If saving him meant becoming someone I didn’t recognize, then so be it.
The front door creaked open sometime past midnight. Footsteps—soft and uncertain—crept across the hardwood. I sat up fast, heart already racing. I was on my feet by the time he stepped into view.
Hoodie up, hands jammed in his pockets, face shadowed. He looked even smaller in the hallway than usual, like he was trying to fold into himself and vanish.
"Where the hell have you been?" I blurted before I could think better of it.
His shoulders twitched, but he didn’t stop walking. “Out,” he said quietly, brushing past me like I was just another piece of furniture.
Out? That was it? I turned, my chest tight. “Elliot?—”
He didn’t answer. He didn’t even glance back. Just went straight to his room and shut the door.
I stood there, fists clenched, heart in my throat. Something about the way he moved—like a ghost in his own life—made my stomach twist. I wanted to yell. To shake him. To make him feel anything.
But instead, I just stood there like an idiot.
Because I didn’t understand what this was. This thing growing in my chest every time I looked at him. I didn’t know what to name it. I didn’t fall for people. Not anymore. Itook careof them. That’s what I did. That’s who I was.
I convinced myself it was that. Just instinct. A caretaker's reflex. The need to fix things. To protect what was fragile. He was my responsibility. My best friend’s son.
But that word didn’t feel big enough anymore.
Not when I could still feel the weight of his journal in my hands. Not when the thought of losing him made my throat close up like I couldn’t breathe.
I leaned my head against the wall, eyes shut tight. He was right there. And still, he felt a million miles away.
You’re not alone,I wanted to say. But I’d said it before, hadn’t I? And still, he’d written that line. So maybe this time I wouldn’t just say it. Maybe this time, I’d prove it.
Even if it cost me everything else.
CHAPTER 7
ELLIOT
The sound of shuffling footsteps and dragging wheels pulled me from the waking nightmare looping in my head. Something thunked heavily on the stairs—once, twice—followed by hushed voices too low to make out. The tone, though, said enough. Something bad was happening.
Panic slid ice-cold down my spine, coiling tight as my pulse spiked. My throat closed around a breath I hadn’t taken. I pushed myself upright, hair damp against my neck, heart thudding like it wanted to beat its way out of my chest.
It was six a.m. The house was still cloaked in shadows. I didn’t think—I just moved. Barefoot, barely dressed in the jeans I’d fallen asleep in, half-alive, I drifted down the stairs like a ghost chasing a past it could never hold.
At the bottom of the stairs, I saw them. Anthony with his shoulders hunched like he’d been carrying the weight of someone else’s choice. Facing my dad.
The man who had once lifted me onto his shoulders to see the fireworks, who tucked me in after nightmares and told me I was brave. Now, he just stood there—impassive, unmoving—as Anthony’s hands carved frantic shapes into the air between them, like he could argue something back into place.
And then… he turned away. Took the handle of his rolling case and walked toward the front door. No final words. No glance over his shoulder. No hesitation.
He wouldn’t leave me too.
Would he?
But my feet were already flying, sliding across the floor as my lungs tried to rip free from my ribs. “Dad!” My voice cracked as I hit the hardwood floor too fast, feet skidding out from under me. I fell hard, pain shooting up my wrist and knees, but I didn’t care. I clawed forward like I could still reach him.
Arms wrapped tightly around my waist not to stop me, but to keep me from falling apart in his hands. I twisted like I was drowning anyway, panic overriding sense, fear louder than reason.
“Get off me!” I screamed, thrashing. One of my kicks caught the back of Anthony’s knee, buckling him. His grip loosened, and I bolted for the open door. Behind me, I heard his footsteps slam into motion—fast, panicked—as they chased me.
My father was shoving his suitcase into the back of his sedan. The rising sun made his profile glow like something celestial. He was already halfway gone.
