got to make him more integral to the rest of the season,” Messer said. That’s how Storrie’s arc went from one episode to four. “100 percent because he was so compelling.”

That still doesn’t give us much, only the certainty that we will see him again after Episode 4, and that his character will be more than meets the eye. He presumably gets rescued by the team in Episode 6, and then in 9 he’s… on the serial killer’s side? Looking for revenge? Who knows!

And if he makes it out, perhaps a return could be in the cards, the showrunner also teased. “I would just say, on Criminal Minds in general, you never say never.”

If anything, we’d say Storrie probably has way too much going on at this point to reprise this character, but who knows?

And hey, funnily enough for Heated Rivalry fans, Messer also told Us Weekly that they tried to get Hudson Williams on the show too! “We were like, ‘Is he available?’”

Sadly, the answer was no. “He’s shooting the second season of Heated Rivalry in August, and that’s when we would need them. We tried.”

But next episode, our Connor Storrie journey on this show begins. That’s very exciting.

The post Everything We Know About Connor Storrie’s Role on Criminal Minds: Evolution appeared first on Fangirlish.

More: Obsession Is In Session with Off Campus, The Love Hypothesis, and More on Prime Video

Based on the book by bestselling author Anna Todd, The Last Sunrise follows 22-year-old Oriah “Ry” Pera, whose life transforms during a summer in Majorca when she meets an infuriatingly charming local named Julián. Between chronic health issues and her mother’s overprotective tendencies, Ry feels like she’s stuck waiting for her life to begin. When her mother’s job relocates them to Majorca, Ry sees this as her chance for a coming-of-age story. As the summer continues, Julián pulls Ry out of her shell and into the adventures she’s always craved. With her return to America looming, Ry must decide if she’s brave enough to follow her heart.

Starring in the adaptation are Maia Reficco as Oriah, Fernando Lindez as Julián, and Eva Longoria as Oriah’s mother, Isolde. When we tell you the cast is perfection, believe us. The trailer is not out, but Obsessed Fest provided a sneak peek at what’s to come. We’re hoping for even more surprises at the event. Especially now that we’re hearing a sequel to the story may be on the horizon.

We loved The Last Sunrise, and as we read it, we couldn’t help but feel there was still more to the story. Fans (It’s me. I’m fans) want to know what happens to the characters they love and care about. Oriah’s story is relatable, and (Spoiler alert) we want to see how she’s still navigating life after her health scare and a major operation. And we want to see how her relationship with Julián progresses.

More: Movie Review: After

According to Deadline, Todd will be releasing another book in the series that Amazon MGM is eyeing for adaptation. This will ultimately be part of a trilogy of books. And we hope films as well. Now, it’s important to mention that the studio has not given the film the green light just yet. But, based on Anna’s track record of great storytelling and the popularity of the angsty films based on her After series, we have faith it will happen.

Screenwriter Anna Klassen, who wrote the script for the first film, will write the script for the second film. In addition to her, all the key creatives involved are returning. Because there hasn’t been official confirmation, there’s a chance an announcement could happen during Obsessed Fest. We believe this is to build excitement leading up to Obsessed Fest. The site appears to indicate that Todd, Reficco, and Lindez will be there. We can’t think of a more perfect moment to share this kind of news. We’re looking forward to whatever updates we can get about The Last Sunrise, and we can’t wait for Obsessed Fest.

The Last Sunrise is set to premiere on Prime Video in August.

The post Is Anna Todd’s ‘The Last Sunrise’ Film Getting A Sequel? appeared first on Fangirlish.

Ashley carries the movie with poise. We open with her character, Mia, falling from a great height, and go straight into her waking up from a coma with severe physical and mental consequences, including short-term and long-term memory loss, multiple wounds, and broken limbs. From there, we try to piece together what happened alongside Mia, as the story reveals that Mia’s husband, Jake (Austin Stowell), has been arrested for attempted murder.

Told in a non-linear manner, and with the abundance of storytelling tricks meant to leave us a little destabilized, just like Mia, This Tempting Madness still manages to be not just compelling, but at times impossible to look away from. This is both because Ashley hits every emotional beat, from confusion to desperation to the low-grade panic of losing your sense of self, and because even from the beginning, we’re kinda rooting for Jake not to be what things seem.

I might be biased here, but Stowell is pretty good in a role that doesn’t require nearly as much from him as Ashley’s. Still, there’s a certain lightness to him at times, and a depth to Jake that makes it clear he’s playing a much different character from NCIS: Origins‘ Leroy ‘Jethro’ Gibbs. That, for someone who gets to see him weekly in that other role, means he’s doing a pretty good job.

He’s not the standout here, because his role doesn’t call for him to be, but he’s in no way distracting as we get to focus solely on Ashley’s Mia and her relationship with her brother, played by a raw and believable Suraj Sharma. This dynamic carries the movie, and at times feels like the only thing we can hold onto as the story takes turn after turn.

Cinematography-wise, the movie is visually striking, and there’s enough specificity in the cultural elements that it feels like the people behind This Tempting Madness were really interested in making Mia a real, three-dimensional character. They got lucky with an actress like Ashley, who often doesn’t need to even utter a word to make you feel things. But there’s also a lot of work that clearly went into making this story work.

Director and co-writer Jennifer E. Montgomery (who shares a writing credit on this with her husband, Andrew M. Davis) has said the story is based on someone she knows, and that is perhaps why This Tempting Madness feels, at all times, like a story being told with care and a desire to get things right. If you add to that an actress of Ashley’s caliber, you have a movie that is both an exploration of trauma and memory and a study of who we are and who we can be.

Come for Simone Ashley, stay for a good story. This one’s worth a watch.

This Tempting Madness will be in theaters on June 12.

The post This Tempting Madness Review: Simone Ashley Carries The Film appeared first on Fangirlish.

But of course, this show is on Season 19. Criminal Minds had 15 seasons, back when it aired on CBS. And Criminal Minds: Evolution is on its fourth season. So I understand that’s a lot of TV to consume to watch Connor Storrie’s debut on the show. So, considering what we know of his character and his arc, I’m going to do everyone a solid and recap what you need to know if you just want (or have no choice) but to jump into his episode blind.

What Is Criminal Minds: Evolution?

Criminal Minds: Evolution is the continuation of the original police procedural, which spawned 15 seasons. The revival once again brings back members of the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit (BAU) to hunt down highly complex networks of serial killers.

The show stars returning fan-favorite characters such as David Rossi (Joe Mantegna), Emily Prentiss (Paget Brewster), JJ Jareau (A.J. Cook), Penelope Garcia (Kirsten Vangsness), Tara Lewis (Aisha Tyler), and Luke Alvez (Adam Rodriguez).

What’s Connor’s Storyline on Criminal Minds: Evolution?

We don’t know for sure yet, but we know enough. The name of his character is Lance Kingston, and we see him in the trailer during an interrogation scene with Supervisory Special Agent Jennifer “JJ” Jareau (A.J. Cook), a scene that has now been released as a sneak peek and that is as captivating as it is disturbing. There’s also another concerning shot of what looks to be him screaming, while tied up somewhere.

He also features in one of the episode stills, or at least a picture of him does! In the still, we see Emily Prentiss (Paget Brewster), Dr. Tara Lewis (Aisha Tyler), and Elias Voit (Zach Gilford), with Voit having what looks to be a file on Kingston, Connor’s character, in front of him. Plus, Vulture released a couple of new stills that make it clear Kingston is getting kidnapped and tortured, probably by the season’s “big bad.”

That, and what the showrunners said about Connor’s role, calling him “a charming narcissist with a deep sense of entitlement” is enough to not just make us excited, but to make it clear that Kingston’s storyline will have something to do with Voit. And this season, the team is after a Voit copycat. So, why is Voit’s copycat after Kingston? Does he know something worth torturing him for? Or is he just another victim? Both are possible, but to understand what comes next, we have to understand… well, Elias Voit.

Who is Elias Voit on Criminal Minds?

Voit is the connecting thread for the last few seasons of this show. But who is Elias Voit, and what do you need to know about him?

When we first met Voit, in Season 16, he was a seemingly benign family man. Well, a seemingly benign family man who was also a prolific serial killer and ran a dark-web network of serial killers. So, basically, just a psychopath who controlled other psychopaths! Then, of course, the BAU caught him. Game over, right? Nope. In Season 17, Voit was still around, this time helping the BAU dismantle his network of serial killers.

Then, at the end of that season, he was attacked and beaten by the other inmates in jail. Game over? Think again. In Season 18, we find that Voit’s head injury leads to not just amnesia, but a return of his conscience. Yes, they hit him so hard that the empathy center of his brain started working again.

What does that mean? Well, remorse. And a redemption arc that saw him help bring down the killer network he’d built.

That takes us to now, with Voit in federal prison and seeking redemption. Yup, you read that right. He even goes on a podcast to try to convince true-crime enthusiasts that he isn’t a hero anyone should try to emulate. Except, you know, someone is trying to emulate him! And, well, there’s also the fact that this is still a man who did really evil things. Should we take his change at face value?

Where Does Connor Storrie’s Character Fit Into This?

We don’t know, but if Emily and Tara are talking to Voit about him, the character is sure to have some ties to Voit’s copycat. We can probably rule out his actually being the copycat, though this show does like its twists. But, considering the pictures of him tied up and the shot of the trailer of him screaming, there’s likely someone else involved. But why kidnap Kingston and not kill him right away? Maybe he does have a connection to this copycat killer? Or maybe he knows something or has something the killer needs?

Could he become an unsub after being subjected to torture?

Either way, we’ll be seeing Connor Storrie‘s first episode this week, but that won’t be the last we’ll see of him. He’s also set to appear in Episodes 5, 6, and 9. And now that you understand the Voit of it all, hopefully, you can make up your own theories about what exactly his character will be up to and how it all ties to this season’s endgame.

Are There Any Pictures of Connor on the Show?

Yes, we now have some pictures! Here they are:

Watching ‘Criminal Minds: Evolution’ For Connor Storrie? Here’s What You Need to Know

New episodes of Criminal Minds: Evolution are available to stream on Paramount+ on Thursdays.

The post Watching ‘Criminal Minds: Evolution’ For Connor Storrie? Here’s What You Need to Know appeared first on Fangirlish.

Starting, of course, with Harry Collett (Jacaerys Velaryon), “I think through the past, through the whole way, you’ve seen Jacaerys, he’s just been boiling and boiling up. And now he’s reached a boiling point, and he’s very determined. He knows what he wants, he knows what he has to do, and he is not gonna let anyone stop him.”

Not concerning at all, nah. No book spoilers here, but it’s okay to be worried.

Bethany Antonia, meanwhile, was a little more introspective. “I think up until now, we’ve seen Baela is just trying her absolute hardest to carve out some sense of family and community. And it seems like every time she gets close to people, they’re taken away from her.” I mean, this is House of the Dragon.

“And she’s trying to find out where she fits in this family when the people that she looks to the most seem to let her down quite consistently. And I think in this season, we see her really grappling with the idea of maybe having to change tactics and having to set her own path and maybe realizing that the things that have been preordained for her aren’t the things that she stands by and agrees with.”

That actually sounds quite interesting. We’re fans of Baela Targaryen.

And Rhaena too, which is why we were very excited when Phoebe Campbell teased that in this season, “what we really see is the inner struggles of Rhaena. She’s really trying to prove something to herself more than anything. And that is hard. That is hard when she hits a lot of roadblocks. But as I say, you know, God loves a trier, and she’s trying.”

Let’s not forget that at the end of Season 2, Rhaena basically runs away from the convoy that’s taking her to the Vale, tracks down the wild dragon Sheepstealer, and looks to be on the verge of claiming it. Nettles who? “She has a strong sense of duty, and I think by the end of season two, we see her really being like: ‘What is me? What does that mean?'”

Everyone’s having issues this season. For example, Abubakar Salim, who plays Alyn of Hull, will find himself in the middle of a complicated relationship with his father, Lord Corlys. Oh yes, and war too.

“I think we left Season 2 with Alyn very much vulnerable and open and raw with Corlys. And so Season 3 really is kind of exploring that wound and kind of seeing what it means. It’s almost like… I threw a challenge to him and was like, if you’re going to, if you really truly see yourself as a father, well, let me see that.

“And I think Season 3 really kind of dives deep into that; it dives into what makes these people human rather than necessarily seeing themselves as these titles and gods, you know? And that’s what’s really exciting about this season anyway. And especially, you know, with Alyn and where he also sees himself fitting into this huge sort of political mess.”

On the other side of that, there’s Corlys, who just lost his wife but is still an essential piece in Queen Rhaenyra‘s army. Steve Toussaint teased that, in Season 3, “he’s still going through these changes, still grieving, but also having to… for the first two seasons at least, he has been very clear about who he is, and he’s been very intransigent and very lacking in patience for other people outside of his wife. Now his wife is gone, and he is kind of rudderless.”

That’s an interesting place for him to be, of course. “He’s having to show humility and vulnerability, which he’s never done before outside of with his wife. So he’s had to do
that, but at the same time, a lot of the season is tied up in his rage, what he perceives to be
the sacrifices that he’s made for this cause, and the fact that he doesn’t think that he has
been justly rewarded.

“Not monetarily, he’s not worried about that anymore, but it’s about the legacy that he can have for his children, and he feels like he’s not being rewarded for what he’s sacrificed.”

All of that seems like all of these things will, of course, affect the two main characters in Team Black: Rhaenyra and Daemon.

For Matt Smitt, Daemon has “been trying to raise an army for some time, and finally that addiction is about to be sated. He’s about to enter the period or the element of his life where he feels most alive, which is war, violence, and chaos, really. And generally, he’s sort of an agent. I’ve always seen him as an agent of chaos, really.”

But what does Daemon want? “What’s strange is, there’s not a huge amount of time that’s passed between Season 1 and now, actually. And so, to transform someone completely is always… I’m always sort of at odds with that idea. Because fundamentally, the kind of situations around them change, but the people, the essence, the idea of him is pretty similar to that which it was in Season 1.”

Is that good or bad?

For Rhaenyra, who some criticized for being indecisive in Season 2, maybe it’s good. “The delight for me is that she’s sort of finally in a position of confidence and power, both personal, political, and strategic,” Emma D’Arcy shared about their character. “And so, a
character who we’ve seen in a sort of reactionary position for the majority of two seasons
is finally positioned to act. And some of the sort of restraints have finally been lifted, I think.”

So, basically, be careful if you’re Team Green.

“I think there is a great clarity to her thinking. I think she has a sort of growing
religiosity, I think that she’s leaning increasingly on her faith. I think she believes hers is a
Holy War. I think she believes she has a divine mandate to rule. And with that, comes a
reduction in doubt. And yeah, so, I think we are primed to see quite a different side to her
character.”

We can’t wait. The war is finally here in earnest. And we will see it all when Season 3 of House of the Dragon premieres on HBO on June 21.

The post House of the Dragon’s ‘Team Black’ Teases Their Season 3 Journeys appeared first on Fangirlish.

I lost my mom when I was young, and over the past few weeks, I’ve watched my best friend lose hers. There is a particular sadness that comes with losing a parent—one that never feels entirely manageable. Grief has a way of making itself more real with every goodbye, every ritual, every moment that reminds you the person you love is truly gone.

