The whole house explodes into celebration.
And for a few minutes—just a few—we’re all lifted up by something bright.
I just stare at Beck, at the joy on his face, at the way Sophie is crying and laughing at the same time, at Lyla clinging to Madison like she just watched her own brother get drafted.
And I think about Sloane.
About the promise I made her.
If it gets bad, you call me.
My hand closes around my phone as it starts buzzing in my pocket.
And even in the middle of the celebration, even with the roar of the room around me?—
My heart races with one single, ruthless thought:
If she needs me right now, I’m leaving everything else behind without even thinking.
44
LOGAN
Looking from the outside, nothing about this house announces what happened inside. Nothing about it tells the truth—that grief moved in and made itself comfortable, that it sits on the couch and eats the air and doesn’t pay rent.
I park at the curb and cut the engine.
The silence hits first.
Not the peaceful kind. The kind that makes you realize how loud a room can be even when nobody is talking. The kind that makes you aware of every single thing your brain is carrying because there’s nothing else to listen to.
My phone is on the passenger seat.
Face down. Like that changes anything.
I don’t touch it. I don’t check it. I don’t even want to look at it, because I already know what I’ll see again.
Chicago.
One missed call that feels like a door cracking open at the worst possible time.
I sit there with both hands on the wheel, staring at the front window like I can see through it. Like I can spot Sloane in herusual place—curled into the couch, eyes open but not really awake, pretending the TV is saying something she understands.
I swallow hard.
I can handle pain. I can handle rehab. I can handle the kind of suffering you can count in reps and seconds and progress charts.
But this?
This is the kind of pain that doesn’t want to be solved. It just wants to exist.
And Sloane has been existing in it since the day Pops died.
I force myself out of the truck, shut the door softly, and walk up the steps like I’m entering a place I don’t deserve.
Because even now—even after everything—some part of me still worries I’m imposing.
Still worries that this family will finally look at me and decide they’re tired of holding space for Logan Brooks.
