“And was it really stupid kid stuff, Drew? Because at first I thought maybe you were doing some elaborate prank on her, but…” Her voice faded, but there had been something in her tone that made me look up at her.
“But what?”
“I remember you being really happy during those three weeks. Happier than I’d seen you in a long time.”
I didn’t want to think about that. About how easy it had been to talk to Harper when we weren’t trying to destroy each other. About how she’d laughed at my jokes and how smart she was and how her whole face lit up when she talked about music.
I definitely didn’t want to think about how dumb I’d felt when I’d heard her talking to her friends about what a loser I was.
“I wasn’t the one playing a prank,” I mumbled. “And it doesn’t matter anyway,” I said, turning back to my textbook. “That was a long time ago.”
“But you’re thinking about it now,” Ava observed. “Because she was good with your daughter.”
“Can we not psychoanalyze this? I just made an observation.”
“An observation that’s clearly fucking with your head,” Liam added helpfully.
I shot him a glare. “Whose side are you on here?”
He raised both hands, palms out, in the universal surrender gesture.
Ava was quiet for a moment, absently stroking Rory’s soft, dark hair. “You know, I’ve been thinking about the feud a lot lately. Especially since”—she gestured to the baby in her arms—“she arrived and everything got complicated.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, what exactly are we teaching her?” Ava asked, her voice serious. “That she’s supposed to hate the Tinsley family because of something that happened before any of us were born? That she can’t be friends with Harper’s kids someday because of some love triangle and business deal that went wrong decades ago?”
“Dad always said the Tinsleys cost us our legacy.” But the words felt hollow even as I spoke them. Hadn’t I been wondering the same thing she just voiced? Especially after Gordy’s comment that the only way to end the feud once and for all was to actuallystopfeuding.
“Did they, though?” Ava asked. “Or did two stubborn men make bad decisions and then spend the rest of their lives blaming each other instead of taking responsibility?”
I stared at my sister. “Since when do you question family loyalty?”
“Since I started thinking about what kind of world we want this little girl to grow up in.” Ava’s voice was soft but firm. “Do we want her to inherit our anger and our grudges? Or do we want her to make her own choices about who she trusts and who she cares about?”
Liam was nodding. “Ava’s got a point, man. You’ve got a daughter now. Everything’s different.”
“Not everything,” I protested, but even as I said it, I wasn’t sure I believed it.
Because fuck, everything did feel different. Yesterday, watching Harper hold my daughter and sing to her, I’d felt something I hadn’t experienced in years. Something that made my chest feel less tight.
For twenty minutes, we hadn’t been enemies. We’d just been two people taking care of a baby who needed us both.
Ava’s voice was quieter when she continued. “I’m tired of being angry all the time. Tired of crossing the street when I see Harper on campus. Tired of pretending that the music coming from their house isn’t beautiful.”
It had been a long time since I noticed the fine details about my sister. And what I saw now made my chest ache. She looked worn down and weary—and it wasn’t just from helping me with Rory. I wasn’t the only one who’d been deeply impacted by the feud. She may not have been actively fighting with Harper like I always had, but she’d felt the strain of it, nonetheless. Considering the small town we’d grown up in, it shouldn’t have been a surprise.
“You really think we should just…let it go?” I asked.
“I think,” Ava said, brushing a gentle finger over Rory’s cheek, “that maybe it’s time to stop letting our great-grandfathers’ mistakes define who we are. Especially now that this little girl is depending on us to make better choices.”
She handed my daughter back to me, and I settled her against my chest, feeling the now familiar weight of her tiny body. She smelled like baby powder and something indefinably sweet, and when she looked up at me with those trusting eyes, I felt that overwhelming protective instinct kick in again.
“What kind of man do you want to be for her?” Ava asked softly.
The question hit me like a puck to the gut, because I’d been asking myself the same thing ever since she’d arrived. And the answer sure as fuck wasn’t matching up with the person I’d been for the past few years.
The person who thought it was funny to mess with Harper’s practice time. The person who held grudges over things that happened before he was born. The person who couldn’t admit, even to himself, that hearing Harper sing yesterday had been one of the most beautiful sounds he’d ever heard.