We’ve been building toward Sue’s memorial for what feels like weeks in Every Year After, but I don’t know that I was emotionally prepared for it.

BEFORE THE MEMORIAL

What struck me most was Percy sitting in the chairs where she and Sue used to spend time together. When she looks beside her and sees Sue, the moment feels like permission. Percy has spent so much of this story running—from Barry’s Bay, from her mistakes, from the people she hurt and the people who hurt her. But in that moment, it feels like Sue is telling her what the audience already knows: stay.

Not because staying is easy, but because it is where she belongs.

Charlie is desperately trying to reach Sam, who has isolated himself on the raft. Sam is still reeling from everything he’s learned, and finding Percy and Charlie together in the boathouse only reinforced the worst fears already living inside him. His anger makes sense. In fact, what stands out isn’t Sam’s rage—it’s Charlie’s refusal to meet it with his own.

For perhaps the first time, Charlie isn’t looking for an escape route or a defense. Perhaps for the first time, he’s grown. He isn’t trying to win. He is trying to repair something.

Sam isn’t in a place where repair feels possible. He isn’t just grieving his mother. He’s grieving Percy, his brother, his trust, and the version of his life he thought he understood. He’s grieving a love that he thought he had a second chance at. Charlie is finally ready to fight for their relationship, while Sam only wants to be left alone with his pain.

SHE CAN’T DO IT

Then there is Delilah.

When Percy finds her hiding out at the motel, barely recognizable. She was a woman who always had everything together; it becomes clear that grief and loss have finally caught up with her too.

Delilah doesn’t want to go to the tavern.

She doesn’t want to face the memorial.

She doesn’t want to face any of it.

But what I love about Percy and Delilah’s friendship is that it has survived pain, and it is grounded more in honesty now. The ghosting, the resentment, the misunderstandings, the years apart—they’ve finally stopped pretending those wounds didn’t exist. This has resulted in them finding their way back to each other.

Percy does what she has spent years avoiding: she shows up.

She offers to prepare The Tavern before Sam and Charlie arrive. On the surface, it’s a practical gesture, but it feels much bigger than that. Percy isn’t just setting up a memorial. She’s honoring Sue. She’s honoring the people she loves. She’s honoring her history with Sam and Charlie. For the first time in a long time, she’s choosing to stay instead of running.

I think Sue would have wanted that. She would have appreciated that.

PERCY STAYS

In 2016, Percy decides she’s leaving.

After everything that happened with Charlie and Sam breaking up with her, staying in Barry’s Bay feels impossible. She tells Sue she’s quitting and heading back to Seattle. In Percy’s mind, there’s nothing left for her there except embarrassment, heartbreak, and pain she doesn’t know how to face.

Sue, however, is having none of it.

She asks what is wrong with everyone lately. Charlie packed up and left that morning, claiming he needed to get back, and now Percy is trying to run too.

Percy tells Sue that Sam broke up with her.

In true Sue fashion, she doesn’t judge. She acknowledges that things have been hard and reminds Percy of something important: the Florek boys don’t own Barry’s Bay.

The town belongs to Percy too.

It’s such a simple statement, but it changes everything. For so many summers, Percy has been measuring her place in Barry’s Bay through Sam. Through who loved her, who left her, and who broke her heart. Sue reminds her that her connection to the town exists outside of all of that.

So Percy stays.

In the present, Percy arrives at the tavern to prepare for Sue’s memorial and finds herself surrounded by Amazon boxes and unfinished tasks. Instead of running, she rolls up her sleeves and gets to work. It’s a small moment, but it reflects how much she’s changed. The girl who once wanted to escape is now trying to show up.

SHE’S LIKE AN ONION WITH MINT CHIP

Meanwhile, Chantal is preparing to leave town when she runs into Jordie at the motel. Officially, they’re discussing billing issues. Unofficially, they’re avoiding the conversation neither of them wants to have.

Chantal admits Barry’s Bay changed something in her. Before this trip, life was work, structure, and obligation. Now she wants a work-life balance and has seen what that actually looks like. More importantly, she’s questioning whether the life she’s built back home is the one she truly wants.

A lot of that has to do with Jordie.

He listens. He pays attention. He makes things feel easy.

That simplicity is exactly what makes him dangerous. That “chill” is what makes her want to be around him all the time.

After Chantal leaves the office, she runs into Sam. She offers her condolences. Through stories and memories, we’re reminded that Sue was an emotional center of this community. But we’re also reminded that her sons were her life.

Sam and Jordie talk, and underneath the conversation is Sam, filled with pain, a man whose entire life has unraveled in a matter of days. He’s changed. At the start of the week, Sam had a future. He had a girlfriend he was preparing to propose to, a mother he could still see, a brother he trusted, and an ex who existed safely in the past.

Now all of those things were gone.

What we see is that Sam isn’t just grieving Sue. He’s grieving certainty. The life he thought he understood has been dismantled piece by piece. No matter how much he had planned, everything was gone.

It had changed.

Growing up is often sold as gaining answers, but it is also realizing how many things you never understood in the first place.

THE SETUP

Percy is in the middle of setting up for Sue’s memorial when she finds a tutu and a tiara.

Naturally, she puts them on. They are ridiculous, and yet they are essential, because she learned the glory of them from Sue.

It’s exactly the kind of thing Percy would do, and more importantly, exactly the kind of thing Sue would have appreciated. There’s always been something about Percy that understands how absurdity can soften pain. Not erase it. Not fix it. Just make it easier to carry for a moment.

Then she hears Sam’s voice, and her first instinct is to hide. Unfortunately for Percy, a tutu and tiara don’t exactly lend themselves to stealth.

Sam walks in and immediately asks what she’s wearing.

The moment pulls Percy back to an old memory from after their breakup. She and Delilah were making breakfast for dinner—waffles, French toast, anything comforting and familiar. It was one of those nights when Percy was trying not to think about how badly her heart hurt.

That’s when Sue confessed a secret: she actually hated pierogis. Everyone thought they were her favorite food, but after being forced to eat far too many by her grandfather as a child, she’d spent years pretending to love them. But she’d never eaten one again.

The memory feels oddly connected to the tutu and tiara. Both are reminders that sometimes survival isn’t about profound wisdom. Sometimes it’s about finding something that will give you enough love to make you laugh when you feel like falling apart.

Percy tells Sam she’s just there to finish setting up, and then she’ll leave.

To her, that feels like the respectful thing to do.

To Sam, it feels like another goodbye.

He tells her to stay.

Percy argues that helping with the memorial is enough. She came back. She honored Sue. She did what she needed to do.

Sam seems conflicted. His purpose isn’t clear.

He’s talking about Sue.

He’s talking about them.

He’s talking about the fact that Sue would have wanted Percy there.

Neither of them is really discussing the memorial anymore. They’re talking around everything else. Around the hurt. Around the betrayal. The heartache is there and they are talking around the love that neither of them has managed to extinguish despite ten years of trying.

You can see it all over Sam’s face. The grief. The exhaustion. The longing.

For all his anger and the pain, there is still a part of him that wants to walk across the room and let Percy hold him together for a minute.

That’s what makes this relationship so complicated. Percy hurt him. Charlie hurt him. The past hurt him. But none of those things have changed the fundamental truth that hurts Sam the most.

Sam loves Percy.

And for all the reasons he thinks he shouldn’t, he always has.

DISCO BALL SPEECHES

As Percy finishes setting up The Tavern, her eyes drift to the empty spot where the disco ball used to hang.

The absence catches her immediately.

Years earlier, she and Sue had spent an evening in the tavern baking breakfast food, playing pool, and trying to make sense of lives that weren’t unfolding the way they expected. At some point, they decided the place needed a disco ball. Not because it made sense. Because it made things better.

That was Sue’s gift. She understood that joy wasn’t something that arrived after grief. Sometimes it was something you built in the middle of it.

That night, Sue admitted that when her husband died, she had no idea how to survive it. She was angry. Lost. Drowning in a future without the man she loved, and that was something she never wanted.

Percy had asked the question everyone asks when they’re suffering: How do you get through it?

Sue’s answer stayed with her.

You either give up and let yourself go under, or you fight like hell to find your way back.

And when you do find your way back, life becomes beautiful again. Not because the pain disappears. Because you learn how to carry it.

Then Sue gave Percy one final piece of advice. If she ever got lost, all she had to do was dance like nobody was watching.

After all, nobody was.

The disco ball becomes less of a decoration and more of a declaration. A reminder that grief and joy have always lived side by side in this place.

The memorial itself is almost impossible to watch without breaking.

Sam’s speech isn’t really about death. It’s about love. About finding your best friend and holding onto them while you can. About the people who become home. When he begins to falter under the weight of it, I feel myself falling apart right alongside him.

What stood out wasn’t just Sam’s grief. It was who moved toward him.

Charlie.

Jordie.

Neither hesitates to be there for Sam.

The fractures between everyone seem smaller than the loss they’re carrying together.

Then Charlie gives his speech. Unlike Sam, who remembers love, Charlie remembers conflict. His strongest memory of his parents is their fighting. Even that becomes its own kind of tribute. His parents fought because they cared. They stayed engaged with each other, even when it was messy.

Charlie turns that memory into a plea.

Fight for your family.

Fight even when it’s hard.

And he’s looking directly at Sam when he says it.

Charlie stops asking for forgiveness and starts asking for connection.

It’s hopeful.

BROTHERS

Sam’s looks torn.

The anger and betrayal are still there.

But so is the love.

It is devastating. Nobody’s feelings have changed. Nobody’s pain has disappeared. Nothing is resolved.

For a second, it feels like everyone is standing close enough to see a path forward.

Inside The Tavern, Sam finally approaches Charlie. It’s one of the first conversations they’ve had all week that isn’t fueled entirely by anger. But even that feels terrifying – because Sam seems numb.

Sam acknowledges everything Charlie did to help him. It’s a small moment, but it matters because for the first time since the truth came out, they’re speaking as brothers instead of opponents.

They start talking about something surprisingly familiar: texting their mom. They speak of messages you send even after someone is gone. Not because you expect a response, but because part of you can’t quite accept that there never will be one.

They both know the truth. Sue isn’t coming back. No text will ever be answered. No call will ever be returned. Yet neither of them seems ready to stop reaching for her.

As they talk, another realization settles over the conversation. Their mother held more together than either of them understood. She wasn’t perfect. She struggled in ways they didn’t always see. But she was the bridge between them.

Now she’s gone.

In losing her, they’re discovering just how much of their relationship existed because she kept pulling them back toward each other.

Sam admits something that feels painfully honest.

For all of Charlie’s flaws, for all his recklessness, Sam always knew his brother was there.

That’s what makes the betrayal so devastating.

It’s not simply about Percy.

It’s about losing the person who felt permanent.

Sam looks at Charlie and admits that he feels like an orphan now. Then he looks at his brother and says the thing that’s really been haunting him:

“Now I don’t even have you.”

It’s a brutal statement, and it lands exactly the way it’s meant to.

THINGS BROKE

The thing is, Sam has every right to be angry. Every right to grieve. Every right to feel betrayed.

But grief doesn’t automatically make every reaction fair.

What Charlie did hurt him deeply and deserves consequences. But there is a difference between holding someone accountable and erasing them.

That’s the tension sitting underneath this entire scene.

Charlie broke something.

But Sam is standing at a crossroads between punishment and forgiveness, and right now he can’t see the difference.

Not because he doesn’t love his brother.

Because he still does.

And sometimes the people we love most are the only ones capable of hurting us this badly.

Back inside The Tavern, Chantal asks Percy if she’s ever mentioned that she’s an excellent two-stepper. Apparently, one of her country music clients taught her years ago.

It’s exactly the kind of random fact that somehow feels important in a room full of grief.

So they dance. Because Sue always said that everything gets better with a disco ball and a little dancing. Maybe not fixed. Maybe not healed. Just easier to carry.

THE END OF BROTHERS

Across the room, Charlie sits alone, looking about as miserable as a person can look. Delilah notices immediately. She crosses the room and asks if he’s okay.

“I guess things didn’t go well with Sam.”

They both know that’s an understatement.

For the first time all day, Charlie admits what he’s really afraid of.

That he’s alone.

But Delilah doesn’t let him sit in that feeling. She reaches up and brushes her hand against his cheek. It’s a small gesture, but Charlie smiles for the first time in what feels like forever.

Across the room, Jordie sees it happen, and maybe that’s what finally pushes him forward. Charlie and Delilah have spent years circling old feelings; Jordie is standing in front of a chance to choose something new.

He walks over to Percy and Chantal on the dance floor.

“I emailed another bill,” he tells Chantal. “I think you’ll be happy with this one.”

“Good.”

Then he grins.

“I do expect a five-star review.”

Chantelle smiles.

“I’ll consider it if you dance with me.”

And he does.

Theirs isn’t a grand romance. It’s ease. Neither of them is performing. Neither is trying to be someone else. They simply enjoy each other. After a week spent watching relationships implode under the weight of secrets, guilt, and history, something is refreshing about two people who genuinely seem happy in each other’s company.

As Dolly Parton plays through the tavern, Percy keeps dancing.

Then she notices Sam watching her.

His eyes are still filled with grief. With hurt. With everything, neither of them has figured out how to say.

But there is something else there too.

The faintest hint of a smile.

Not forgiveness.

Not resolution.

Just recognition.

When she leaves, she sees him leaning against the Bronco as though he’s been waiting for her. Sam looks at her for a long moment before asking the question that’s been sitting between them all week.

I CAN’T FORGIVE

“Why did you come back?”

The conversation moves between then and now.

Between the summer Sam came back after breaking Percy’s heart and the present, where Percy has returned after helping break his.

Their history has always been defined by departures.

By people leaving and people coming back.

By finding each other again only after the damage has already been done.

In the present, Percy finally stops protecting herself from the truth.

She tells him she loves him.

Not carefully. Not strategically. Just honestly.

She loves him. She loves him despite everything that happened between them, despite the years apart, despite Charlie, despite Taylor, despite all the reasons she should have learned how to let him go.

She never did.

She tells him that when she lies awake at night, she thinks about him. She wonders if he’s happy. She wants to be part of his life. She always has.

Because that has never really been the problem.

The problem was never whether they loved each other.

It was everything they did while loving each other.

Later, after they’re wrapped up in each other’s gravity once again, the conversation becomes quieter.

More honest. Percy rests against him while neither of them pretends that being together for a moment fixes what happened.

Sam breaks the silence first, “I loved you.”

Percy closes her eyes, “I know.”

“You broke my heart.”

Sam’s words aren’t cruel. They’re exhausted.

They’re the truth.

“I know that too,” she tells him.

For a long moment, neither says anything.

Then Sam admits the thing he’s been circling all week. He doesn’t think he can forgive her.

Not because he doesn’t love her.

Because he does.

Forgiveness and love are not the same thing.

Love arrived easily.

Forgiveness never did.

Maybe it will someday. Maybe it won’t. Right now, he doesn’t know the difference.

THE OTHER GOODBYE

The memory shifts back to 2016.

Back to another goodbye.

Back to Sam returning after ending things and finding Percy already changed by what happened with Charlie.

