This isn’t like us.
Brooks is usually full of snarky commentary, always something dry and cutting. And I always throw something back at him. It’s how we’ve always communicated. With banter. With heat.
But now? Now, it’s just silence. Dense and unyielding.
I glance out the window and try not to fidget. Maybe this is what happens after falling into bed with someone I knew I shouldn’t fall for. After undressing not just physically, but emotionally. After leaving without saying goodbye.
We’ve seen each other naked.
And not just skin and bones, but bare, vulnerable, trembling with grief and need. That kind of nakedness rewires everything.
Maybe that’s what’s changed.
Maybe that’s what neither of us knows how to talk about.
"You’re awfully quiet over there," Brooks says, finally breaking the silence.
I glance over, caught. "I’m sorry."
"You don’t have to apologize," he says, eyes still on the road.
"No." I shake my head.. "I’m sorry I left the way I did. I… I never should’ve gone back to L.A. I didn’t know how to stay. Not really. And I’m sorry for dumping everything on you. On Jasper. On Mom."
Brooks doesn’t answer right away. When he finally does, it’s soft. "I didn’t mind."
But that’s the thing, heneverminds. He just absorbs it. Carries it all like it weighs nothing, even when it clearly does. He’s always been like that. He’s always shouldered everyone’s burdens like he was built for it.
"I want you to know," I continue, "I see what you did while I was gone. What you’ve always done. It gave me space to figure some things out. About where I want to be. Who I want to be. The kind of daughter and sister Ishouldhave been this whole time."
He doesn’t look at me, but I can feel the tension in his body shift, like he’s holding something back.
"I don’t think there are enough words to tell you how grateful I am for you," I whisper. "For everything you’ve done for my family. When you didn’t have to."
His hand twitches on the steering wheel. Then he reaches for mine, but halfway there, he hesitates. His fingers hover, barely brushing my skin, before dropping to the console like he changed his mind.
"You know I’d do anything for you, Ellie," he says.
I should tell him that’s not fair. That he doesn’t owe me that. That I don’t want him to build his whole life around holding mine up. But the truth is, for a second, I almost let myself lean into it. For a second, I wanted to.
Because I’m the reason he hasn’t left. The reason he’s still here, burying his own dreams beneath ours. He’s been using us—Jasper, Mom, and me—as a reason to stay in place. But I see it now. The way he wants more, even if he’s afraid to chase it.
And I’m terrified that coming home might have clipped his wings instead of helping him find them.
We arrive at the store and go through the motions. He grabs a cart. I toss groceries into it. We don’t speak, don’t make eye contact, don’t share a single smile. We just… move. Like two people who used to know each other, pretending not to.
It’s complicated. Messy. Strange.
But sometimes the right thing doesn’t feel clean. Sometimes, it just feels true.
And this—this hard, heavy moment—is mine to carry.
At checkout, I grab a bouquet of wildflowers. I don’t know why. Maybe because grief needs beauty, too.
I pay. Brooks bags the groceries. Still, no words.
We walk back to the truck like we’re both bracing for something, like if we move too quickly, we might crack apart.
I finally say, "Can we stop by the cemetery?"
