“She needed you,” I cut in, my voice climbing. “She needed you to say, ‘You’re not a burden. I want you here.’ Instead, you treated her like some squatter in your pristine penthouse—the one you dragged her to, by the way. You think folding her laundry and ordering Korean skin care makes you a big brother? She needed someone to believe in her, Doyle.”
For a second, I could see her there—on the couch, that ridiculous dog in her lap, smiling at me while I rearranged things in the living room that didn’t need rearranging, just to give myself a reason to be close to her. The ache that followed hit deep; I didn’t know when I’d see that again.
I stepped past Jordan, the words still burning in my throat. I didn’t know much, but I knew this: being family meant showing up. It meant staying. It meant proving, over and over, that when everything else fell apart, you were still there.
I stomped through the quiet streets of Savannah, my boots hitting the pavement a little harder than necessary. The whole city was still and soft under a layer of Christmas calm—shops shuttered, restaurant windows dark, the only sound the rustle of wind through the trees and the occasional honk of a far-off car.
Magnolia always closed the bar on Christmas. She said the ghosts of our past deserved a little peace and quiet one day a year. But I needed a drink—and more than that, I needed somewhere to breathe. So I keyed myself in.
The lights were low inside O’Malley’s. The old wood floors creaked under my weight, and that familiar mix of whiskey and stale stout clung to the air—warm, lived-in. The kind of scent that wrapped around your ribs and squeezed.
My eyes landed on the far wall. The portrait I’d made for my sister hung there like a promise. Photographs, lyrics, layers of memory stitched together in acrylic and ink. I’d poured everything into that damn thing. My love for her. My hope. Thepart of me that knew she needed to see herself the way we all saw her—strong, steady, brave.
But beneath it, hunched on the floor, surrounded by shattered glass, was Magnolia.
She was crumpled like a discarded napkin, knees pulled tight to her chest, sobbing into her lap. Her red curls clung to her damp cheeks, and her shoulders shook with every breath she tried to hold in and failed.
My stomach dropped.
“Magnolia.” My voice caught as I moved fast, dropping to my knees beside her. “What happened? Who did this?”
I already knew. Hell, I’d known for weeks. But I needed her to say it out loud.
Her mouth opened, but no words came—only a broken whimper. She looked up at me, her eyes swollen and red.
“Lee’s leaving. After New Year’s Eve.”
I swallowed hard.
“And Dane…” She couldn’t even say it. She didn’t have to.
I pulled her into my arms, holding her like I used to when she was little and the world felt too big and cruel. My hands trembled as I stroked her hair, the scent of her floral shampoo nearly undoing me. She felt so small in that moment, far too small for all the weight she carried.
I hated him. I hated Dane Wilder with every bone in my body, and I hated that she’d been the last to see him for who he really was.
We stayed there for a while, my arms locked around her, the only sound was the soft clink of broken glass settling around us. I was already plotting the slowest, most painful way to make him disappear when she whispered, “You have to let it go.”
I didn’t answer.
“If you don’t…” she started, “I can’t lose the bar, Charlie. I can’t. It’s the last thing holding us to our family. It’s all we have left.” Her voice cracked on that last word.
I looked around the room—the garland sagging over the bar, the wreath made of bottle caps and ribbon, the old neon sign flickering behind the counter. This wasn’t just a bar. It was Sunday afternoons, broken hearts, birthday shots, and stories passed down over whiskey and song. It was everything we’d managed to hold together after everything we’d lost. It was the only real thing left.
And she was right. All we had left was each other. A couple of stubborn orphans with bruised-up hearts and a bar full of memories, trying to keep the pieces from falling apart. And somewhere along the way, we’d picked up a few more. Sutton. Jordan. Doyle, even. Lee. And now Tally.
A mismatched, chaotic, sometimes infuriating group of people who had somehow become ours. Not by blood. But by choice. By showing up. By loving each other, even when it got hard. And this place was where we called home.
I glanced down at Magnolia, still tucked against my chest. I had to be there for her. No matter what.
She was the one person in this world who had never walked away from me. And I couldn’t walk away from her—not now. Not ever.
Even if it meant letting go of the girl I’d finally let myself fall for. Even if it meant saying goodbye before I was ready.
Because being a brother—beingherbrother—would always come first.
Maybe some people were destined to end up with the wrong person, and others were meant to make sure they didn’t lose themselves in the process.
And for the first time in years, the weight of that truth settled in my chest. Not as a burden, but as a choice. One I’d make again and again.