He tells her he never stopped thinking about her. That every version of his future still had her in it. That everything he’s working toward only makes sense if she’s there beside him.

It’s everything Percy wanted to hear.

And it’s too late.

Because she knows something he doesn’t.

The future they imagined together no longer exists.

Everything has changed.

She can’t explain why.

She can only look at him and understand that sometimes love survives.

And sometimes timing doesn’t.

AS IT SHOULD BE

We watch, quietly, as everyone begins to put their lives back together—not neatly, not completely, but honestly for the first time in a long time.

Percy returns to writing, but this time she does it on her own terms. She goes back to reclaiming voice and structure after everything that has been reshaped by grief, love, and consequence.

She isn’t retelling mythology anymore—she’s reframing it through herself. Through what it means to be pulled between worlds, between versions of love, between the self she was and the self she’s becoming.

This time, the story is hers.

It gets published.

And somewhere in that distance between them, Sam reads it.

He reads it with something quieter—recognition. The kind that comes when you realize you are not just inside someone’s memory, but inside the way they survived you. There’s a small, private smile as he follows her voice on the page, as if hearing her speak again in a way he hasn’t been allowed to for a long time.

In Seattle, Percy receives a package.

The keys to The Tavern.

It is not framed as ownership or obligation, but as return. A symbolic handing back of something that was always more than a building—it was the place where all of them kept colliding with each other.

With it comes a message from Sam.

He calls her what he has finally learned to see her as: a goddess of this world.

It lands differently now. Not as idealization, but as recognition of someone who has carried too much for too long and still managed to become something whole on the other side of it.

It isn’t a perfect ending. It isn’t closure wrapped in certainty.

It’s something quieter than that.

Sam’s olive branch isn’t an answer. It’s a moment where the story between them still exists.

THE TAVERN

We’re back in Barry’s Bay, and Delilah’s vision for The Tavern is finally becoming reality. The reopening is approaching, the space is coming back to life, and for the first time in a long time, the future feels bigger than the mistakes that nearly destroyed everyone.

Percy is still the owner of The Tavern, exactly as she should be. There is something satisfying about that. After spending so much of the story believing she didn’t deserve good things, she’s standing inside a future she helped build.

Not everything is resolved, though.

She hasn’t heard from Sam.

In fact, she doesn’t expect to.

Jordie was the one who told him about the reopening. Sam hasn’t reached out, and as far as anyone knows, he isn’t coming back. The silence feels intentional. Not cruel, just reflective of where Sam is emotionally. He spent years burying his feelings, and now he’s carrying grief, betrayal, and heartbreak all at once. Some people run toward connection when they’re hurting. Sam has always run away from it.

The fact that he hasn’t contacted Charlie either says just as much.

Charlie, meanwhile, has done something almost unthinkable: he’s thrown himself into work. This is a man whose usual coping mechanism is distraction, fun, and avoidance. Watching him bury himself in responsibility instead feels like evidence that the fallout finally reached him. For perhaps the first time, he can’t charm his way around the consequences.

Perhaps for the first time, he wants to face them.

Then Jordie arrives, offering to help however he can.

It’s such a Geordie thing to do. He never needs to be the center of a scene. He just shows up.

Delilah immediately finds a job for him, disappearing to retrieve a stubborn lockbox that nobody can open.

And then Chantal walks in.

Technically, she’s there because she left her purse in Jordie’s car.

Practically, she’s there because she wanted another reason to see him.

Jordie and Chantal’s relationship continues to be one of the healthiest developments in the story because neither of them is pretending very hard anymore. The attraction is obvious. The comfort is obvious. The happiness is obvious.

So when Chantal casually announces that she likes Barry’s Bay, it’s impossible not to laugh. This is the same woman who spent most of her time there criticizing it, questioning it, and planning her escape. Barry’s Bay changes people.

Not because it’s magical.

Because it forces them to slow down long enough to figure out who they are when they stop running.

And whether they want to admit it or not, every single one of them has been changed by it.

THE HEART

Charlie is at work on a Saturday; his boss is in the office the way he always is—half avoidance, half discipline. When Charlie walks into the room, he notices a framed photograph on the wall. It’s him, Sam, and Percy on his father’s boat the day it broke down on the lake. He doesn’t know who put it there. He doesn’t need to. The point is that it exists.

That image becomes the anchor for everything Charlie is trying not to feel. Barry’s Bay has a way of keeping receipts, and this picture feels like one of them—an uninvited reminder that nothing here ever really stays buried.

Sam and Percy and the boat represent a version of life before everything fractured, before silence replaced honesty. It was a good memory. Charlie stands there longer than he should, trying to read meaning into it, as if understanding the photograph might let him undo what it represents. But there is no undoing it.

What he does understand, finally, is simpler and heavier: Barry’s Bay is the only place that has ever felt like home, not because it is safe, but because it is honest. Charlie, for all his avoidance, has never stopped belonging to it.

He turns to leave the office, still carrying the image with him. But something in him catches— the physical interruption of everything he has been holding off for too long. A sudden tightening, a breaking point that arrives without permission.

And that is where it ends: not with closure, but with him falling to the floor, suffering a heart attack.

YOU CAME HOME

Opening night at The Tavern carries the weight of everything that came before it.

It’s supposed to feel like celebration—something rebuilt, something returned to life—but for Delilah, it lands differently. At first, there’s relief in how well it’s going. The room is full, the energy is warm, and the tavern finally feels like itself again. But then she sees Jordie and Chantal talking, and something in her expression shifts.

It’s recognition of a story she thought she was still part of.

Jordie tells Chantal he doesn’t want murkey anymore. He wants her.

It’s simple, direct, and completely unguarded—the kind of honesty that doesn’t leave room for misinterpretation. Chantal responds the way she always does: with a mix of humor and clarity and an undertone of sarcasm that keeps things interesting. She jokes that she thought lake-life people were supposed to be chill.

They are.

But being “chill” doesn’t mean being detached.

It means being honest enough to admit when you’ve found someone you actually care about.

And Jordie likes her. Really likes her.

For Delilah, though, the moment hits harder than she expects. She thought she and Jordie were building toward something inevitable. Seeing him choose someone else doesn’t just redirect the present and the future.

At the end of the night, Percy is alone in the kitchen, doing dishes, trying to close out the noise of the evening in the simplest way possible.

That’s when she hears it.

A voice.

Broken. Familiar. Unmistakable.

She turns immediately, even before she fully registers why.

And there he is.

Sam.

Standing like a memory that refused to stay in the past.

For a moment, neither of them moves. The history between them sits in the space—everything they broke, everything they rebuilt, everything they still don’t know how to say.

Then Percy smiles.

“You came home.”

It isn’t a question.

Sam gives a small, uncertain smile in return, as if he understands the weight of those words but doesn’t yet know what he’s allowed to do with them.

And that’s where it pauses— in possibility.

Because love like theirs was never simple. It was never clean. It was never guaranteed to survive itself.

But it kept finding its way back anyway.

Because their souls kept fighting for it.

The post Every Year After Season 1, Episode 8 Review: Those Cliffhangers Are Like WTF appeared first on Fangirlish.

Episode seven of Every Year After is one of those episodes.

On the surface, it’s about forgiveness, accountability, and the long process of understanding who you are after everything you thought was stable has already shifted. But emotionally, it operates on something more complex than resolution. It isn’t simply about letting go of anger; it’s about recognizing how deeply anger can be tied to love. It is about how difficult it is to separate the two without losing pieces of yourself in the process.

For me, it becomes less about closure and more about endurance. The kind of strength it takes not just to move forward, but to face backward at the same time—to acknowledge the past without being consumed by it. There is a difference between releasing something and surviving it, and the episode understands that distinction with unsettling precision.

It also reframes relationships as forces that shape identity rather than simply define it. Friendship, love, loyalty, betrayal—they are not static experiences but evolving pressures. It is about the way people understand themselves and each other over time.

What stands out most is not redemption, but accountability. The episode refuses to separate consequence from responsibility. It insists that actions echo, even when intentions are complicated, and that understanding those echoes is necessary before anything like forgiveness can even be attempted.

Growing up is not a single moment of realization, but a repeated confrontation with everything you thought you had already resolved and everything you thought you knew.

Some stories don’t just tell you who people are, but what it costs to become them.

YOU CAN CALL ME SELFISH

Just when you think Charlie Florek has reached the limit of his gross behavior, he somehow finds a way to dig deeper.

Percy can’t sleep. Eventually, she drifts off outside the motel, exhausted more than rested, and that’s where Charlie finds her. He doesn’t waste time laying into her – directing all his anger at her. The anger is immediate. Raw. Desperate.

“What happened to never telling Sam?” he asks.

This is Charlie’s worst fear realized – Sam knows. Charlie has to live with the consequences of something he’s spent ten years pretending he could outrun his part in what they did a decade ago. It takes two, Charlie. It takes two. 

Percy doesn’t back down, simply saying, “I had to tell him.”

And maybe she didn’t have to. She could have kept carrying it. She could have let Sam keep believing the version of events everyone had carefully protected for a decade.

But how could she? How is that right?

Sam had just stood in front of her talking about second chances. 

About choosing her. 

About building a future together. 

If she was going to accept that, if she was going to let him walk away from Taylor and step toward her, then it had to be real. It had to be honest.

Charlie shakes his head and is only worried about himself. He spews venom, but for the first time, he doesn’t sound angry – he sounds terrified as he says, “He’s never going to forgive me.”

Despite the accusations and the guilt and the mess they’ve created together, Percy asks the only question she really cares about: “Is Sam okay?”

Charlie lets out a bitter laugh. The question almost offends him, but he doesn’t have the right to be offended. However, it feels as though he wants her to be that worried about him. However, Charlie knows that isn’t possible. 

Deep down, I believe that he knows that he’s caused her not to worry about him, the same way she worries about Sam. Of course, she’s worried about Sam. Of course, she’s thinking about how Sam feels.

Sam.

And that’s when Charlie says the cruelest thing he can think of.

“If you care about him at all, you’ll get in your car and go back to Seattle today.”

Percy just stares at him. Logically, she knows that Charlie is doing what Charlie always does when he’s hurting: he’s looking for somewhere else to put the blame.

Then he calls her selfish. That lands with a particular kind of irony. Percy didn’t tell Sam to hurt him. She told him because she finally decided he deserved the truth.

The tragedy is that Charlie can’t see the difference.

A LYING LIAR THAT LIED

Percy remembers the summer before college – 2016 – as if it’s already been labeled in hindsight—the kind of memory that looks harmless until you understand what it cost.

Charlie fixes their dad’s old boat. It breaks anyway, because of course it does. They’re stuck in the middle of the lake while Sam wrestles with knots and rope like effort alone can undo physics. Percy watches him struggle, laughing softly, teasing him the way she always does when things feel safe enough to joke about.

“My wonderful boyfriend can even tie knots,” she says. “What am I going to do with you?”

It’s domestic in the simplest sense. Familiar. Almost careless.

And that’s exactly the problem.

Because Sam has already made a decision. He just hasn’t told her yet. Stanford. Summer intensive. Accepted months ago.

It is two weeks before he leaves.

The information lands in pieces, but the emotional impact is immediate. Percy isn’t reacting to ambition—she understands ambition. What she reacts to is omission. The structural silence underneath it.

Sam’s defense comes quickly, almost reflexively.

“I knew you’d react like this.”

That line is revealing in a way he doesn’t seem to hear. It frames Percy’s hurt as predictable, inconvenient even, rather than evidence that something has already fractured between them.

Charlie arrives and reads the situation instantly.

“Oh. You finally told her.”

It isn’t commentary. It’s confirmation.

Because from the outside, the pattern is obvious: Sam makes decisions in isolation, then invites Percy to adjust to them after the fact. Not maliciously. Not even consciously. But consistently.

Sam tries to reframe it into something survivable.

“We’ll text. We’ll call. It’s not a big deal.”

But that language only works if distance is neutral. And it isn’t. Not here. Not between them.

What he calls logistics, Percy experiences as removal.

And that’s the quiet fracture underneath everything: Sam is speaking from the assumption that love can be maintained alongside separation if it’s managed correctly. Percy is realizing that love, for her, has always depended on being included in the decisions that shape it.

So when he treats the future as already decided—and her role in it as secondary—it stops feeling like a plan.

It starts feeling like exclusion.

Not from Stanford.

From him.

BESTIE TRUTHS

Percy and Chantal are in the motel room when the conversation turns to goodbye. Percy says it, like she’s already decided and doesn’t need the advice. Only she does. 

She has left Charlie Florek frame her life for too long, and his careless words have once again affected Percy. She’s going to be the one who has to carry this again, and Charlie has decided this for her. 

Percy’s statement, “I’m going to say goodbye my own way. I can’t show my face at the funeral.”

It isn’t really about logistics. It’s about containment. About trying to control how much of herself gets exposed in a town that already feels like it’s decided who she is. She’s convinced everyone knows. 

Maybe they do.

But Chantal cuts through that quickly.

“This isn’t about Sam or Charlie,” she says. “This is about Sue.”

Leave it to Chantal to say something that reframes everything.

Because she is right. Sue is the center of this, even now. What she would have wanted. What she would have tolerated and what she would have understood.

Chantal pushes back on Percy’s instinct to disappear. She isn’t the bestie that lets things slide – she tells truths, even when it is hard. She reminds Percy that Charlie doesn’t get to decide how you show up. Or if you show up.

Percy doesn’t fully agree—but she doesn’t fully disagree either. That’s the problem with Charlie Florek. Even when he’s wrong, he forces a reaction that feels uncomfortable and forces a reaction that destabilizes every thought you may have. This includes Percy’s ability to stay neutral about him.

The conversation shifts into something more personal. Something about Chantal.

Jordie.

Chantal tries to pretend she’s indifferent, but she isn’t. It’s obvious in the way she avoids naming what’s already happening between them. It’s obvious in the way that she is lawyering the situation. 

Percy notices, and for once, she gives advice instead of deflecting in order to not feel anything. 

Take a beat.

Not because Jordie is complicated—but because Chantal is rushing toward something that could cost her everything. 

But Chantal doesn’t want to stay on herself. She turns it back to Percy instead.

Charlie, she says, is refusing accountability. He’s acting like nothing he’s done belongs to him, while everyone else is left carrying the fallout.

Percy has spent years taking all of the consequences for choices that weren’t fully hers. Charlie has spent years avoiding any consequences. 

There is no way to diminish that truth. Chantal, again, offers hard truths as she reminds her best friend, “You don’t get to keep punishing yourself while he walks away clean.”

And for the first time, it isn’t just words that Percy doesn’t want to take in.  It’s a challenge for her to take control of her life.

HEY DELILAH 

Percy agrees to talk to Charlie. Chantal agrees to collect her things from Delilah’s room.

Before she leaves, Percy tells her to tread carefully. Delilah wasn’t okay yesterday. Not in the visible, dramatic way—but in the quieter way that usually signals something is being restructured instead of processed.

But when Chantal arrives, she finds something else entirely.

Delilah is functioning. That, in itself, is the warning sign.

She’s not unraveling—she’s reorganizing. Packing. Cleaning. Making coffee. Stealing the espresso maker like it’s a symbolic claim over control rather than an appliance.

