Jasper looks toward the window, the light catching in his eyes. "Sometimes, I don’t think it’s anger. It feels more like… sadness."
My throat burns. "Yeah," I whisper. "I get that."
His gaze meets mine again. "Will you drive?"
I smile. "Of course."
"I need to get changed," Jasper says, motioning to the ripped T-shirt he’s wearing. "Brooks and I went foraging first thing this morning. He woke me before the sun was even up."
"You know Brooks," I chuckle softly, brushing my fingers through my hair. "The man has a deep, personal vendetta against sweat."
"Such a weird hill to die on," Jasper says with a wink. "Right?"
"Hey," I hold up my hands in mock defense. "He’s your bestie."
Jasper laughs, standing up. "I’ll meet you at the car in ten?"
"Sounds like a plan," I say as he disappears down the hallway.
Jasper’s going to the hospital.Finally. Because of Brooks. Somehow, always Brooks.
The weight in my chest tightens. Not from resentment, but from something heavier. Gratitude. Regret. Maybe something else I’m too scared to name. Something with storm-colored eyes and calloused hands.
I grab my purse, take one last look in the mirror, and head toward the front door. I’m not even surprised to find Brooks already there, leaning against the aging porch railing like he’s the gatekeeper to my sanity.
"Elowen," he says, raising one eyebrow like he’s amused by my very existence.
"Brooks," I reply evenly.
"Where are you headed?" he asks, the smirk on his face barely masking the fact that he already knows the answer.
"I think you know."
He tilts his head. "Off to spray tan?"
I roll my eyes. "No. The hospital."
"Right. That’s usually where you go when you’re not busy filming thirst trap reels of me for the internet."
"You talked to Jasper," I say, ignoring the mention of Lumberjack Hottie.
He shrugs, unbothered. "Maybe."
I study him for a beat. The way a chocolate curl flops onto his forehead. The gray charcoal of his irises, stormy and unreadable. The smug tilt of his lips that always means he’s thinking things I’m not sure I want to know about.
"Thank you," I say. It comes out quiet, steady. Truer than anything I’ve said all week.
He gives me a crooked smile. "Didn’t do it for you." His voice is soft, but his eyes flicker, like maybe that’s not entirely the truth.
"Whatever the reason," I say, "I’m still glad you did."
We stand there, caught in a silence so heavy I could drown in it. The kind of moment that could tilt the earth just a little off its axis. The kind that leaves me wondering what would happen if I just… reached out.
"You want to come with us?" I ask, surprising myself.
He shakes his head slowly. "Nah. I’ll stay here. Keep an eye on things."
"You sure?"
