Holden rubs the back of his neck. "Yeah. I should go."
He huffs out a frustrated breath and heads for the door.
I watch him leave, irritation needling under my skin. First Dad. Now Holden. Why is everyone treating this thing between Brooks and me like it's something serious? Like it's not just two people... doing whatever it is we're doing.
"That was awkward," Dad mutters from behind me, coughing softly. His eyelids are drooping again.
I glance at my phone. It's almost eight. "I should head home. Let you get some rest."
"You'll be back tomorrow?" he asks, barely audible now.
I lean down and kiss his weathered cheek. "First thing."
He nods faintly, already half-asleep as I step into the hallway, the door clicking quietly shut behind me. I walk away heavy with questions. Angry. Frustrated. And more scared than I want to admit.
I roll the windows down as soon as I start the rental car, letting the heavy summer air wrap around me like a reminder that I'm still here. The summer sun has started to dip below the trees, casting long amber shadows across the road. I'm thankful there's still the tiniest bit of light left in the day as I take a long, shaky breath.
When I came home, it was supposed to be for a weekend. A check-in. A short visit. Not a total unraveling.
I didn't expect to stay. I didn't expect to carry this much. I didn't expect to feel...allof this.
The weight. The love. The fear. The want.
My mind goes quiet as I drive, coasting on muscle memory alone. I let the wind tangle my hair and sting my eyes. I don't let myself cry. Not yet.
The house is washed in gold when I pull into the dirt driveway, dust curling behind me like smoke. And there he is—Brooks—sitting on the front porch stairs like he's been waiting his whole life to exhale.
And somehow, so have I.
I get out slowly, my limbs heavy. He doesn't say anything. Just watches me. When I reach him, I sit beside him without a word. He wraps an arm around me like it's second nature and pulls me in.
I don't think, I just move.
My lips find his at the same moment his find mine. The kiss is warm, desperate, a little reckless. I press into it, into him, as the porch light flickers above us in the thick heat and fading light. It's all I want right now. Something real. Something steady.
When I finally pull away, I whisper, "Hi."
His fingers slide gently along my cheek. "Hi."
"Dad has pneumonia," I tell him, my voice cracking as I do. "And I'm tired. Really tired."
Brooks nods, his eyes steady on mine. "I know."
"You knew about the pneumonia?"
He shakes his head. "No. I mean, I know you're tired."
My throat closes. "I used to think I could do all this on my own, but now..."
Brooks presses a kiss to my forehead. "You're not doing it on your own, Ellie. I'm right here. I've always been right here."
Tears sting my eyes, and I don't blink them away this time.
"Everyone thinks this—us—is a bad idea," I murmur, not quite asking the question.
"Do you think it is?" he whispers back, his lips grazing my neck.
I close my eyes and let the quiet hold us, let his touch anchor me.