When Chantal questions it, Delilah explains herself through inherited models of survival: three marriages, three endings, three ways of responding.

Depression. Destruction. Detachment.

She chooses detachment.

But what she’s really choosing isn’t healing—it’s emotional self-erasure disguised as stability. The performance of being “fine” because it requires less explanation than being not fine.

Chantal recognizes it immediately. Not as a strength, but as avoidance with better packaging. She doesn’t push because she understands what it looks like when someone decides that feeling things is more expensive than shutting down.

THE BOATHOUSE 

Percy finds Charlie at the boathouse.

The setting matters less than what it represents: containment. A closed space where neither of them can avoid the conversation, or each other. It becomes the physical version of what their history already is—an enclosed system where nothing unresolved ever really leaves.

The door shuts behind her, and it feels accidental, but it also feels final. Like something in her has decided there is no more retreat. Whatever happens here has to be faced directly.

What follows is familiar between them: Charlie defaults to blame, Percy refuses to carry it alone.

“I didn’t do this,” she says. “We did this.”

That shift matters. It breaks the simplicity of memories Charlie relies on—the idea that damage can be assigned to one person, contained, and therefore survived. Percy’s refusal removes that comfort. It forces the truth back into shared space, where it cannot be minimized.

Charlie still tries. He tells her not to spiral, not to inflate it, and insists she wasn’t the only one there, as if distribution of presence can soften accountability. But Percy has never experienced it as shared weight. She experiences it as something she has had to live with alone.

And then the memory returns—not as argument, but as evidence.

Charlie remembers her arriving at the boathouse already undone, not dramatically, but in the quiet collapse that follows impact. She told him that Sam broke up with her. No warning. No conversation. Just an email.

Removal instead of rupture.

What Percy understands now, and what she didn’t fully recognize then, is how absolute that kind of ending feels. Not just loss, but dislocation. A future removed without transition.

Charlie didn’t analyze it. He responded. He gave her a beer, kept her talking, kept her present. Not because he had insight into what she needed, but because he was willing to meet her in motion rather than interpretation. It was not guidance. It was an interruption of isolation.

And even now, Percy understands that differently. Not as emotional depth, but as instinctive presence. Charlie did not fix anything. He simply did not leave.

That summer of 2016 becomes something she keeps returning to in hindsight, trying to locate meaning in it. It should have been light. Instead, it became defined by absence—Sam’s distance and the way the breakup turned love into something she had to continue alone.

What she doesn’t fully articulate, even to herself, is that Sam’s absence didn’t only end the relationship. It distorted her sense of time. It made waiting a state of living.

Charlie occupied that space without intending to. Not as replacement, not as resolution, but as continuity where there was otherwise none.

Charlie himself doesn’t stay after what they did. He leaves the way he always does when emotion demands accountability he cannot yet tolerate—through work, distance, and disappearance. Not rejection, but avoidance shaped into habit.

Because for Charlie, staying would mean staying present to consequence.

And that has always been the line he can not cross.

THE PANIC

The argument escalates until Percy’s body does what language cannot: it breaks under pressure. The panic attack is not just emotional overload—it’s the physical consequence of prolonged instability without resolution. A system finally rejecting the conditions it’s been forced to tolerate.

Charlie panics too, but differently. Not emotionally—practically. He doesn’t know how to fix it, but he knows how to stay. And that distinction is small, but meaningful.

“I’ve got you,” he says.

Not redemption. Not clarity. Just presence.

He tells her she can’t keep holding herself responsible for it. She wasn’t the only person there that night, and he frames it as if that alone should lessen the weight she’s carrying. For Charlie, that is a rare moment of accountability—not because he understands everything, but because he stops trying to win the moment and instead responds to what is actually happening in front of him.

Afterward, something shifts—not in resolution, but in tone. He apologizes without rerouting blame, briefly acknowledging shared responsibility instead of externalizing it entirely onto Percy.

It doesn’t repair anything. But it disrupts the pattern. Because memory, for her, is not abstract. It is embodied.

And what she remembers most clearly is not Sam’s explanation, but Charlie’s presence in the absence that followed.

Not who loved her best.

But who stayed when things stopped being easy?

I WON’T FORGIVE & I WON’T FORGET

The Florek house feels emptied out in a different way—less about space, more about emotional absence. Sam is moving through the cabinets, not really searching for anything, just trying to occupy himself in a body that hasn’t caught up with the reality of what’s happened. He is visibly shut down, and there’s no performance in it.

Charlie is there too, trying in the way he always does after damage has already been done. He pulls out old ties—his and their father’s—suggesting they wear them to the funeral. It’s a gesture that reads as care, but also as repair, as if symbolism can bridge what behavior has broken.

Sam doesn’t take it that way. He’s already past the point where gestures land as comfort. He hears them as avoidance. As another attempt to smooth over something that can’t be smoothed.

Charlie starts to apologize, but it comes out intermixed with justification and desperation. Sam cuts through it. He doesn’t want framing. He wants accountability, but knows that accountability will change nothing. 

Jordie has already told Sam that he can stay at the motel until the funeral, and that hits Charlie harder than anything has before. Not because it’s practical, but because it confirms distance. 

Charlie hears it as rejection.

“This is your home,” he insists, as if reminding him of this can undo emotional pain. But Sam is already somewhere else internally. He reminds Charlie of a version of events that Charlie cannot escape: that responsibility was always unevenly carried, and that Charlie’s version of freedom came at the cost of his Mom and him.

It’s not one sentence that breaks Charlie. It’s all of them, accumulating into confirmation that love, in this family, has always been entangled with resentment.

Charlie eventually agrees to leave, but it doesn’t feel resolved. It feels like surrender.

Underneath that surrender to his brother is all the unresolved fracture that keeps surfacing in different forms: Charlie’s recklessness and Sam’s need for control.

Charlie has always tried to protect Sam. Sam has always known that.

But knowing and forgiving are not the same thing.

And this moment makes it impossible to ignore.

WAY TO TELL HIM DELILAH

Delilah is at the tavern, preparing for the memorial, but nothing is going smoothly. She can’t find the tablecloth she needs, and the small logistical missing pieces become the pressure point for everything else she’s carrying. It isn’t really about fabric—it’s about control slipping in a moment where control is the only thing keeping her upright.

Sam comes in and tries to steady her the only way he knows how: by asking her to sit down, to breathe, to slow down. It’s meant as care, but it lands like distance because Delilah doesn’t process grief by pausing. She processes it by doing.

They sit anyway, and the conversation drifts into something quieter, more revealing. Sam talks about who he used to be—how he once wanted to be a cardiologist, someone who could fix people. He says it plainly, but the implication underneath is more complicated: that the desire to “fix” things may have always been less about medicine and more about control over brokenness he didn’t know how to sit with.

He admits studying became a way to distance himself—from Percy, from Barry’s Bay, from the version of his life that required emotional participation instead of avoidance. And when his mother became sick, it complicated that distance. Not because it grounded him immediately, but because it permitted him to return without fully confronting what he had been running from.

Delilah challenges him gently but firmly. She doesn’t let him frame disappearance as neutrality. Ghosting, she reminds him, is still a choice with impact.

And then she shifts, unexpectedly, into something more honest than judgment. She’s seen all of it—the breakups, the returns, the emotional aftermath none of them handled well. And she refuses to reduce it to a single person’s fault.

There’s accountability in her voice, but not blame. More of an insistence that these patterns were built between people, not inflicted by one of them alone.

Because whatever Sam and Percy became, it was never a solo decision. It was mutual participation in something neither of them knew how to sustain without damage.

And Delilah, for once, refuses to let any of them forget that.

JORDIE

Jordie passes Chantal as she’s wrapping up work and packing the car. She tells him she just closed forty million in business. She says it lightly, but it matters—there’s pride in it, proof of who she is outside of everything else. Jordie celebrates it immediately, no hesitation, and then shifts the conversation the way he always does: back to her leaving and trying to get her to stay.

She tries to keep it casual, but he doesn’t let it stay there. He pushes on the idea of work-life balance, like he’s been thinking about it and her. He’s definitely been thinking of her longer than he’s been willing to say out loud. He tells her she can’t just leave without finishing things on his seminar — framing it as structure, as completion, as something that still needs resolution. Even his humor—talking about certificates for completion—lands like a challenge disguised as levity.

It lands like understanding.

Chantal resists it in the way she usually does: by deflecting, by staying half out of reach. But Jordie doesn’t fully let her. There’s a persistence in him that isn’t pressure so much as refusal to let things stay unspoken.

Unfelt.

He makes her feel seen in a way she isn’t used to being seen at work or in relationships, which unsettles her more than she admits.

She invites Delilah along almost impulsively, as if adding another person will diffuse the intensity she doesn’t want to name. The attraction that Chantal knows is lying deep inside of her. Delilah declines at first, preoccupied, but ends up pulled into it anyway. The lake becomes the setting they fall into without fully deciding to.

Delilah has never really belonged to water in the same way the others do. The lake never called her name. She participates cautiously, always aware of control and presentation. Her life is meant to be kept together, and the lake presents chaos.

Chantal, on the other hand, steps in last, overthinking it, and that contrast sharpens what Jordie already understands about both of them: one avoids risk, the other manages it. There is a balance.

Jordie is at his most relaxed here, most himself. He looks at Chantal the way people look when they’ve stopped pretending interest is casual. There is a lust and attraction in his eyes. She notices, but doesn’t fully name it. Instead, she stays in motion, keeping things light even as the dynamic between them shifts.

When Delilah surfaces unsettled, something breaks the rhythm. Whatever ease had formed at the lake tightens again, reminding all of them that nothing here is simple, and none of these connections exist in isolation.

There is a reminder that their friend needs them, and that has to come first.

BREAKING THE PAST

Sam is in the basement when it hits him—memory in fragments, sharp enough to feel physical. The space is filled with remnants of a life he built around avoidance and attachment at the same time. Percy is everywhere in it, not as a presence, but as an imprint.

He isn’t looking for anything specific. That’s the point. He’s moving through the past without meaning to, and when he opens a box of DVDs—horror films they used to watch together—it becomes unbearable in its ordinariness. Not dramatic, not symbolic in the moment it was lived, but devastating now because it proves how much of his life was once shared with her without effort or explanation.

Something in him breaks forward. He starts throwing them out, not carefully, not reflectively, but like erasure might create relief. Like removing objects could undo what they represent.

Then he finds a photograph—him and Charlie’s kids, sitting outside on a bench. It anchors him in a different kind of memory, one tied to family, expectation, history. And instead of processing it, he moves again, but this time outward.

Outside, his anger finally finds a direction. He destroys what he can reach. It isn’t calculated; it’s released without structure. And underneath it isn’t just rage—it’s collapse. The kind that comes when emotional containment has finally reached its limit.

Sam has always been someone who shuts down instead of opening up, but here that strategy fails him. What comes out instead is volume: grief, frustration, and the long-buried need to be understood without having to explain himself first.

Even now, the core of it is simple and unresolved. He wants to be seen. He wants to be chosen. He wants the internal contradictions of his life to make sense without requiring him to fully articulate them.

Later, he is by the water again, still unsettled, still suspended between reaction and reflection. His phone is in his hand. He doesn’t scroll. He doesn’t hesitate for long.

He just calls.

“Can we talk?” he asks.

It doesn’t matter who answers yet. What matters is that for once, he doesn’t stay silent.

And in Sam’s world, that alone is a break in pattern.

THE DOOR OPENS

Percy finally admits to Charlie what she has avoided naming for years. Leaving didn’t feel like a clean decision—it felt like collapse. After she left, everything inside her intensified instead of settling. Panic attacks began where certainty used to be, and eventually she reached a point where she no longer wanted to die so much as she wanted to stop feeling at that level of intensity.

Her parents, seeing only the surface of it, responded with fear. They sold the house, treating Barry’s Bay not as a place but as a trigger, something to be removed in order to stabilize her. Protection replaced understanding, but the damage had already been done in quieter ways.

Charlie hears it differently than he ever has before. Not as shared history, not as mutual mistake, but as consequence. For the first time, he sees what their choices actually produced in her life once the moment passed and no one was there to contain it.

He tells her she needs to forgive herself, but the advice lands where advice often does—on ground that is already too fractured to support it. Percy can’t reconcile forgiveness with what she believes is still unresolved. Sam’s absence of closure sits like a permanent judgment she cannot override.

She wonders aloud how she is supposed to move forward when love is still active inside her, unprocessed and unreturned in the way she needs it to be. Love, for her, is not the issue. It’s the weight of it that never found resolution.

Her voice breaks as she reaches the edge of what she can hold. Charlie moves toward her instinctively, trying to offer physical comfort where language fails.

And in that suspended moment—before anything can settle, before anything can be resolved—the door opens.

Sam is there.

Not as memory. Not as an absence.

But there.

The question now is why.

The post Every Year After Season 1, Episode 7 Review: Sam Is On A High Horse, Percy Remembers, & Charlie Finally Grows Up (A Lil) appeared first on Fangirlish.

And Percy knows exactly what the truth is going to cost.

She knows it’s going to hurt him.

Not just because she slept with Charlie. Not just because she kept it from him. But because the secret that her and Charlie have kept is going to shatter something bigger with Sam: his trust.

Sam expects disappointment from Charlie. Charlie has spent years proving that he’ll make reckless decisions and deal with the consequences later. But Percy? Percy was different. Percy was the person he trusted.

Even when she hurt him.

And now he’s learning that the two people he trusted most shared a secret that involved him and changed the course of his life without his knowledge.

Percy was seventeen. She was heartbroken. She made a mistake.

A painful one. A consequential one.

But still a mistake.

What makes this so difficult is that Sam is experiencing the hurt in real time while Percy has been carrying the guilt for years.

And while part of me wants to point out all the ways Sam broke Percy’s heart too—the ways he pushed her away, chose fear over honesty, and left her questioning herself over and over again—I can’t even be angry at him right now.

Because this moment isn’t about keeping score.

It isn’t about who hurt who more.

It’s about pain.

Raw, immediate pain.

The kind that makes it impossible to see anything beyond the betrayal sitting directly in front of you.

Sam has spent years believing he understood the story of his life. And in a matter of minutes, Percy has handed him a version of that story he never knew existed.

Of course, he’s devastated, and he’s angry.

Unfortunately, sometimes the truth can be the right thing to say and still break someone’s heart when they hear it. Both can be true. 

VIRGINITY 

I think it’s summer 2016. Maybe 2015. Honestly, they never announce the year, and it is driving me absolutely insane. 

Whatever year it is, Sam and Percy are deeply, hopelessly in love.

It’s sweet. Not because of grand gestures or dramatic declarations, but because of the little things. They spend all their time together—working together, finding excuses to be around each other, learning the rhythms of each other’s lives.

At one point, they’re taking out the trash at The Tavern, and Sam tells her she drives him crazy when she throws the garbage bags a certain way. It’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard, which is exactly why it feels real.

Then he tells her he loves her. Percy says it back.

No hesitation, but filled with certainty.

These two are at that stage of young love where every moment feels important, and every future feels possible.

