Page 68 of Golden Ruin

“Amen,” everyone says in unison.

The air feels thick all of a sudden. Maybe it’s because Jax has a way of bringing the hard shit to the surface without trying, but now it feels like Sterling being here is the huge elephant in the room. Or, more specifically, maybe the fact that Jax is getting attached to the idea of us being a family again has become the elephant in the room.

As I slide my fingers from Sterling’s, I realize something I’ve been trying not to admit.

Letting him come in tonight was a mistake.

***

Sterling

Not even ten minutes after dinner, Lexi disappeared, and I have a pretty good idea where I might find her.

I cross the yard, eyeing the treehouse near the fence. It’s been a staple throughout her childhood, but it feels like I have just as many memories in that thing as she does.

Time has made the ladder sketchy as shit. It creaks and groans under my weight, but I brave it anyway. She arches a brow at me when I pop my head through the hole in the floor, then hoist myself inside.

This used to be one of our favorite hangouts. Now, there are toy cars, a pile of chalk in the corner, and an action figure outlined in moonlight as it balances on the window sill. All signs that Jax and Robbie have claimed the space as their own now.

“How’d you know I was in here?” she asks. She doesn’t sound annoyed that I tracked her down. Just curious.

“Because I know you,” is the only answer I need to give.

She lets her head fall against the wall, staring at the weathered roof to the sound of crickets chirping below us.

It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask why her eyes were red and watering earlier, or whether Jax’s prayer–his hope that I’ll be at the next dinner–got under her skin. But I don’t say any of that. I just sit beside her, back to the wall, my arm nearly touching hers. I keep that ounce of space between us, not because I’m scared to touch her, but because I can see she’s already overwhelmed.

“I’m sorry.”

She looks my way. “For what?”

“For staying. For making things uncomfortable for you. You were already stressed about Amelia, and I just… I should’ve thought about that.”

“Please,” she smiles. “Benny would’ve had a whole temper tantrum if you tried to leave. Don’t apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong.” She takes a breath and faces forward again. “I’ve just got my own shit to work through.”

She doesn’t elaborate, leaving me to fill in the blanks for myself.

“Remember sneaking up here to get high after dinner back in the day?”

She laughs. It’s a breathy, raspy sound I never get tired of hearing. “Remember it? Hell, I miss it. I’d light up a joint right now if I had one.”

A memory gets stuck in my head. One where, yeah, we got high. But we also fucked against the very wall I’m staring at.

I turn away, squeezing my eyes shut when the visual gets too vivid.

“Emotionally, I’ve felt so… just… raw,” she admits, and I focus on her instead of the flashback. “Ever since the fire, it’s like whatever part of me that made it possible to hide from myself, hide from the hard truths… it doesn’t exist anymore. And without that buffer, that armor, I feel every-fucking-thing.”

Listening to her speak, I’m breathing deeper than I was a few seconds ago. “What does that mean?”

She wipes a tear from her eye as she shrugs. “Hell if I know.”

I hear her, but I don’t believe her. Because I feel it too. The echo of who we were. How impossible it is to pretend nothing’s changed between us. Or maybe that’s it. Nothing has changed between us. The feelings that got buried beneath all the bad shit never fully suffocated and died.

Now, they’ve clawed their way to the surface.

I have no idea what the fuck comes over me, but I get brave–or stupid–and reach for her hand. I’m a little shocked when she doesn’t pull away, but I’m completely floored when she squeezes back.

There are so many things I want to say, but I stop just short of letting them fall from my mouth. Instead, I seal the moment with the small measure of truth I’m willing to admit out loud.