Silence.
Long and heavy.
I can imagine them standing there in the hallway—two people I've hurt in different ways.
Garrett with his endless, inexhaustible hope.
Leah with her exhausted fury and her fierce love for her brother.
"I know what she's cost you," Garrett finally says, his voice soft. "I know about the jewelry."
My stomach drops.
"Don't." Leah's voice goes cold. "Don't you dare bring that up."
"I'm just saying—I know it's not just about me. I know she hurt you too."
"She stole from me, Garrett. She stole Mom's necklace—the only thing I had left of her—and she pawned it for drug money. That's not just hurt. That's—" Leah's voice catches. "I can't get that back. I can never get that back."
Shame floods through me, hot and choking.
The necklace.
A delicate gold chain with a small heart pendant, singed slightly at the edges from the fire that took their parents.
Leah's only physical connection to a mother she barely remembers.
I took it from her jewelry box while she was at work.
Told myself I'd get it back before she noticed.
Told myself I just needed one more hit, just enough to get right, and then I'd figure it out.
I never figured it out. I never got it back.
And I've never had the courage to tell her I'm sorry.
"I have to try one more time," Garrett says quietly. "If I give up on her now, I'll never forgive myself."
"And if she destroys you?"
"Then at least I'll know I did everything I could."
More silence.
Then footsteps, receding down the hall.
Leah walking away.
When Garrett comes back into the room a moment later, his expression is carefully blank, but I can see the cracks beneath the surface.
"Sorry," he says. "Didn't mean to wake you."
"I heard." There's no point in pretending otherwise.
He sighs, sinking back into the chair with a weariness that goes bone-deep. "Leah's worried about me."
"She should be." I stare at the ceiling, unable to meet his eyes. "She's right, you know. About all of it."
