Mom hesitates, brushing a hand over her arm. Then clears her throat. "Yeah… I think maybe I’d like that."
"You want to try now?" I ask softly.
"Yeah."
I try not to let the hope show on my face as I open the video call app and tap Dad’s name. It rings—once, twice, again—and then the call ends.
I try again. Same result.
A knot lodges itself in my chest. My fingers twitch against the phone, but I force myself to breathe. It’s early. He might still be asleep. Or maybe a nurse is in the room. Maybe it’s just bad reception. I tell myself these things on a loop, trying to drown out the unease rising in my throat.
"We’ll try again," I say quickly, dialing once more, as if sheer will might make the line connect.
But there’s no answer. The silence after the failed call hums louder than the morning itself. I stare at the phone, at my own reflection ghosted across the black screen, and the ache that’s been living behind my ribs sharpens. I wanted her to hear his voice. Wanted proof that forgiveness still has a pulse. Instead, it’s just me and the sound of birds, and the taste of disappointment that’s starting to feel too familiar. I set the phone down before the weight of it pulls me under.
Mom’s frown deepens, and she takes a half-step back. "I should head inside."
I nod, even though it feels like something is slipping through my fingers. "Okay."
She disappears into the house, and with her goes the flicker of hope I’d held onto. That she might be ready to face this. To show up for him.
For now, it’s just me. Again.
"What did your mom want?" Brooks asks, his voice gentle enough to break through the storm of thoughts circling in my head.
I offer him a sad, tight-lipped smile. "I tried video calling Dad, but he didn’t answer."
Brooks’ face falls. "I’m sorry, Ellie."
I shrug, and it feels like surrender. "It’s fine. Maybe we’ll try again tomorrow."
Brooks glances over his shoulder, watching Jasper gather up his nature supplies—rocks and twigs arranged into neat, careful buckets—then reaches for my hand. "Come here."
His fingers curl around mine and before I can even register what’s happening, he’s tugged me around the side of the house, out of sight, and into his arms. No words, no questions. Just his warmth surrounding me like shelter.
I melt into him, arms sliding around his waist, my cheek pressed against his chest. The steady beat of his heart grounds me in a way nothing else ever has.
I don’t know how long we stand there, but eventually I glance up.
He’s already looking at me.
"Are you okay?" he whispers.
I nod, though my heart aches. "Yeah. Just… worried about everything."
Brooks cups my face in one hand, his thumb resting just below my cheekbone. The gesture is tender, patient, like he’s holding something fragile. "Tell me how I can help."
The simplicity of the offer nearly undoes me. I smile, small and grateful. "I don’t think there’s much you can do."
"I could punch Holden in the face," he offers, deadpan.
I laugh for the first time all morning. "I’d pay to see that."
"Oh yeah?" His grin lifts, but then softens when he sees the flicker of sadness behind my eyes.
I look down, then back up at him. "Do you ever wish you could go back and make different choices? Just… redo it all?"
He exhales, slow and deliberate. "No."
