I head toward the basement stairs, then pause at the threshold. "Maya?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm glad you're here. Emma missed you."
She doesn't respond. Just keeps stacking blocks while Ethan chatters in the background.
I take the stairs down to the basement two at a time. My room is exactly how I left it this morning—unmade bed, spare hockey gear in the corner, the framed photo of Dad on the dresser. The one with Emma as a baby and me at almost six, both of us in Dad's arms. Emma's got this huge gummy smile, and I'm grinning up at him like he hung the moon. It was taken maybe two months before he died.
I sit on the edge of the bed and run my hands through my hair.
Something's wrong with Maya. Something more than just needing a place to stay. The weight loss, the exhaustion, the way she flinched last night when Chase moved too fast. The long sleeves in a heated house. The careful way she holds herself, like she's protecting something.
She's running from something. Orsomeone.That much is obvious.
And I have no idea how to help her when she won't even look me in the eye for more than five seconds.
My phone buzzes.
Mom:How are things going?
I type back:Good. The team's looking strong.
I don't mention Maya. Don't mention that the girl Mom took in when she was sixteen, the girl who became part of our family, turned up last night looking like a ghost.
Mom would know something was wrong immediately. She could always read Maya better than anyone. Used to say Maya wore her heart on her sleeve, that she felt everything too deeply. That's what made her such a good nurse—she cared about every single patient like they were family.
But caring that much also meant getting hurt that much harder.
I toss my phone on the bed and stare at the ceiling.
This is going to be tough. Living in the same house as Maya, watching her fall apart, not being able to do anything about it because she won't let me close enough to help.
And the worst part? The part that makes me a complete asshole?
Even with everything obviously wrong, even knowing she's in pain, I still want her.
I still think about that kiss. Still remember the way she looked at me a year ago, like I was everything she'd ever wanted.Still remember how she tasted, how she felt in my arms for those three seconds before I fucked it all up.
Still love her the way I've loved her since she was eighteen, and I was twenty-three and knew I should stay the fuck away.
I close my eyes and try to find some kind of center. Some way to be what she needs—a safe place, a friend, someone who doesn't make everything harder.
But lying here in the dark, knowing she's upstairs playing with my nephew and pretending everything's fine, all I can think is that I'd do anything to fix whatever broke her.
Even if it means breaking myself in the process.
4
MAYA
Day three at Emma's house, and I've almost convinced myself I belong here.
Almost.
I'm in the kitchen making scrambled eggs for Ethan when Emma stumbles in, looking green. She makes it to the bin just in time to throw up whatever's left in her stomach from yesterday.
"Morning sickness is a fucking lie," she gasps, gripping the counter. "It's all-day sickness."