Back in the summer—whichever summer we’re calling this—Percy tells Sam she has something important to tell him. Her parents are out of town until Sunday. In teenage speak, that means one of two things – parties or sex. 

The look on Sam’s face is a mixture of excitement and panic, which feels about right for two teenagers who are convinced they “are ready.”

The thing I love, though, is how thoughtful Sam is about all of it. He’s nervous. He wants everything to be perfect. He’s planned. He’s trying so hard to get everything right. In teenage boy speak, that means sex.

Which makes what happens next even more heartbreaking.

Percy shows up at his house smiling. Sam is smiling too. They’re both nervous, both excited, both standing on the edge of a moment they’ve built up in their heads for months.

Then Sam disappears for a second and comes back with a bag of rose petals.

It’s awkward and yet adorable. It’s exactly the kind of thing a teenage boy in love would think is romantic.

Percy looks at him like she can’t believe he actually planned all of this.

And then, of course, everything falls apart because Jordie shows up.

Panicked.

Desperate.

The second he asks to speak to Percy alone, you know something is wrong. At first, Percy doesn’t understand. He keeps asking if she saw Delilah. She keeps insisting she saw Delilah earlier. That Delilah seemed fine; that she even helped her get ready earlier.

But Jordie knows better – he says the words that stop everything cold.

Delilah is pregnant.

Just like that, the entire night changes.

Nothing besides Delilah matters anymore. Percy does what Percy has always done when someone she loves needs her.

She leaves. She tries to run away, but this time she runs towards. 

Nothing feels simple anymore, but they are all at that age, everything is changing, and holding on is even more complicated than it was before. 

HE KNOWS

It’s been hours since Percy told Sam, but she hasn’tleft her spot by the lake. She’s been sitting on the rocks for what feels like hours, crying, calling Charlie over and over, trying to warn him before Sam gets to him first.

Missed call.

Missed call.

Missed call.

Charlie finally sees them and immediately sees the text message that says he knows.

Fuck.

When he gets downstairs, Sam is already there. Just sitting and staring.

And somehow that’s worse.

Charlie starts talking immediately, trying to explain, trying to find some version of the story that makes it less terrible. But there isn’t one. He wants Sam to unleash. Charlie almost wants Sam to explode. Yell. Hit him. Do something.

Anything would be easier than this.

Because this isn’t really about Percy.

It’s about trust.

Sam trusted his brother more than anyone. Through everything—their dad dying, growing up, losing their mom—Charlie was the one person he believed would always be there. And now that foundation is gone.

Sam is shattered, and Charlie knows he deserves whatever is coming.

“I don’t think you’re capable of remorse,” Sam tells Charlie, as he keeps apologizing.

It’s harsh and maybe unfair. Somehow you can’t be mad at Sam, because you can understand where it’s coming from. Charlie has spent his whole life making messes and expecting people to live with the fallout. Even when he means well, he leaves damage behind him.

“You poison things,” Sam says. The horrible part is that Charlie doesn’t even argue.

Because on some level, he believes it too.

But this isn’t some random mistake– this is a betrayal of his brother.

The one person whose forgiveness actually matters.

Sam looks exhausted. Grief-stricken. Betrayed.

Their mother has barely been gone a week, and now this. The truth.  The realization that two of the people he loved most kept something from him for years. The betrayal.

Finally, Sam says that after they bury their mom, it’s over.

They’ll go back to their separate lives.

They’re done.

Charlie is dead to him.

And honestly?

That hurts almost as much as the secret itself.

Watching Sam erase his brother entirely feels like another tragedy on top of all the others.

And for the first time, Charlie looks like he realizes there might not be a way to fix this one.

HEY DELILAH 

Percy gets the phone call and doesn’t even hesitate.

“I’ll be right there.”

It’s Delilah. By the time Percy arrives, movers are already emptying the house. Furniture. Boxes. Pieces of an entire life being carried out the front door like it means nothing.

Delilah is standing in the middle of it, completely overwhelmed.

Movers are taking everything. Apparently, Whit informed her she needed to vacate by noon. No discussion. No warning. Just gone.

Percy gets her inside and tries to calm her down while Delilah spirals through every possible worst-case scenario. They call Chantal, who happens to be out with Jordie, and within seconds, Lawyer Chantal takes over.

“Whatever you do,” she says, “don’t leave the house.” Possession is 9/10’s of the law. 

Delilah looks terrified.

Percy notices Chantal keeps trying to redirect the conversation, but now is not the time. 

What happened last night? Why didn’t Percy come back? Is she okay?

Percy dodges every question.

Because talking about Delilah is easier than talking about Sam.

Talking about a divorce is easier than talking about heartbreak.

For a little while, helping Delilah feels like a gift. A distraction. Something she can fix.

BARNEY (NOT THE DINOSAUR)

Whit’s assistant arrives. Barney. Little troll-looking man in a bad fit.  A man who seems genuinely delighted to be delivering bad news.

Barney is a villain origin story.

He assumes Percy is the lawyer. Percy quickly corrects him. Barney looks even happier.

Then he hands over the envelope.

Inside are photographs.

Proof of adultery. Violation of the pre-nup. Suddenly, everything changes.

Percy calls Chantal back immediately. The second Chantal hears that there are photos, her advice changes.

“Get out of that house.”

The confidence drains out of Delilah’s face. She looks petrified. Barney seems to be enjoying every second of it.

Percy and Delilah are packing up whatever they can salvage while Barney watches like a guard dog with a clipboard. He’s counting down their time, threatening authorities, hovering like he has power he barely understands.

“You have one minute,” he snaps.

Percy mutters under her breath for him to shut up, and it almost makes Delilah laugh through the tears. Almost.

Because Delilah’s standing there asking, “What am I supposed to do now?”

And Percy answers without hesitation, “You’re not alone in this. I’ve got you.”

But even as she says it, there’s a sense that Geordie’s already part of that promise too—quietly, steadily. Not new, not loud. Just always there.

Later, they’re sitting in a motel room owned by Jordie. Delilah’s entire life has been reduced to a few bags and borrowed space.

She admits she knew, even when she married Whit, that something wasn’t right. But everyone kept telling her they belonged together. Eventually, she started believing them.

Now she’s sitting on a motel bed, wondering how she got here.

Percy stays with her.

Because Delilah needs someone. Delilah is hurting. And then there is the fact  if Percy keeps focusing on Delilah’s disaster, she doesn’t have to think about her own.

A text from Chantal appears.

Are you okay?

Percy stares at it for a long moment.

Then types the biggest lie she’s told all week.

I’m okay.

And then she asks about Sam.

I NEED MY BESTIE 

In 2025, Delilah tells Percy she needs to talk, and Percy immediately assumes something is wrong.

“Are you okay?”

Delilah says yes, but she doesn’t look okay. She looks nervous. Distracted. Like she’s carrying something heavy. Before Delilah can say more, Percy blurts out her own news.

She and Sam are finally going to sleep together. Delilah smiles and tells her it’s about time, but the reaction feels smaller than Percy expected. There is something off about her, but Percy is too caught up in her own excitement to really see it.

Delilah is pacing her room, repeatedly checking her phone. She texts Percy that she needs to talk, but Percy never understands the urgency.

At the tavern, Sam and Charlie are more than happy to encourage her to leave work early. Charlie jokes that everyone’s suffering from Sam’s anticipation, and Percy laughs because she is just as excited as Sam is.

The problem is that Delilah needs her, and Percy doesn’t realize it.

When Percy finally gets home, she bursts into the room, talking nonstop. She tells Delilah about her plans, about Sam, about how nervous and excited she is. Every time Delilah tries to speak, Percy unintentionally talks over her.

Looking back, it’s impossible not to notice how withdrawn Delilah seems. She is sitting on the edge of her bed, scared and distracted, while Percy is completely focused on her own life-changing moment.

Before leaving, Percy promises they’ll catch up later.

Only after she is gone do we see what Delilah couldn’t bring herself to say.

She opens her purse and pulls out a pregnancy test.

Suddenly, the scene feels entirely different. While Percy is preparing for one milestone, Delilah is facing another, and she’s facing it alone.

In the present, Percy remembers what happened after she finally learned the truth. She remembers chasing after Delilah’s car, begging her not to leave without her.

She wasn’t trying to fix anything. She just wanted Delilah to know she wasn’t alone.

When Delilah unlocked the door, Percy climbed inside, apologized, and held her while she cried.

For all the moments Percy missed what was right in front of her, when Delilah truly needed someone, she showed up. And that may be why their friendship survived everything that came after.

WHERE IS SAM

Charlie is sitting at his computer when he gets a call from the mortuary. Sam never picked up Sue’s ashes, and that sends Charlie into an immediate panic.

For all of Charlie’s flaws—and there are many—this is the moment where you can see exactly how terrified he is. He loves his brother, and he is worried. He calls Sam. No answer. He calls again. No answer. He leaves messages, trying to sound calm, but the fear is bleeding through every word.

All he wants is one text.

One message.

Just tell me you’re okay.

He even tells Sam that if he sends a single text, he’ll leave him alone. He just needs to know his little brother is safe.

And honestly? It broke my heart a little. Neither Forek brother knows how to handle grief. Neither of them knows how to handle pain healthily. Their default setting is to shut down, bury it, avoid it, pretend it’s manageable until it explodes into something worse.

Sam retreats into himself.

Charlie talks too much, drinks too much, pushes too hard.

Different coping mechanisms. Same damage.

Charlie isn’t calling because he’s angry. He’s not calling because he wants forgiveness or because he wants to defend what happened with Percy. He’s calling because he’s scared.

Their mother is gone. Their relationship is shattered. Sam has just learned a secret that completely rewrites how he sees his brother.

And now Sam has disappeared.

The tragedy is that these two need each other now more than they ever have. They’re grieving the same person, carrying the same history, and drowning in the same pain.

But neither of them knows how to reach for the other without making things worse.

So Charlie keeps calling.

And the longer Sam doesn’t answer, the more worried I become about where Sam’s head is right now.

FISHY FISHY

Jordie and Chantal are still out fishing, and somehow this might be the most revealing conversation they’ve had yet.

We learn Jordie only had one serious girlfriend back in college. She left after his injury, once it became clear the future she imagined with him wasn’t happening anymore. Chantal immediately assumes he must have done something wrong, which honestly feels very on-brand. Her experience with men hasn’t exactly encouraged optimism.

The conversation is light until Chantal hooks a fish.

Jordie moves behind her to help, guiding her through it, and the chemistry between them is impossible to miss. Neither of them is saying it out loud, but it’s there in every look and every interaction.

And naturally, that’s when Charlie Forek shows up to ruin the moment.

Charlie tells them Sam is missing. At first, Jordie tries to rationalize it. Maybe Sam is with Taylor. Maybe he just needs space. But Charlie quickly shuts that down. Sam ended things with Taylor.

The mood changes immediately.

Soon, the three of them are in the Bronco searching for Sam, and the tension is thick. Jordie is fiercely loyal to his best friend, and I respect that. He doesn’t want to hear Charlie’s excuses. As far as he’s concerned, Charlie crossed every line imaginable.

But there is something Jordie doesn’t fully want to acknowledge either: Sam wasn’t innocent in all of this.

Yes, Charlie sleeping with Percy was a betrayal, but Sam broke Percy too.

He ended their relationship in the worst possible way and left her carrying that heartbreak for years. Two things can be true at once. Charlie was wrong, and Sam made mistakes too.

Jordie tells Charlie he went as low as a person can go and then somehow found a way to go lower.

“I can’t even look at you.”

Underneath all the guilt and all the damage, Charlie is terrified. This isn’t about defending himself. It isn’t about Percy or the secret or the fallout.

It’s about his brother.

Charlie may be a screwup, but he loves Sam more than anything. And sitting in the backseat, Chantal understands that fear even while she’s fully prepared to go to war for Percy.

Because that’s what real friendship looks like too. Nobody cares about winning the argument anymore.

They just need to find Sam.

ROOSTERS

They pull into the parking lot. A bar called Roosters.

Chantelle looks up immediately. “This has gotta be the one.”

Charlie huffs. “That’s what you said about every other one.”

But this time, it is.

Sam is inside. He’s already halfway gone—back in the place he always ends up when everything else falls apart. He’d been here every day for a month after Percy ghosted him. Now he’s back again like nothing ever really changed.

He’s at the bar, drunk, slumped forward.

The bartender keeps trying to throw him out. Sam refuses to move. Charlie exhales. “I got this.”

Geordie looks at him. “Are you high?”

Charlie ignores him, walks in, and wraps an arm around Sam like this is normal. Like Sam isn’t actively unraveling. “Hey, bud.”

Sam is here again—because of course he is.

Jordie tries to stop it before it escalates, but Sam is already sharp around the edges, drunk and burning through every restraint he has left.

Then Charlie walks in.

Everything in Sam locks.

“You’re scum,” he says instantly. “Why are you here after you stabbed me in the back?”

His eyes flick to Chantal.

“You too? Helping her steal the tavern? Did you all sit around laughing about it?”

The bartender steps in. “Don’t talk to a lady like that.”

“I’m not your lady,” Chantelle snaps.

“Crazy bitch,” the bartender mutters under his breath.

“What did you just say?”

Geordie moves in too late. Chantelle swings back on instinct and catches him clean in the nose.

“Oh my God—sorry,” she says immediately.

In the chaos, Sam lunges at Charlie. It’s messy, drunk, all impulse and history. Charlie goes down hard.

Then Sam collapses too.

Silence drops in like a weight.

Chantelle crouches beside Geordie, wiping blood from his nose. For a second, neither of them moves away.

“So,” he says, half-smiling. “Do I look like a badass now?”

“Yeah,” she says.

They almost kiss.

Almost.

But it doesn’t happen. It never quite does.

Because Charlie is already moving again. Sam is still the center of everything. And whatever almost existed between them disappears before it can become real.

SHE WAS HIS FIRST LOVE

Delilah is so upset that she starts packing, ready to leave. She’s at the back of her car when Jordie finds her. At first, he tries to talk like everything’s normal, but he hears it in her voice before she even turns around. She’s crying—really crying.

And Jordie, for all his awkwardness, notices everything. He always has. He just doesn’t always know what to do with it. When she turns, she’s falling apart.

“It’s bad,” she says.

He doesn’t ask for details. He just pulls her into a hug like it’s the only answer that makes sense. Like he’s decided, quietly, that she doesn’t get to go through this alone. And somehow, that’s exactly what he’s good at—making sure people are okay, even when he can’t fix what isn’t.

Later, Delilah falls asleep in the motel room. Percy’s still sitting with her when there’s a knock at the door.

Jordie. He came to check on her. He didn’t know Percy would be there.

There’s a moment where Percy almost speaks—almost asks questions—but Jordie stops her gently without saying much at all. He doesn’t want to get dragged into it. Not tonight. Not this.

“We all hurt each other,” he says instead. Simple. Honest. Final.

Percy tells him she just wants to take care of Delilah.

“Yeah,” he replies. “Me too.”

And it’s the first time it doesn’t feel like sides. Just shared weight. Before he leaves, he promises coffee in the morning. She smiles. He does too.

And as he walks away, Jordie is left standing in that quiet in-between place—still trying to be there for everyone, still carrying feelings he doesn’t name, and still, somehow, always showing up for everyone else, anyway.

