I shift uncomfortably. "You’re strong, too."
She lets out a bitter laugh. "I’m not."
I watch as her face falls and her fingers tremble. She doesn’t see herself as strong, so she leans on me, on the tiny baby that lifted her head when she wasn’t supposed to.
She sinks into the recliner and grabs the remote, exhaustion leaking from every limb. "But we can watch a show and pretend that everything is fine."
I don’t know what to say to that. So, I don’t say anything.
I just pull a blanket over my legs, curl into the couch, and press play. Pretending, just for a little while, that everything really is fine.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Gross, Weird, and Exactly What I Need
As it turns out, Brooks is good for social media engagement.
Really good.
The comments are flooded with people obsessing over his toned arms, his jawline, his whole lumberjack-wilderness-survival aesthetic.
Apparently, temperamental, small-town, slightly irritating guys are a niche people love. They’ve even nicknamed him "Lumberjack Hottie." Which is definitely going to go to his head.
I should be annoyed. I am annoyed.
But if it gets people watching, liking, and engaging? I’ll take the win.
It’s not the content I’m used to posting. Actually, my whole page has done a complete 180. But people are still watching.
And as long as they’re watching, I still have a career.
There’s a quiet knock on my bedroom door. I twist in my chair, fully expecting Brooks and that smug, self-righteous grin. But instead, I’m surprised to see Jasper standing there, his hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie.
"Hey," he says softly. "Mind if I come in?"
"Sure," I reply, gesturing toward the bed. He crosses the room and sits on the edge, his posture stiff.
"What’s up, Jasp?"
"Brooks told me I’m a hypocrite," my brother says flatly. "Said it’s bullshit that I went out for coffee with Wren but still haven’t visited Dad."
I swallow hard. Brooks actually said that?
"I don’t even know what to say to that," I admit roughly.
"He’s right," Jasper mutters. "But it’s... complicated."
I don’t say anything. I let him talk.
"Living in this house without you, it’s been rough. Mom’s been... gone in her own way for years. And Dad? He’s been too busy pretending everything’s fine. When I tried to talk about it—about how bad things were getting—he yelled at me."
"He what?"
"Yeah. Brooks was there. You can ask him."
I nod, stunned. "Why would he yell at you?"
Jasper rubs the heel of his hand over his forehead, like the memory itself hurts.
