Laken’s family lived across town from us… well, from me. All those nights he’d snuck out to pick me up, he slipped through the entire town. Past Harold’s fishing store, past Goldie’s tavernandmarket, past the town house where Ruth and Harvey lived, past the shops and stores, past Wilson’s library, and down my road. What could I say? He was dedicated.
The stone sounded under Moon’s hooves as she treaded, and as I fell into position, I quickly realized the beauty of riding like this. The sun was setting over Honey Brooke; its last bits of light spilled overA-shaped roofs and weaved through windows and gaps between buildings.
We rode past the town square field, where festivals occurred and where our fundraiser would be held days from now. The grass remained green, and for once, I believed the grass was greener onmyside of the fence. Because the smell of pies and brick ovens floated in the air. Because Laken’s arms squeezed tighter around my waist. And because, despite how much I hadn’t wanted to return, I’d returned home.
And maybe for once, it didn’t feel lonely.
The Augustuses’ home sat pushed back from the town, but close enough to grab the attention of anyone passing through. Made of white and cream stone, it already stood apart fromthe other town houses, enveloped with a cozy elegance only Faye could muster. The wraparound porch added to its appearance, as did the floating candles scented with rose and maple. Bouquets of white irises with little fillers and touches of color in blush and yellows.
“Good to see you, Faye.” Laken’s mother hugged me, and I suffocated under a mouth full of strawberry blond hair. Biting down my gag and brushing hair from my lips, I almost forgot to tell her, “Happy anniversary.”
“Thank you, dear.” Faye released me and I attempted to hide my desperate need for air. She stood there with her elder-woman curled hair (you know the kind) and a flattering white dress flowing from her shoulders. “Ah”—she flailed her hands—“everyone’s going to be so excited to see you two.”
Everyone?Standing on the steps of their porch, noises and laughter and chatter came from inside the house lit by floating candles. In the windows, I counted body after body, far too many. Why the Augustuses had so many friends, I didn’t know. But I hoped Laken would never want to have parties as such.
I followed behind Laken with our fingers intertwined, his father greeting us first, thankfully. Good old Killian. No matter how hard I tried at these kinds of events, my conversations always felt forced and unnatural, like I was some kind of corpse who’d recently crawled out from a grave trying to pass as a living human. I knew these people and they knew me, so why couldn’t I think of anything to say? My mind didn’t work in such ways. I never thought to ask about their jobs, where they moved, or how their hobbies were.
I answered questions with short replies and didn’t mind the silence most considered awkward—which made me seem distant and rude, but I wasn’t. Or… I didn’t try to be. Well, I wasn’t trying to be tonight.
Somewhere between Killian and Tillie from two streets over, who used to cut my hair, I lost Laken. And for someone antisocial and fighting the urge to retreat into a hole, that felt like a big deal. An introvert losing their comfort extrovert only ends in great calamity.
Fingers wrapped around my wrist, but they weren’t his. They were dainty and soft as they tried to gather my attention. “Reece, I didn’t see you come in.”Somebody gut me.
“Eliza.” I smiled so wide she should’ve known it wasn’t real. “How are you?”
Her giddy little grin told me something was up, and as much as I cared to listen, I couldn’t help but search the room for Laken. I’d spotted him before with a group of men I assumed were Wraiths, judging by their nearly matching leathers and thick muscles.
“I see you and Laken are back together. That’s so exciting, I’m happy for you guys.”
Nodding vaguely, I smiled. “Yes, thank you.”
“You know, I have some news of my own—”
There!Down the hall and disappearing around the corner, I saw my dirty-blond locks and knew by his walk something must have been off.
“Sorry, Eliza,” I interrupted her, and truthfully felt guilty. “I promise I’ll listen to your news later, but… you must excuseme.” I nudged by her shoulder and began through the winding halls of the house.
Fortunately, I knew this house as well as I knew my own, and the way to his bedroom felt like a fever dream forever imprinted into my mind. I cracked open the red oak door, nostalgia slamming into me like a slap to the face. Apparently, someone else hadn’t changed their childhood bedroom.
Unlike his room at his house, Laken’s room at his parents’ erupted with memories, yet kept the same organization it always had. A small, tidy wooden desk sat in the corner with his brown school satchel—worn and loved—still hanging from the chair. The wooden ladder his father had made at his mother’s request leaned against the far wall by the window, draped with blankets she’d quilted and crocheted by hand. Colors of blues, browns, and rusted oranges blended together as the layers met. Patterns of faded baby bears and foxes from his younger days were plastered over a thick quilt.
A window that’d been latched too many times to keep him in and me out after we got busted sat opposite of me. Shoes thrown into a corner, little trophies from Laken’s sports days on his dresser, it really took me back in time—a simpler time before everything got messy.
And there, with his arms around his knees, sitting on a bed much too small for him, Laken peeked at me from under his lashes. “You’re the one person in this world I’d allow in this room right now.”
“An honor,” I whispered, quietly shutting the door behind me. I was unaware of what had happened in there; theheaviness in his eyes and the redness of his nail beds didn’t show up on their own. Crossing the room, I crawled across the bed and leaned against the wall by his side. We didn’t speak for a bit and that was fine. Sometimes silence feels better.
I didn’t grab his hand or comb my fingers through his hair, I only waited. And he began when he was ready.
He swallowed his nerves and the lump in his throat. “I can’t take it sometimes,” he choked out. “The Wraith talk. The work. The blood.”
I continued waiting in silence, letting him get it out.
“And now I can’t breathe, and I can’t look at my mom, and sometimes I don’t want to look at you because I did those things.” Laken’s words came out in gasps, scorched dry and brittle on his tongue.
I moved then, positioning myself between his legs on my knees as I cupped his face. Shaking my head, I whispered, “No.”
Laken wasn’t the type of person who talked about his insecurities, especially when they ran so deep they intertwined with his bones and veins and told him he was worse. Laken would be the one to carry groceries home for a stranger. To cut their grass in the sweltering sun. To fix their house for free. To hold you when you needed to cry without asking why. To love you despite you not deserving it.