I ALMOST KISSED SOMEONE

Chantelle is sitting in the motel room with Drew when she finally says the thing she’s been avoiding.

“I almost kissed someone tonight.”

To his credit, Drew doesn’t explode. He listens while she explains what happened. Nothing actually happened. She didn’t kiss him. She walked away.

“We’re human,” Drew says. “We’re not dead.”

But then she tells him who it was. Jordie.

And suddenly the conversation gets harder.

“Do you like him?” Drew asks.

Chantal doesn’t know how to answer. She’s only known Jordie for six days. How can she know? But Barry’s Bay has changed something in her. She finally understands what Percy has always tried to explain about this place—the way it makes you confront things you’d rather ignore.

When Drew asks if she still wants to get married, she hesitates and that hesitation says everything. Drew retreats to the bathroom, needing a minute. Chantelle is left staring into the silence, looking like someone who’s breaking her own heart.

Meanwhile, Charlie gets Sam home and puts him to bed. Sam is passed out, but Charlie can’t stop looking at him.

His little brother.

The person he just lost.

For the first time, Charlie seems to fully understand the damage he’s done. Not just the secret itself, but the trust he shattered.

And as he sits there, we’re pulled back into the past. 2015ish.

A few days have passed since Delilah’s pregnancy crisis. It’s heavily implied she had an abortion, and whatever happened has left her devastated. Miles was useless through all of it, leaving Percy to be the one who showed up, stayed beside her, and carried her through the aftermath.

It’s been one of the hardest weeks of Delilah’s life.

And yet, life keeps moving.

Percy is still young, still in love, still trying to hold all the pieces of her world together at once. Delilah is hurting. Sam is waiting. Everything feels fragile.

The tragedy of being young is that even when something life-altering happens, the rest of life refuses to stop and let you catch up.

YOU WERE THE ONLY FAMILY

Back in the present, Charlie quietly takes care of the things Sam won’t. He leaves water on the nightstand. Aspirin. A puke bucket beside the bed.

It’s such a small thing, but it feels devastating. Despite everything, Charlie is still taking care of his little brother the only way he knows how.

Sam is half asleep when Charlie looks over at him.

“You’re the only family I had left,” Sam says. There is pain in his eyes. The words hit harder than any punch could have.

Because Charlie knows.

He knows exactly what he destroyed.

He knows this isn’t really about Percy. Not entirely. It’s about trust. Sam believed in his brother more than anyone, and now that foundation is gone.

Charlie stands there looking at him, carrying all the guilt he’s been trying to outrun.

“I know I fucked up,” he says quietly. “I’m sorry.”

But some apologies arrive too late. The damage is already done. Sam doesn’t yell. He doesn’t fight. He doesn’t tell Charlie to leave.

He just rolls onto his side and turns his back on him, and somehow that’s worse. Anger would mean there was still somewhere for all that hurt to go.

Instead, there’s only exhaustion.

Silence hangs between them for a long moment before Sam finally says the thing that’s been underneath all of it.

“I still love her.”

For all the damage, all the years, all the mistakes they’ve made to each other, that’s still the truth sitting at the center of everything. Charlie closes his eyes for a second because there isn’t a single thing he can say that will make any of this better.

Not tonight.

Maybe not ever.

And as Sam lies there with his back turned and his heart broken all over again, the tragedy isn’t that he still loves Percy.

It’s that Percy still loves him too.

The post Every Year After Season 1, Episode 6 Review: Sam Has Been Betrayed, Chantal Moves Forward, & Jordie May Be The Best Of Them All appeared first on Fangirlish.

Because they aren’t telling us what happened in the past, sometimes actions do not make sense. When things do not make sense, it takes a strong script as well as phenomenal acting to keep the viewer invested.

This show has that. Sadie Soverall, Matt Cornett, Aurora Perrineau, Abigail Cowen, Michael Bradway, and Joseph Chiu are all giving performances that have us sat. We’re hooked on their characters, every word, action, and the circumstances that are there.

It’s gone beyond the love story.

It’s gone beyond the friendship story.

It’s a genuine interest in making sure that these characters succeed.

That they move forward.

Somehow Every Year After started as one thing and has changed to something else. It’s changed to this show that we’re finding ourselves in – the good, the bad, and the ugly parts of us are all apparent here.

There is an investment in all of the characters.

Sometimes it’s love for them.

Sometimes it is anger.

But at the end of the day, we know what we want the most. If you’re asking what that is – well, that is to understand what it is that Sue was trying to do with the things she left behind.

SAM AND HIS PANIC 

Sam doesn’t wake up gently. He jolts awake like something has grabbed him by the throat.

His dream is still with him. It’s radiating out of his soul. He’s not sure what to think or how to feel.

Percy.

For a second, Percy is still there—so real it feels physical. His body hasn’t caught up with reality yet, like it still remembers her. Her touch. Her smell. Her taste.

Then the room settles in around him. He’s stuck in the past, waiting for something or someone to center him.

The silence is too quiet.

He looks as though he’s struggling. He remembers –Taylor. Right. That’s supposed to matter.

The problem isn’t just the dream—it’s how easy it felt. Loving and wanting Percy somehow feels easy.

In his dream, Sam was angry and undone at the same time, pulled between wanting to push Percy away and pull her closer. He wasn’t choosing between feelings; he was drowning in both.

The dream isn’t what scares him; it’s that it feels like memory. It’s that it feels like it could be a reality– being with her again. Something in him still belongs to her.

At the tavern later, he tries to act like he has control again. Like there’s a version of his life he can organize into something clean. Sam and Percy are the same in the sense that they think that they can run from their issues and find a solution in the chaos.

Rather than confront their feelings, they choose to build their lives on bad decisions.

HAPPY FOR ME

Sam tells Jordie he’s going to propose to Taylor.

Even as he says it, he knows something is wrong with the idea. It feels like panic disguised as certainty. It feels like panic that he believes will stabilize his world. Like, if he can lock something in, he won’t have to face what’s shifting under him.

Jordie is careful with him, offering truths disguised as support. Sam doesn’t really hear anything that doesn’t support his choice. Sam doesn’t want to hear what is in his mind. He can’t stay still long enough to understand what anyone is actually saying.

Because Percy is back.

Charlie shows up with alcohol and old history between them all, and suddenly everything feels heavier. Not new—just unresolved because secrets have been kept

Charlie jokes, but Sam hears something else underneath it. Possession. Memory. A life that never properly closed.

And Jordie is watching both of them like he finally understands the truth: Percy didn’t do anything.

She just came back.

And now Sam seems conflicted. Sam doesn’t know which version of himself is real—or which one he actually wants to be.

NYE 2014

It’s New Year’s Eve, 2014.

Percy doesn’t tell anyone she’s coming back to Barry’s Bay.

That’s the first mistake—if it even counts as one. The second mistake is bringing Mason.

The tavern is already loud when they arrive. Too warm, too full, too alive. Delilah is there. Charlie is there.

The room is filled with memories that haunt her and make her feel suffocated. Memories that make her feel anxious. Percy remembers without meaning to.

And then Sam is there.

It’s when he walks in that the night tilts on its axis and the world feels like it’s punching both Sam and Percy in the chest.

Unable to breathe.

Their world changes when they are in the same room.

Charlie clocks Sam immediately, already waiting for something to break. For his brother to break.

Sam stops the moment he sees her. Just for a second. Like he didn’t expect her to exist in this exact version of reality. Like he had let her go and that meant she wasn’t supposed to be back until he was ready to have her back. Like she was supposed to stay somewhere else in time.

Something in him shifts—quiet, immediate, sharp.

Sam doesn’t look at Percy first. He looks at Mason. Not curiosity. Not friendliness.

Something closer to possession. To history refusing to behave. To try to remind Percy that he is in charge. Sam wants to remind her that he knows her better.

That they were meant to be.

Mason starts to look confused in a way that makes Percy want to disappear into the floorboards.

Finally, Percy leans in.

“Can I talk to you?” she asks Sam. They step away—just far enough to pretend it’s private. Far enough away that they feel safe to be brutally honest.

Percy tells him he doesn’t get to do this. Not after breaking up with her. Not now, not like this. It doesn’t matter that he’s jealous. It doesn’t matter that he understands what she’s doing.

She reminds him that he broke up with her. He ran scared when he should have trusted her.

Sam doesn’t answer in a way that fixes anything.

Percy turns away before she can soften. For a second, everything disappears in her anger.

Or at least, it tries to.

DELILAH 

Percy and Chantal are talking when the tavern comes up.

The question — it is the one Percy keeps circling but never answering.

Has she decided The Tavern? Chantal asks, already knows the answer, but is waiting anyway. That’s what best friends do.

Percy exhales, staring out like the answer might be written somewhere she can’t find. She doesn’t want to hurt anyone. Chantal doesn’t respond right away, and that silence is worse. Percy needs and wants guidance, but she seems unsure of what to want. It’s as if all of the years of anger and indecision are bubbling to the surface.

And suddenly, someone is really caring about what it is that she wants.

That stops Percy. Because that’s the real question. Not Sam. Not timing. Not history.

Chantal is the friend who reminds Percy that it isn’t selfish to want something. It isn’t selfish to follow her own heart. But Percy doesn’t know if that’s true. Won’t it make everything messier? Won’t it make things worse if she keeps it?

The truth feels inconvenient.

They walk outside and spot Jordie. He clocks Chantal immediately and stiffens, like he’s already been caught in something.

Chantal is a human lie detector — all her years of being a lawyer — she can see a person’s tells. Jordie is the kind of honest that collapses under pressure. Within seconds, Chantal has it out of him anyway.

Taylor. Sam. A proposal. The words land in pieces, like he’s trying to make them smaller.

But Percy feels the full weight immediately—not just the news, but what it means.

Chantal names it for what it is.

Not Taylor. Not a ring.

Timing.

Sam is making the biggest decision of his life while Percy is standing right in front of him again. Sam is making decisions based on wanting control — something that he’s lost in his life recently.

His life has been interrupted. Percy is both the interruption and the reminder.

Percy’s expression stills. Not dramatic—worse. Controlled. The kind of stillness that happens when your body protects you before your emotions can catch up. Underneath everything is the fear she hasn’t said out loud: if Sam is choosing a future, then whatever they were is no longer in limbo. It’s done.

She becomes something he is moving past.

Chantal keeps talking, trying to make sense of it, but Percy isn’t really listening anymore. She’s somewhere else now—in every version of Sam that promised permanence and never quite delivered it.

Percy is panicking.

The hardest part is that she can’t fully blame Sam. Not cleanly. Because he did love her. He does love her. He just never knew how to love her without leaving space for something else.

When Percy finally speaks, it’s quiet. Controlled. She’s realizing she’s already losing him again—this time not to distance, but to choice.

And that’s what hurts.

Chantal glances at her, reading her instantly.

Percy stands there with the sick clarity she doesn’t want: It wasn’t that she lost him recently. It’s that she lost him a long time ago—and is only now being forced to understand it.

SUMMER IS HERE

It’s summer 2015.

Percy is halfway down toward the dock, phone still warm in her hand, Delilah’s voice steady on the other end. She almost doesn’t see him at first. Or maybe she does, and her body recognizes him before her mind agrees.

Sam.

And just like that, she’s moving—quick, instinctive, like muscle memory overrides logic. Like the years between them never existed and the ground hasn’t shifted beneath her.

She runs straight into him. Sam.

It lands only when she looks up: he’s real, he’s here, and worse—he saw her try to run. They talk, and she learns he isn’t alone in the way she has quietly imagined when she lets herself slip backward. There’s a girlfriend somewhere in his present. A reality that hurts.

It should feel simple. The past is the past. People move on. But Percy doesn’t feel replaced. She feels rewritten. She feels like something has been corrected without her consent. Nothing about this is neutral. Not his eyes. Not the way he looks at her like she is both familiar and changed. Not the way her name still fits in his mouth like it never left.

The worst part settles in quietly: she didn’t just lose him today. She lost him long before she ever walked into him again.

She steps back into motion before she fully decides to and calls Delilah immediately, like distance might restore balance.

Her voice comes out too fast.

She doesn’t say I saw him.

She says things that sound practical because naming the truth would make her stop functioning. Because Sam having a girlfriend isn’t a shock.

The shock is how quickly her entire world still tilts when he appears in it.

And if Percy keeps going down this road, she’ll have to admit what she’s avoided for too long:

Sam was never just someone she loved.

He was where she kept returning, even when she knew it would hurt.

THE DREW OF IT ALL 

When Percy gets back to the hotel, Drew is there. Unplanned for him to be there, but he is there, nonetheless.

And he is, unfortunately, sick in the way only grown men who have never had to be sick alone can be—dramatic, half-functioning, and acting like the world has personally betrayed him. A cold feels like death.

He’s on the bed like he’s been mortally wounded by a mild fever.

Chantal takes one look at him and immediately pulls Percy into the bathroom.

Chantal doesn’t want to have to take care of someone. Which is fair. Completely fair. No notes. Chantal did not sign up for emotional nursing duties for a man who has access to basic survival skills and is simply choosing not to use them. She didn’t sign up to have to babysit a full-grown man.

And Chantal is watching her do that thing she does—where she tries to outrun feeling by organizing something else instead.

You just can’t outrun what lives inside you, Percy.

SAMS “LAKE”

In 2015, Delilah and Mason end up at the tavern. That’s where they meet Sam’s girlfriend properly for the first time.

She’s gorgeous.

Objectively. Annoyingly. Undeniably. Frustratingly.

She’s like flawlessly gorgeous. The kind of pretty that makes you pause for half a second too long even when you don’t want to.

The kind of pretty that you compare yourself to and find yourself comparing

Jordie appears like he’s been summoned by chaos itself, bouncing into the conversation with that familiar too-friendly energy. It is ike he’s recalibrating the social map in real time.

And then, quietly, he leans into the narrative – like he’s sharing confidential truth he didn’t mean to admit out loud.

“She’s not serious,” he says, nodding toward Sam’s girlfriend. It’s said like fact. Like prediction. It’s something that Percy can hold onto.

SHE’S BACK

Taylor is back.

Sam doesn’t seem to know what to do with that – except to remind her that he loves her. She’s been uptight and a little standoffish, but is pacified by that. You can see that Taylor softens instantly. Sam says it like it’s something he’s been holding in for too long.

I love you too.

Too sounds like she’s agreeing with him. For a moment, it sounds like resolution. Like clarity — an ending that knows how to behave and not cause chaos in their lives.

But Sam is still not fully out of the past he keeps insisting he’s moved on from.

Because Percy still exists in it. Even when he says she doesn’t. Taylor is trying not to be jealous, but Sam is overexplaining.

It’s almost as if he has to force himself to say it, “—that’s my past. You’re my future.”

He’s lying, but doesn’t know it. We know it, though.

Taylor wants to believe that enough for both of them. But it doesn’t land clean. Nothing between Sam and Percy or concerning Sam and Percy ever really does.

Back in 2015, when Sam had his first girlfriend outside of her, Percy got a job at the tavern.

Delilah is immediately unimpressed. She tells her that it’s horrible. It’s as if Percy puts herself in Sam’s life, hoping that he’ll just pay some attention.

