“I’m glad you’re still here,” he adds, casual as anything.
Like he’s commenting on the weather.
Like he didn’t just say words that land in my chest and settle there.
“Me too,” I say softly.
He nods once, like that’s enough, and then he goes back to his glasses.
It doesn’t take long for the rest of the town to learn what happened to me.
Coyote Glen doesn’t do subtle.
The door opens and closes in a soothing rhythm, and with each person who walks in, I can feel it.
The knowing.
It hums under everything like a live wire.
People glance.
Then don’t stare.
Voices soften just a little when they pass me.
Conversations shift half a degree when I walk by, like they’re adjusting around something fragile without making it obvious.
If this were anywhere else, it would feel suffocating.
Like being watched, judged, picked apart, and turned into a story that doesn’t belong to me anymore.
Here… it feels different, warmer. Like the town isn’t asking what happened. It’s asking:are you still standing?
I sip my coffee and pretend my hands aren’t shaking.
Pretend the way the door slamming makes my shoulders jump is just me being dramatic, that I don’t notice the way Arlo times the music to stay just loud enough to cover the sharper sounds. Pretend I’m normal.
I’m doing a great job.
Truly, an Oscar-worthy performance.
Right up until the door flies open like it personally offended someone.
“I swear, if anyone evenlookedat you wrong?—”
“Ivy,” I breathe.
She storms in like a category five emotional event, hair wild, eyes blazing, energy somewhere between maternal instinct and chosen violence.
Behind her, Olivia follows with one hand on her stomach and the other gripping Jesse’s sleeve like she’s both calm and ready to fight someone anyway. Sloane slips in quieter, but her gaze is sharp, taking everything in. Delaney brings up the rear, arms crossed, already scanning like she’s deciding who she needs to threaten first.
It’s… a lot.
And also…
My throat tightens.
Mine.
