He’s always trying to carry things alone, as if he can protect us by being the only one under the falling ceiling.
“Dad,” I say, and now I can’t keep the tremor out of my voice, “you can’t?—”
“I know,” he interrupts quietly, and that scares me more than anything.Dad doesn’t interrupt.Not unless his control is slipping.“I know.I just ...I need you here.”
My vision goes glossy.I press my palm against my laptop like it can hold me in place.
There’s a version of me that wants to say no.
Not because I don’t love him.Because I love him so much, it hurts to admit how afraid I am.Because I built a whole adult life around not needing Juniper Ridge.Around not needing anyone.Around proving I could live away from the place that made me.
Because Juniper Ridge isn’t only my parents.
Juniper Ridge isthem.
Cally.
Monty.
Three summers that rewired my heart.
I close my eyes, and for a second I’m fifteen again—sunburned, cocky, certain I can handle anything.Certain that if I want something badly enough, the world will make room for it.Then I’m eighteen and I’ve lost it all.
I open my eyes and I’m at Gate C12, older, smarter, and still just as breakable when it comes to the people I love.
“Okay,” I whisper.“I’m coming.”
Dad exhales like he’s been holding his breath for days.“Thank you.”
My boarding group gets called over the loudspeaker.People stand.Bags get hoisted.Life keeps moving like nothing has changed.
Everything has changed.
And all I can think is:fuck.
Because going back to Juniper Ridge doesn’t just mean facing hospital tests and county inspections.It means stepping into the place where my mother’s absence still feels real.
It means seeing my father look smaller than the man I grew up believing was unbreakable.
It means my brothers—stubborn and hurting—are coming back home against their will.
“Send me everything,” I say.“Whatever you have from the doctors and the county.Email, texts, photos.I’ll sort it out.”
“You always were the organized one,” he says, which is a lie so blatant I almost laugh.
I’m not organized.I’m frantic in a cute outfit.
I let out a breath that shakes.“I love you.”
His voice softens in a way that pulls me straight back to being small enough to fit under his arm.“Love you too, kiddo.”
The call ends.
I stare at my phone for a second like it might offer a follow-up explanation, like it might ping again and say,Just kidding.False alarm.Go back to filming dramatic Europeans in hockey rinks.
It’s time to reroute.I just don’t know where to start.
ChapterFour