Any attention.

For one, I agree with Delilah. She’s waning Percy. She is reminding her of why this is a bad idea. This is not subtle. This is not healthy. This is Percy volunteering to suffer in real time.

Percy shrugs like she doesn’t hear her. It is as if Delilah is already tired of this story. But for Percy and Sam – working together at the Tavern allows them to slip back into something familiar.

Easy conversation. Old rhythms. The kind that makes you forget, for a second, why it ever broke in the first place.

But Sam still hasn’t let go of his girlfriend.

And Percy still hasn’t stopped pretending that it doesn’t matter as much as it does.

YOU AREN’T BF MATERIAL

Charlie’s meeting with the lawyer to inquire about contesting the will does not go well.

At all.

Contesting the will is, apparently, not the dramatic legal loophole solution the brothers were hoping for. It’s messy, it’s unlikely, and it ends with the same conclusion everyone but them already seemed to know: They’re not going to win.

Delilah is already recalibrating. She knows that to own The Taven now, she has to deal with Percy – directly.

Charlie tries to stop her. Like it should be simple. Like, any of this has been simple.

But Delilah is already somewhere else – moving forward with the Tavern is all she has. She wants to establish herself. She’s getting a divorce. Her marriage is over.

She says it like it’s information, not grief. Like it’s a fact she’s already processed alone.

Charlie, instead of hearing that this isn’t about him, does what Charlie does best—he makes it worse in a very specific, honest, emotionally unfiltered way.

He tells her he doesn’t want a relationship.

Delilah stares at him, and for a second, she looks like she might actually laugh. Then it turns sharp. Cruel almost.

She tells him he’s not boyfriend material. She was a means to an end.

The words land like a slap.

THE SOUP

Jordie comes out of the room Chantal’s been working from and immediately tries to slip past like he hasn’t just been caught in her orbit. Chantal doesn’t even look up from her phone, but she knows he’s there. She sees him, just as Jordie sees her.

He stops.

She’s just gotten off the phone with Drew. Drew, in classic Drew fashion, apparently still does not understand basic human self-sufficiency. Or blankets. Or being sick without turning it into a full-time production.

Jordie leans against the wall.

“Why are you out here?” he asks.

“Because my fiancé is upstairs sick,” she says flatly.

That lands differently for him, even if he tries not to show it. Jordie looks reasonably stung. The conversation shifts—because it always does around them—to Percy.

It shifts to what Percy is doing or not doing. Or what she is refusing to admit she’s doing emotionally. Chantal is going to say she’s fine. She’s the bestie who won’t let feelings show.

She’s also a lawyer.

TAKE CARE OF ME

Chantal returns to the room, where Drew is awake now. She is already annoyed at the fact that he is there — sick. His being sick is inconvenient.

“Are you done?” he asks. It’s a question that you wonder if he means with work or just in general.

“I just came to use the bathroom,” she says, like that should end the conversation.

But it doesn’t. They fall into it anyway—their usual loop. Work. Responsibility. Her caseload. His inability to do basic things.

And then it breaks, just slightly.

It’s when she brings up the point that she wants to be taken care of too.

Drew softens, trying to catch up.

“I would,” he says quickly. “You just have to tell me what you need.”

And that’s where it falls apart again. Because Chantal doesn’t want to have to explain it. If they are getting married, he should know.

Jordie finds her again. Later, she leaves to get food.

This time, he’s holding soup and Gatorade in one hand. Ice cream in the other. Mint chip.

Of course, he remembers.

“You just seemed out of sorts,” he says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. And for a second, Chantal just looks at him.

Because this is what she meant. Not perfection. Not effort.

Recognition.

The kind of care that doesn’t require instructions. Jordie just met her, and he doesn’t require instructions. He pays attention.

BACK TO BESTIE

Percy ends up at Delilah’s house without thinking it through. The second she’s inside, she’s already apologizing.

“I should’ve called. This is weird. This is definitely weird.”

But sometimes you need the familiar. You need someone who will understand. Percy needs the familiar, and Delilah is just that.

Delilah just looks at her. Not warm, not cold—like she’s trying to place which version of Percy has walked through the door. Something is off. Percy is usually better at hiding things than this.

They start talking, and it’s like they’re both circling a conversation they don’t want to touch. And then Percy says it without meaning to fully think it through.

“You’re too forgiving.”

That lands differently than she expects. And I think that we’re all left trying to understand what it is that she’s apologizing for – because we don’t know.

“For what?” Delilah asks.

And Percy doesn’t have an answer. Or she does, but it’s tangled up in things she hasn’t admitted even to herself yet.

“Something’s going on with you.”

Percy opens her mouth. Nothing comes. Before she can force anything into words, there’s a knock at the door.

Charlie.

Drunk. Unfiltered. Already mid-breakdown.

“I get it,” he says immediately. “You think I’m a selfish man-child.”

He wants Delilah to believe in him. He wants her to hear his feelings because he doesn’t know what exactly is there. He keeps going, like he’s been holding this in too long to stop now.

It’s as if he thinks that she is the only person who will understand him.

Percy appears in the doorway and freezes. She wasn’t expecting him like this—messy, exposed, too loud with truth he doesn’t know how to contain.

Charlie doesn’t stop. It isn’t defensive anymore. It’s unraveling.

He starts listing himself like he’s on trial, trying to explain something that isn’t clear enough to explain.

“I mean—yeah, the sex was great, but—”

“Charlie,” Percy says sharply from the doorway, stunned. Now she knows. Not just the surface of it, but the shape of it. What’s been happening. What’s been hidden in plain sight.

And then he almost says it. Almost steps too far into the truth; none of them are supposed to touch. Percy moves fast—pulling him away from the door, away from Delilah, away from anyone else hearing.

Suddenly, Charlie is less performative, more cracked open. He’s raw as they revisit an old conversation that really hasn’t changed. The answers are all the same.

And then Percy says it.

“Sam can never know.”

Because that’s the real fracture.

Not just what happened, but what it would destroy if it’s spoken out loud. Whatever they’ve been hiding and calling stability isn’t stability at all.

It’s just silence held together long enough to pretend it’s safe.

And safety is starting to crack.

TAYLOR

Sam is at home when he opens the bottle of wine.

It’s not celebratory. It’s supposed to be, but it isn’t. Not really. It’s something steadier than that—something rehearsed. Something Sam needs in order to perform. He uncorks it, takes a breath, and heads outside where Taylor is waiting.

And at first, he tries to do what he’s supposed to do. He talks about her–bout them.

How they’ve changed each other.

He talks about the memories that are real enough to hold onto but soft enough not to hurt when he touches them.

He tells her she made him feel safe. That even when things weren’t perfect, she was the one person who always showed up in the ways that mattered.

His hand drifts into his pocket without thinking. It’s almost instinctual. The ring is there. He feels it before he fully acknowledges it. Almost as if he knows that he can’t run from what is happening and that he needs to fully evaluate his life.

For a moment, everything in him moves toward the decision he thought he had already made.

Then he keeps talking.

About the week he’s had.

About how wrong everything has felt without really being able to name why.

And that’s when it happens.

He’s supposed to be concentrating on a proposal and making a case for why they work. But their memories aren’t what he is finding. What he is recalling isn’t a memory he chooses—but one that chooses him.

Percy.

Her face. The way she used to smile without realizing she was doing it. The way she looked at him like he was already known. The way he used to brush her hair out of her face without thinking it meant anything at all.

The way that he felt alive with her.

And suddenly Taylor isn’t the center of anything anymore.

She’s just… there.

“I think,” he says carefully, “there’s something we need to talk about.”

I CHOOSE YOU 

Sam heads to Percy’s spot, and this time he isn’t performing certainty or control. She’s there – just like he knew she would be. He’s just talking—like something in him has finally cracked open and won’t close again.

It starts with 2015.

He goes back to the ultimatum, his girlfriend at the time, the pressure, and the moment he says he made a choice. He frames it like clarity, like inevitability—like it was simple to choose Percy.

For him, there was no other choice.

But it isn’t clean when it comes out. What he’s really admitting is that even when he thought he was choosing her, he was still losing her in a hundred smaller ways. Every step toward her came with distance he didn’t know how to stop.

Then he moves to now.

He’s explaining the night and how it went.

The ring. The weight of it in his hand. The decision he didn’t complete. Taylor gone. Every attempt at a life that doesn’t include Percy still circling back to her anyway, like something he can’t outrun.

And that’s when it shifts.

It stops sounding like a confession and starts sounding like panic. What he’s really asking isn’t do you love me.

It’s worse.

He’s thinking — what if I choose you … and I still lose you?

Percy listens like she’s holding two versions of him at once—the boy who chose her but never held onto her – taking her for granted, and the man in front of her now saying everything she once wanted, just years too late and with too much damage between them.

Then Sam says it plainly.

“I want an authentic life. I want to be with you. I love you.”

It lands heavily—not because it’s new, but because it’s final. There’s no escape route in it. No version where it can be unsaid or softened.

And then he pushes further, like he can feel the ground shifting.

What if this is the second chance?

What if this time it works?

Percy holds still through all of it, like she’s past the point of simply receiving. Love isn’t something that happens to her anymore—it’s something she has to respond to.

And then she breaks.

She looks at him and says:

“Sam… there’s something I have to tell you.”

And everything changes in the space between those words. Suddenly, it isn’t about whether he chose her.

It’s about the secrets that they keep.

It’s about the reasons they keep them.

It’s about what it cost to finally get here.

OTHER THOUGHTS

• The fact that Percy can’t have and doesn’t want to have sex with Jake shows how she’s grown
• Charlie wanting to try a relationship with Demilah is comical
• Delilah’s gardening is also comical
• Charlie’s cruelty towards Percy – sir, you’re involved too.
• Go away Jake

The post Every Year After Season 1, Episode 5 Review: Two Truths And A Lie That Needs To Be Told appeared first on Fangirlish.

To be honest, this episode confused me. It confused me – the viewer – because I couldn’t understand any of the motivation behind it. It felt scattered and all over the place when all I was searching for was a way to understand the characters involved.

A LIL …

The morning of the will reading makes one thing painfully obvious: Sam and Charlie may have lost the same mother, but they aren’t carrying that loss the same way. Sam is sitting with old photos, letting himself feel. Charlie is already trying to get through it. Neither approach to grieving is wrong, but it may be hard for the other person to understand.

When Charlie comes downstairs, pulls a bottle of Jameson out, and starts talking about putting it in the coffee to prepare for the day, there’s almost something darkly funny about it. Who plans cocktails for their mother’s will reading? But that’s Charlie. 

Sam keeps trying to connect with his brother by talking about their Mom. He needs support through his pain. He reaches for something honest and tries to give something vulnerable. Charlie doesn’t want to talk about it. His responses are short. He is focused on getting through the day rather than experiencing it.

The distance between them feels so sad because neither of them is wrong. They’re just grieving in opposite directions and have to find a middle ground. 

Even Sam’s text interaction with Taylor highlights the difference. She texts to say she’s thinking about him. He responds politely. Appreciatively.

Sam isn’t really present anywhere right now. He’s stuck somewhere in limbo – between grief and confronting his past. It is hard for the viewer to connect to that as the show has yet to admit to what has happened. 

For Sam, the will reading is another reminder that Sue is gone.

For Charlie, it feels like something to survive.

And those are two very different things.

MY BESTIE IS A LAWYER

Before the will reading, Percy is pacing the motel room like she’s trying to outrun her own anxiety. Part of it is the uncertainty surrounding Sue’s estate. She doesn’t know why she would be in the will. But most of her anxiety is – Sam.

After what almost happened between them at the tavern, being in the same room feels impossible. It feels like something to be afraid of. Barry’s Bay keeps proving to Percy that being around Sam and Charlie may not be the best idea. 

Thankfully, Chantal has no intention of letting her walk into this alone. Part friend, part lawyer, part emotional support system, Chanteal gets dressed and prepares for the possible battle with the Florek brothers. Percy spirals through every possible worst-case scenario.

Ironically, neither of them comes close to predicting the actual one.

At the lawyer’s office, Sam and Charlie are already waiting when they’re told one more person is coming. Unaware of who it could be, neither brother looks thrilled when Percy walks through the door.

Then the reading begins.

Most of Sue’s estate goes to her sons. The house. The assets. The things everyone expects.

Then comes the tavern. Sue leaves the tavern and everything inside it to Percy.

And suddenly, nobody knows what to do with that information. I do not believe that the shock is really about the business and the building. It’s about what the decision means. Sue’s will forces everyone to acknowledge something they’ve spent years dancing around: Percy wasn’t just Sam’s girlfriend. She wasn’t just Charlie’s friend.

She was family.

Sue lost Percy too.

That’s what this inheritance represents.

Not obligation. Not charity. Not a mistake.

Love.

Unfortunately, grief has a way of turning pain into anger, and Percy becomes the easiest target in the room.

Sam is stunned.

Charlie is furious.

The frustrating part is that Percy is just as blindsided as they are. She didn’t ask for this. She didn’t know about it. She walks into the room expecting discomfort and somehow leaves responsible for a problem she didn’t create.

It seems to be a frequent occurrence with the Florek brothers – both of whom don’t seem to know how to take responsibility for their actions.

The more she tries to explain that she doesn’t want the tavern, the worse everything gets.

Because while Percy is apologizing for a situation that isn’t her fault, Chantal is the only person reminding everyone that a will reading is not a negotiation.

Sue made a choice. No one has to like her choice. Whether anyone likes that choice is an entirely different conversation.

By the time Charlie storms out and Sam shuts down, the room has stopped feeling like a legal proceeding and started feeling like a family argument nobody was prepared to have.

The truth is, nobody is really fighting about the tavern.

They’re fighting about ten years of unresolved hurt that suddenly has nowhere left to hide.

NO RUNNING

Summer 2014 feels different from the summers before it.

By now, Percy and Sam have settled into something that looks effortless from the outside. They have their routines, their inside jokes, and their annual tradition of three things to catch each other up on everything that happened during the year apart.

One of Sam’s latest obsessions is running.

Percy, understandably, hates it.

She gives it a try because Sam loves it, but eventually admits the truth: she absolutely cannot stand running. It’s the most relatable that Percy has ever felt. Thankfully, Sam’s response tells us a lot about who he is and how he feels. He doesn’t try to convince her; rather he simply accepts it and moves on.

It’s a small moment, but one that captures the foundation of their relationship. They make room for each other. They don’t always have to like the same things – they just need support. 

Percy realizes that she needs a goal and sets one for herself almost immediately. Ever since she first arrived in Barry’s Bay, she’s wanted to swim across the lake. It’s one of those challenges that becomes bigger in your mind the longer you carry it around.

So she decides this is the summer she’s finally going to do it.

And once she makes that decision, Sam is all in.

It is a reminder that Sam doesn’t just love Percy when things are easy. He invests, supports, and takes an interest in the things that matter to her. He trains with her, encourages her, and spends the summer helping her prepare for something that isn’t even his dream.

It’s hers.

But his dreams involve supporting her and making sure hers come true. 

When the day finally arrives, the entire family shows up.

Everyone is cheering for her.

