We watched until taillights were just a suggestion against the Georgia summer glare.
“Feels weird,” Dalton muttered. “Quiet.”
Mac nodded once. Jackson didn’t say anything. Neither did I.
Hannah looped her arm through mine and tugged me toward the kitchen. “Come on. Help me hide the good pie from these locusts.”
I let her drag me inside, the clubhouse swallowing me back into its clatter—the scrape of chairs, the thunk of pool balls breaking, the hum of voices rising to fill the new gap.
At the sink, I washed my hands and pretended my eyes weren’t glassy. Out the window above the counter, the road stretched west, carrying Maria and her family toward the mountains.
Don’t let fear steal your joy.
He took it all those years ago, I realized, glaring at the pies like they were responsible for my emotional growth. But I was going to steal it back. Come hell or high water.
The clubhouse always felt loudest after someone left.
Maria, Diego, and Jewel hadn’t even been gone a week before the rhythm shifted. No more Maria humming in the kitchen, no more Diego leaning in doorways like a quiet guard dog, no more Jewel’s squeals bouncing off the walls. The place was still full of people, but without them, the song was missing its harmony.
I told myself I was only hanging around more because my parents’ house was five minutes away and because it was easier to blame Hannah for keeping me busy than admit I wanted to be there. That excuse lasted maybe two days before even I stopped believing it.
Truth was, I liked the noise. The scrape of chairs, the slam of screen doors, Hannah barking orders like a general in an apron. It kept me busy, gave me something to do with my hands—chopping onions, setting out plates, scribbling notes on the back of envelopes while Hannah grilled me about my plan.
Not a homework assignment. Not some neat little degree program goal. My plan. The shelter.
I’d floated the idea before—a place for women and kids who had nowhere else to go. My parents nodded politely, as though I’d just announced I wanted to major in philosophy. Maria hugged me like I’d already built it. But Hannah was different. She didn’t just listen; she made me prove I meant it. She shoved a legal pad at me and said,“Write it down before you lose your nerve.”
So I did. At the sticky clubhouse table, with the sound of poker chips clinking behind me, I scribbled half-baked budgets and bullet points while Hannah fired questions.Where would the funding come from? How do you get people to trust you? Who’s gonna keep the lights on?
Half the time I didn’t have answers, but she didn’t let me quit. If I stumbled, she just raised a brow and said,“So find out.”
It was terrifying. And addictive.
And then there was Jackson.
I never admitted it out loud, but he was everywhere. In the garage, bent over an engine, grease streaked across his cheek. At the pool table, leaning just close enough to make my pulse stumble. On the back steps, smoke curling around him while he stared at the night sky like it owed him secrets.
I told myself I wasn’t orbiting him; I was orbiting the clubhouse. But it was a thin lie, and every time our shoulders brushed or our eyes caught across the room, it burned a little more.
The guys noticed. Dalton teased me constantly, like it was his new favorite sport. If I grabbed a beer from the fridge, he’d smirk and ask, “Gonna grab Jackson one too?” If I sat too close to the pool table, he’d lean over and whisper, “You keeping score or just staring at him?” He had a way of needling without ever quite crossing the line, and every time, Jackson’s jaw tightened like he wanted to deck him.
Mac didn’t tease. He just gave me those steady looks, the kind that made me wonder how much he saw without me saying a word. It was equal parts comforting and unnerving.
At night, I’d walk the short five minutes back to my parents’ house, and my mom would glance up from her book to ask why I smelled like smoke and motor oil. I’d shrug and say Hannah was helping me with my business plan. Not a total lie. But it wasn’t the whole truth either.
The whole truth was that I liked being there. I liked the rhythm, the noise, the way the clubhouse wrapped itself around me like a song I hadn’t realized I’d been waiting to hear.
And, most of all, I liked the gravity of the man I kept pretending I wasn’t falling into. One day, the sort of peaceful cadence I had found came to a screeching crescendo.
I was laughing at something Dalton said, and the oaf threw his arm around my shoulders, using his bulk to force me into a hug. Most people knew I wasn’t great with touch, but Daltonhad decided he was the exception at some point. Still, I pushed against him half-heartedly and gave him a kick in the shins for good measure.
Then Jackson’s voice cut through the clubhouse like a knife. “You two need a room?”
The laughter died in my throat. The whole room shifted, conversations halting as eyes swung our way. I felt Dalton stiffen beside me. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mac start forward, only for Hannah to lift a hand and stop him.
“Excuse me?” My voice was ice.
Jackson’s jaw clenched. “What? I’m just standing here while you two hang all over each other.”
