I don't know if this is the wrong choice. I just know Brooks never asks me to become smaller, never keeps score.
This... This is the first thing that's made breathing feel easy in a long, long time.
So, I lean in.
And I kiss him again. Because this is the only simple thing in my life.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
You’ll Hurt Me
The mug warms my hands in that soft, steady way that makes the world feel almost kind. Steam curls up, catching sunlight like thin silk. The porch boards creak beneath my bare feet, the same boards that carried years of our lives. Some are scratched by Jasper’s sneakers, others dented from the old swing that used to hang here. The smell of damp earth rises from the yard, thick and sweet, a reminder that this place still breathes even when we don’t know how to. I close my eyes for a second and let the sound of wind through leaves wash over me. It feels like being remembered by something ancient and forgiving.
Jasper and Brooks are out near the tree line, crouched low with the camera, filming a naturescape for Jasper’s page. They’re two silhouettes wrapped in early sunlight and birdsong.
And for once, everything feels... okay.
I let myself smile as my eyes land on a strip of peeling paint on a wooden slat. We should really repaint the porch. Restore it to its former glory.
But what if some things can’t go back to the way they were? Is that really so bad?
My gaze drifts back to my brother and his best friend, lost in a world of their own. Then, Brooks glances up at me. Just a look, a flash of knowing across the yard, and my insides soften like butter on warm toast.
My breath catches in my throat, unbidden.
Because somehow, without meaning to, I’ve started falling for the one person I never saw coming.
When we were kids, Brooks was just background noise—loud, wild, and always in motion. He and Jasper would vanish into the woods for hours, climbing trees, building crooked forts, and chasing anything that moved. He never really tried to hang out with me. Mostly, he teased me. Sometimes taunted. Occasionally tormented. But I tolerated him because he had Jasper’s back. Because somewhere deep down, I knew Brooks was loyal, even if he was loud and obnoxious and impossible to ignore.
First crush?
Maybe. I can see it now, looking back. The way he looked at me. The way he covered his embarrassment with sarcasm. The way he never quite left me alone.
But knowing I was his first crush doesn’t change the truth. I have a whole life waiting for me far away from here. A life that pulls me in the opposite direction of everything this porch and morning light represent. I came home afraid things would fall apart. I didn’t expect to fear what happens if they don’t.
A gentle nudge at my elbow pulls me back. "They look happy," Mom says beside me, her voice quiet like the morning.
I blink at her in surprise. We’re standing side by side. She’s wearing one of Dad’s old flannels, the fabric soft and frayed at the edges. The sleeves swallow her wrists, and I wonder if she put it on without thinking. Or if she misses him so much that she needed something that still smells like him. Her hair is pulled back in a loose braid, more gray than I remember. She’s smaller somehow, like the years pressed down and she just… let them.
For a heartbeat, I see her as she was before all of this. Before the silence, before the pills, before the house went dim. I remember her laughter echoing off these walls, the way she’d dance barefoot while cooking dinner, sunlight tangled in her hair. That woman feels like a ghost I once loved.
And yet, she’s standing here. Trying.
But we don’t talk about the hard things. We never really have.
Still, for this small moment, it feels almost… easy.
"They do," I reply, taking a sip of coffee to hide how raw it makes me feel.
She goes quiet for a beat, then asks, "How’s your dad?"
The words knock the breath out of me. She hasn’t asked. Not once. Until now.
I swallow against the lump forming in my throat. "He, uh… he has pneumonia. But the doctor says they’ve started antibiotics and he could be home soon."
Mom’s face tightens, her frown deepening. "Is he okay?"
"He’s hanging in," I say. "But he misses you. I think it would mean a lot to him if you two talked. Maybe we could try a video call?"