Looking back, that’s what makes these flashback scenes so bittersweet. Percy didn’t just fall in love with Sam. She became part of something larger – a place where people show up for each other.

The older Percy gets, the more that loss seems to haunt her.

Because the thing she left behind wasn’t only a relationship.

It was a life.

FAKENESS

Percy and Chantal end up grabbing a drink while Percy tries to process the fact that she somehow inherited the tavern. Why would Sue leave her the tavern?

Of course, this is also the moment Delilah appears. Delilah always seems to appear when there’s something she wants.

She tries to play it casual at first, but it doesn’t take long for the conversation to get where it’s actually headed. Delilah had been planning to buy the tavern.  She wants the tavern. She has ideas for renovations, memberships, expansions, all the things that make Percy immediately want to say no. 

She idealizes Barry’s Bay. 

Percy still sees the tavern the way it used to be. Sue behind the bar. Dolly Parton on the jukebox. Summers that felt endless. Percy sees a home

Delilah sees a business opportunity.

.Sam finally discovers what Charlie has been keeping from him. Charlie had already been talking to buyers.

It’s easy to understand why Sam feels blindsided. Losing their mother was already forcing them to confront the future of the tavern. Now they’re finding out neither of them was imagining the same future to begin with.

Charlie sees the financial reality. Sam sees the place their family built.

Neither of them is entirely wrong.

Because Percy is the only person who isn’t looking at the tavern as money.

To Charlie, it’s an asset.

To Delilah, it’s a project.

To Sam, it’s grief.

But to Percy, it’s home.

Did Sue make the right decision? We don’t know, but she probably knew exactly what she was doing.

PERCY’S OLD HOUSE

Percy has spent ten years treating this place like a shrine in her memory. Now it’s about to be demolished. Of course, she wants one last look at her old house. 

So they lift her and put her through a window.

Once inside, Percy immediately starts drifting through the boxes, touching walls and trying to hold onto something that is already gone. Every corner comes with a memory attached to it.

Outside, Delilah and Chantelle are pounding on the door.

“Percy, let us in.”

Meanwhile, Sam and Charlie are having their own trip down memory lane. The possibility of losing the tavern has both of them looking backward. They trade stories about growing up there, their first beers, their first heartbreaks, all the moments that somehow became family history.

One of Charlie’s exes once joked that the tavern was basically the meeting place for Charlie’s A**holes Support Group.

Sam’s response?

He always thought membership would be higher.

For the first time in what feels like forever, they’re almost acting like brothers again.

GIRLS NIGHT

Back at the house, Percy finally lets Delilah and Chantelle inside. The conversation eventually circles back to Sam because, of course, it does. The Florek brothers have a hold on this town. 

Delilah asks the question everyone has been avoiding. What would have happened if she hadn’t walked in on Percy and Sam at the tavern?

Miraculously, Percy doesn’t try to dodge it. She admits that she doesn’t know.

But she finally admits something she’s spent the entire season trying not to say out loud.

She’s still in love with him.

And for once, Delilah is speechless.

The irony is that while Percy is admitting she’s still in love with Sam, Delilah is admitting her marriage is done.  At first, she frames the stress of the separation. But the more she talks, the clearer it becomes that this isn’t really just about her husband. It’s about wanting more for herself. 

Delilah misses having friends. She misses having a life that belongs entirely to her. She misses being a person outside of someone else’s expectations.

Chantal gently points out that marriage comes with sharing your life with another person. The problem is that Delilah doesn’t seem convinced that’s something she wants anymore.

And honestly, the more Chantal talks, the more she sounds like Charlie.

Both of them built lives that look successful from the outside while quietly wondering if they chose the wrong future.

The conversation shifts when Percy starts digging through old boxes.

She finds pieces of herself she hasn’t seen in years. Old stories. Old notebooks. Old drafts.

She’s somewhat heartbroken. Why? Because somewhere along the way, she stopped being the girl who wrote simply because she loved it.

She’s mourning versions of herself she isn’t sure she can get back.

LETS REMEMBER

Sam is wiping down the counter and joking that he won’t miss doing this. And honestly, Sam, I hate to break it to you, but adulthood is basically just finding different counters to wipe down.

The joking doesn’t last long.

For the first time in the entire episode, the brothers stop arguing long enough to actually talk. They still don’t understand why Sue left the tavern to Percy. I don’t think any of us can. It doesn’t make sense. But they both agree on one thing: their mother never did anything without a reason.

The conversation drifts back to their father and the years after he died.

And that’s when Charlie admits something Sam never knew. Something that Charlie looks heartbroken to admit. 

There was a period after their dad passed away when Sue could barely function. Some days she wouldn’t get out of bed. Charlie would come home from school and find her staring at the walls. 

Sam doesn’t remember any of it.

Charlie remembers everything. He remembers doing the grocery shopping. He remembers figuring out meals. He remembers making sure his little brother had breakfast before school.

Charlie is talking about being a kid who became responsible for everyone else before he was ready.

Charlie finally lets the walls down and admits something he’s been carrying around for years.

Part of him was angry at Sue. Not forever or even rationally. But there were moments when he was furious that she left him to hold everything together. It’s the kind of confession grief rarely allows people to say out loud.

It’s a strong moment because it is a reminder that loving someone and resenting them are not mutually exclusive things.

Sometimes both emotions exist at the same time.

Sam listens. Maybe for the first time with his brother, he really listens.

And for maybe the first time all season, he sees the version of their childhood Charlie experienced. A kid who was trying to keep the lights on while everyone else was falling apart.

So when Sam tells him he’s a good big brother, the moment lands. Charlie needed to hear it.

But it also feels important for another reason.

This show has a habit of turning its warmest moments into future heartbreak. Something about the way Charlie reacts makes me think those words are going to matter later.

THE SWIM

Percy was finally ready to take on her big swim across the lake.

After spending the summer training, she’s determined. Sam follows alongside her in a rowboat, partly to encourage her and partly because he refuses to let anything happen to her.

If she gets tired, he’s there.

If she struggles, he’s there.

If she needs him, he’s there.

That’s really the story of their relationship.

When Percy finally reaches the other side, she’s exhausted but proud of herself. It’s something she’s dreamed about doing for years, and now she’s actually done it.

Sam looks just as proud as she feels.

The achievement belongs to Percy, but it’s impossible to miss how much it means to him too.

ANATOMY LESSON

Later that night, they’re studying together in Sam’s room. Or at least they’re pretending to study.

The problem is that they’ve spent the entire summer circling feelings neither one of them wants to admit are there. But leave it to Percy to be more direct. The friendship that always felt effortless suddenly feels charged with something neither of them knows how to navigate. For years, they’ve been each other’s safest place.

Now they’re trying to figure out what happens when friendship turns into something more.

Eventually, the tension they’ve been avoiding finally catches up to them. And for the first time, neither of them pulls away.

It’s not a dramatic moment, actually almost the opposite.

They feel relief.

The relief of finally admitting what has been obvious to everyone else for years.

THE BREAKUP

Sue sits them down and reminds them of something neither of them particularly wants to hear.

They all have dreams.

Big ones.

And falling in love doesn’t make those dreams disappear.

Sue understands something that Percy doesn’t yet. Love isn’t always enough to solve the practical questions.

Percy is still young enough to believe they can have everything. Sam wants to believe it too. But as Sue talks, there’s a flicker of uncertainty on his face. For the first time, you can see him wondering whether loving someone and building a future with them are always the same thing. That fear feels impossible to ignore.

The next day, they’re sitting outside Sam’s house, and you can immediately tell something is wrong. 

The problem isn’t that Sam doesn’t care. It’s that he cares so much, he’s already thinking about everything that could go wrong.

Percy notices it too. She asks why he’s acting weird, and eventually he tells her.

Junior year is coming. College is getting closer; he has to concentrate. Unlike Percy, whose future feels wide open, Sam feels like every opportunity he has depends on getting a scholarship.

The pressure is crushing him.

What makes the conversation hurt is that Sam is not really talking about school. He’s talking about fear.

Sam is terrified of wanting something he can’t keep.

Their lives are moving in different directions.

And for the first time, the future feels bigger than the little world they’ve built together every summer.

Sam tries to explain it, but every word somehow makes things worse.

At one point, he admits he knows he’d be an asshole for asking her to wait for him. He knows he has no right to ask her not to date anyone else. He knows he can’t put her life on hold.

Percy’s response?

“You’re an asshole either way.”

Honestly, fair.

From Percy’s perspective, she finally let herself believe this was happening. She finally let herself believe he wanted the same thing she did. And now he’s already pulling away.

The scene is painful. Sam thinks he’s being responsible, and Percy thinks she’s being rejected. In a way, they’re both right.

Percy heads home carrying heartbreak.

The difference is that Sam gets to convince himself he’s doing the right thing.

Percy is left with the feeling that she wasn’t enough to make him stay.

Underneath all the anger is the realization that the summer she thought would change everything may have just ended with her getting her heart broken.

For a first heartbreak, it feels devastating.

BUT HE SHOWED UP

If you have ever read a YA book, the girls’ adventure into Percy’s old house comes to a very predictable conclusion.

The cops show up.

Delilah and Chantal take off, leaving Percy behind. Not on purpose. 

Percy, unfortunately, gets caught because she’s too busy trying to save old notebooks and stories that probably should have been packed up years ago. Though if you’re going to get arrested, getting arrested for being emotionally attached to your own memories feels very Percy.

The person who comes to get her is Sam.

And that’s where everything finally boils over.

This isn’t really about getting caught in an abandoned house.

It’s about last week.

It’s about the hugs.

The hand holding.

The almost-kisses.

The lingering looks.

I could go on, but you get the point.

The way Sam keeps pulling her close and then acting surprised when she gets hurt.

Percy finally calls him on it, and we’re screaming: It’s about time. 

Percy has spent years carrying the weight of what happened between them. The least Sam can do is acknowledge the confusion he’s creating now.

She’s tired. Tired of feeling like he’s pulling her toward him one minute and pushing her away the next.

Tired of feeling like she’s the only person in the room willing to acknowledge what’s happening between them.

And the frustrating part is that Sam doesn’t really argue, because he knows she’s right. That’s what makes the scene hurt. If he knows, why does he do it?

If Sam genuinely had no feelings left, this would all be much simpler. But that’s clearly not what’s happening. The problem isn’t that Sam doesn’t understand; it is that he understands perfectly.

He’s just terrified of what comes next.

So instead of having the conversation they actually need to have, he retreats.

He apologizes. He says seeing her again brought back old feelings, and it won’t happen again. That’s the most painful thing he could have said.

Not because Percy wants promises.

Not because she expects him to choose her.

But because, once again, Sam’s solution is avoidance. It’s the same instinct we’ve seen from him over and over.

The tragedy of their love is that he’s probably trying to protect both of them. But from Percy’s perspective – or anyone’s really – it feels exactly like another rejection. After ten years of carrying this relationship around in her head, that’s a hard thing to hear. It’s an unfair guilt to put on her.

One of the things this episode does really well is remind us that closure isn’t something another person gives you.

Sometimes you don’t get the conversation or the explanation. Sometimes the person you want answers from is just as confused as you are.

Sam feels every bit as lost as Percy does, but we’re not giving him a pass. The difference between the two is that Percy is finally saying it out loud.

SUE HAD HER REASONS

Percy heads to the tavern and, feeling completely lost, calls her dad. It’s one of the first conversations she’s had all season that doesn’t come with expectations, tension, or fifteen years of unresolved feelings attached to it.

It comes with understanding. 

What stands out is learning how close Sue and her father actually remained over the years. Percy is surprised to hear that after her first byline appeared in the Seattle Times, Sue called him to make sure she hadn’t stopped writing fiction. Sue believed in Percy’s talent long after Percy stopped believing in it herself.

That feels important.

For so much of this story, Percy has framed Barry’s Bay as the place she lost everything. Sam. Sue. The future she thought she was going to have.

But her dad gently points out something different. Barry’s Bay is also where she was happiest. It’s where she wrote and where she dreamed.

It’s where she felt most like herself.

He reminds her that when she was younger, she’d disappear into the lake for hours and come back overflowing with ideas. Stories seemed to find her there. Creativity came naturally. Life felt bigger.

That observation lands because it forces Percy to consider something she has been avoiding ever since she arrived: maybe the problem was never Barry’s Bay.

Maybe the problem was leaving it.

For the first time, someone says out loud what the audience has probably been wondering for several episodes now.

What if this is where she’s supposed to be? What if inheriting the tavern wasn’t some cruel mistake? There is a possibility that Sue knew exactly what she was doing. 

Her dad isn’t telling her what decision to make. He’s simply asking her to consider a possibility she hasn’t allowed herself to imagine. Sam and Charlie might eventually leave. Their lives could take them elsewhere. But Percy? Percy has spent years searching for something that made her feel alive.

Barry’s Bay already did that.

The conversation doesn’t magically solve anything, but it reframes the storyline. Up until now, the tavern has felt like a burden dropped into Percy’s lap. Suddenly, it starts to feel like an opportunity.

Beneath all the grief, all the longing, and all the chaos surrounding Sam, this story has quietly been asking a different question: Who is Percy when she’s not running away?

And for the first time, it feels like she’s starting to find an answer.

MAKE A CHOICE

Percy sits alone with her old stories, and for the first time in a while, she isn’t spiraling—she’s remembering. There’s a lightness to her expression that’s been missing since she arrived in Barry’s Bay. It’s not romantic, not grief-stricken, not confused. It’s recognition.

This is who she used to be.

And instead of leaving the tavern keys behind like she’s ready to run again, she picks up her stories. That small action matters. It signals attachment. Not just to the place, but to herself in it.

Sam and Charlie are trying to make sense of the will situation, but the conversation quickly drifts into something heavier. Sam admits something that feels long overdue: their mom wasn’t always present. The family story they’ve been carrying around doesn’t fully hold up when measured against reality. 

They don’t understand why Sue left the tavern to Percy. It doesn’t fit their expectations or the story of what they thought they would be telling. In that confusion, Sam lands on something that feels more immediate: Percy being here is destabilizing him.

He just doesn’t get that for over a decade, he’s destabilized her. 

Percy hasn’t done anything wrong; she just brings everything back to the surface. Feelings he’s clearly still not equipped to handle cleanly.

Charlie, meanwhile, offers the simplest solution he can think of: contest the will. Sam hesitates —and then does something more emotionally revealing than anything else he’s said so far.

He tells Charlie he’s the only person he trusts. The only one he can rely on. Charlie has always been there for him.

And Charlie’s reaction is immediate.

Because that kind of statement isn’t neutral. It’s binding.

He agrees. Of course, he does. He always has.

But the camera lingers just a little too long on his face as Sam walks behind him.

And that’s the tell.

That’s the shift.

Charlie’s expression doesn’t read like comfort or loyalty—it reads like realization. Like the moment someone understands that being “the reliable one” is not the same thing as being free.

There’s guilt there, yes—but also something more specific: the look of someone who has just agreed to something they may not be able to undo. It’s as if the secrets that he’s keeping can take that away. 

It’s clear that the brothers’ relationship won’t stay this simple for long.

The post Every Year After Season 1, Episode 4 Review: The Florek Brothers Learn Where There’s A Will There’s A Way appeared first on Fangirlish.