"You don’t know what it’s like," I finally say, my voice quieter now. "To have people counting on you, expecting you to be something all the time."
"No," he replies soft, but firm. "But I know what it’s like to be honest. Maybe you should try it sometime."
He steps back into the hallway, leaving me sitting there, my bright smile frozen in place for the camera, the weight of his words settling like concrete in my chest.
I finish the video, forcing a smile as I record a second one asking my followers to help me pick an outfit. It’s ridiculous, the lengths I go to sell a life I’m not actually living. As I hit "post," Brooks’ words echo in my mind.…
I know what it’s like to be honest. Maybe you should try it sometime.
Maybe he’s right.
But honesty doesn’t pay my bills—or Mom and Dad’s.
After posting, I wipe off my makeup, staring at my reflection in the mirror. Without the layers of foundation and mascara, I look… different. Tired. Like someone I barely recognize. I hate that. The Elowen staring back at me looks like someone who’s been trying to convince the whole world—and maybe herself—that she’s okay.
I can’t stare at myself any longer in the mirror, so I wander out of my room, the quiet of the house pressing in around me. The faint scent of chocolate and oats draws me to the kitchen, where I grab a glass of milk and one of Mom’s chocolate chip cookies. The secret is the oats. They give the cookies this perfect chewiness that makes them better than anything I’ve had in LA.
"I’ll get this uploaded tonight," Brooks’ voice floats in from the living room. "Tomorrow, we can go foraging for more rocks and leaves."
Curious, I follow the sound, pausing in the doorway as I take in the scene. Jasper is bent over the coffee table, admiring his latest creation—a naturescape built from twigs, rocks, moss, and leaves. It’s intricate and beautiful, a miniature mountain scene that looks like it belongs in a museum.
Brooks is packing up a camera and a light ring, his movements unhurried but efficient. Of course. He’s not just driving the shuttle around town, he’s handling Jasper’s social media, too. Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me.
"Yeah, alright," Jasper says, straightening up and dusting off his hands as he starts cleaning the coffee table.
Brooks glances up and spots me. Then, he slings the camera bag over his shoulder, and heads straight for me. "You should come with us tomorrow."
"To look for rocks?" I ask, arching an eyebrow.
"To look for rocks," he repeats, deadpan, though there’s a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
I hesitate, searching for an excuse. "I have to go to the hospital tonight. I’m not sure when I’ll be back."
"We can wait for you," he says simply, like it’s already decided.
My throat burns, and I’m unsure why his offer feels so heavy. "We’ll see," I say softly.
He brushes past me, his arm grazing mine, and heads for the door. I turn to watch him leave, the weight in my chest growing heavier with each step he takes.
When I left this place, I never thought about what—or who—I was leaving behind. But now, watching Jasper and Brooks, I can’t shake the feeling that it was Brooks who stepped in and held everyone together after I was gone. He was the one who stayed, who carried the weight I abandoned.
And for the first time, I feel it. Guilt. Heavy and unwelcome, settling over me like a fog I can’t shake off.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The Space Between
Morning light spills through the trees as I drive the winding road home, every blink a battle to stay awake. I rub them with the back of my hand, trying to stay focused. Dad’s vitals looked better last night. Something about trending upward. A good sign. Hopeful. Fragile.
I stayed by his side all night despite the nurse telling me I needed to go home and rest. Instead, I stayed, curled uncomfortably in the hospital chair, waiting for something—anything—to happen. This morning, the monitors still looked promising, but no one could say for sure what came next. The hope I felt was short-lived, like a thread stretched too thin.
But even with the faint glimmer of good news, I couldn't shake the gnawing guilt that had been building inside me since I got here. It started small, like a whisper, and now it feels like a shout. For years, I've convinced myself that leaving this place was the only way to move forward. But sitting in that hospital room, all I could think about was how I'd left Brooks to carry this family alone while I chased dreams that felt emptier by the day.
I let out a long sigh as the house comes into view, the familiar sight oddly comforting despite the tension that seems to follow me everywhere. This morning, I promised myselfI'd help Jasper—and Brooks, apparently—with their foraging. Leaves, rocks, pinecones, whatever it takes to create Jasper's latest naturescape. It feels trivial in the grand scheme of things, but maybe that's why I need to do it. To remind myself that not everything has to be big or important to matter.
I park behind Brooks' truck in the driveway and let out a long, tired sigh. Sometimes I wonder why he doesn't just move in with Mom and Dad. He's here when I go to bed, here when I wake up, and even swings by during his shuttle van breaks. He's all over Jasper's artwork, too. Filming, editing, and posting videos like it's his full-time job. It’s… a little confusing. Doesn’t he have a life outside this house? Outsideus?
Inside, the living room is dim, the muted news playing softly on the TV. Mom is curled up in the recliner, her breathing slow and heavy. I've noticed she's been sleeping here since I got back. I don't have the nerve to ask if it started before Dad's stroke or after. It feels easier not to know. The less I know, the less it'll hurt when it's time to leave.
