Dreams and Desires (Small Town Sweehearts #2)

Chapter One

Juniper

I said I would never return to Cody. Not in some quietly- promise- to- myself way.

No, I declared it out loud in front of my parents, and right in Jacob’s face.

“I’m never coming back here,” I shouted with all the rage I could muster.

I genuinely believed I would never set foot in that town again.

Eighteen-year-old me slammed the door. The house shook. I screamed that Cody was dead to me.

Yet here I am, on a train speeding straight toward that place. My hometown.

The word “hometown” feels weird when I think about Cody.

People hear that word. They think of warmth.

Maybe love. Or friends. Or feeling like you belong.

But that place? It never gave me any of that.

What I got was being left behind. Always feeling like I was on the outside. Memories that still sting.

I did not grow up in Cody. I got through it. Barely .

To clear my mind, I lean against the window and stare outside. The mountains look the same. Harsh. Sharp. Covered in old black rock. Like they have been standing there forever just to make people like me feel small. That has not changed.

Nothing ever changes out here. Not the landscape. Not the silence. Not the way it makes everything in me ache.

And just like that, I am back in it. Whether I want to be or not.

Jacob, my brother, and I used to fight all the time. Stupid stuff. Whose turn it was to do dishes. Whether Blink-182 was overrated. We would yell like the world was ending, then pretend it never happened.

And in between all that, there were days that felt good. Afternoons at Riverside Park with Mom, Dad, and Grams. Sitting on a threadbare blanket, eating sandwiches, watching Grams throw breadcrumbs to ducks like it was the best part of her day.

She loved that park. Said she liked places that let her be quiet without asking why. Said the river made her feel less alone.

When she died, she asked for one thing. To have her ashes scattered right by the water in that park. Of course, my parents said no. Said it was too weird. Said it was not proper. So they kept her in some ugly ceramic jar on the fireplace like she was a decoration.

Jacob and I could not stand it. The thought of her stuck in that house, watching TV reruns for the rest of forever? No way. So we did what felt right .

One night, we grabbed our bikes and snuck out. It was freezing. I could barely feel my fingers on the handlebars. But we rode all the way to the park in the dark and we did it. We let her go. Right where she asked.

I remember we were so happy. We filled the jar back with sand and placed it back on the mantle above the fireplace. I think to this date mom and dad don’t know Grams is not in there.

But even that happy memory does nothing to ease the dread of going back. I almost decide to go back. Get off at the next station and take a train back to Silverton. But I can’t, I shouldn’t. I have to be in Cody, for the only person on my side. Jacob.

And I keep thinking about that little apartment he used to have.

It was above a bakery. He told me the whole place always smelled like sugar and paint.

I never saw it in person, but I remember the way he talked about it.

It sounded like his own little world. He was teaching art back then, just getting by, living off whatever he could make.

Sketchbooks everywhere, half-finished clay stuff on the table. It sounded messy but kind of peaceful.

But then the meds got expensive. The hospital visits got longer. The money dried up. So he moved back in with our parents.

And now, apparently, I am supposed to move in too.

Probably because he needs moral support dealing with them. Our parents aren’t the easiest people in the world .

I just don’t like to think much about my parents, so I pick up my book to get lost in.

It is one of those steamy romances with a cover I would never read in public, but I do not care right now.

My own love life is dead in a ditch, so this is what I get.

A demon and a human woman falling in love while the world ends around them.

These stories keep me from thinking too much.

That is the whole point. Turn the pages, keep my mind busy.

After a while, my eyes start to sting. I take off my glasses and press my fingers into my temples, but it barely helps.

Across from me, a mom is dealing with her little girl, who is losing it over a bag of chips.

The kid wants it sealed again, like it had never been opened.

Obviously, the mom can’t do that. It goes on for a while.

The crying. The whining. The flailing. It’s getting to me.

I do not hate kids or anything. I actually like Cora’s teenagers. They are chill. But loud, dramatic toddlers? That’s not my scene.

Then the mom catches me staring. Crap. She smiles. It is way too kind for someone getting judged by a total stranger. I feel weird, like I owe her something. So I nod, kind of stiff, and blurt out, “Your daughter is really sweet.”

I do not even know why I said that. It just came out.

“Thank you.” Her voice sounds a little off—embarrassed, maybe. She looks at her daughter, then back at me. “Are you visiting family?”

Yeah. Definitely wants to shift the focus.

“Yeah. My brother. ”

She nods. “That’s nice. Going home’s always… I don’t know, comforting, I guess.”

Comforting. Yeah right!

It sucks. I think about school sometimes, and it just comes back all at once.

I was that quiet goth girl in the back. Always wearing too much eyeliner.

Carrying too much weight. Never enough confidence.

People saw me as an easy target. I had a couple friends, sure.

Other kids like me. Outcasts. But even they weren’t the kind to step in or say something.

No one ever did. No one ever said anything.

No one stopped it. I was just there, getting picked on like it was normal, and everyone acted like they did not see it.

So, I kept to myself mostly. Wrote everything down in my journals like that was the only place I was allowed to exist. I really believed that was how life was gonna be forever.

Then Dominique walked in.

She walked into homeroom holding her books tight, like if she let go of them she might fall apart.

Her skin was golden, her hair full of these dark curls that bounced with every step.

She looked scared. Not just nervous—really scared.

The kind of fear you get when everything around you feels unfamiliar.

Even though I had been in Cody my whole life, I recognized that look. I knew what it was like to feel out of place.

So I raised my hand. Just a little.

“Seat’s open here,” I said .

Just hearing me seemed to calm her. I saw her shoulders drop a little as she sat down next to me, like her whole body let go of the tension it had been holding.

By lunch we traded snacks. By Friday we swapped playlists. July brought me to her family cabin across the river. Her parents treated me like I mattered. With her close, Cody felt almost gentle.

But senior year wrecked all of that. One night. One rumor. That was all it took. Everything just… fell apart. People stopped talking to me. Turned their backs. Jacob and Dominique were the only ones who stayed close—at first.

But then Dominique started acting weird too. I tried to pretend it was nothing, but I knew. The looks. The fake smiles. The way she stopped sitting with me. It was all there.

I did not want to believe it at first. I kept hoping it would blow over. But every time I walked into school and saw people whispering or looking away, I knew.

After that, I couldn’t go back.

Just thinking about that time kind of hurts. Like, deep down. A tear slips down my cheek before I even realize it, and I wipe it away quick, hoping no one saw.

I pull out my phone and open the selfie camera. Just checking. I still look like me—same dark eyeliner, deep maroon lipstick, same old glasses. The goth thing never really went away, I guess. That was me back then. Still is now .

I fix the lipstick, shove a loose piece of hair behind my ear, then slide my phone back into my pocket.

Ready or not, Cody. I’m back.

The train finally slows into the station. I hesitate a moment, nerves making my stomach roll, then grab my things and step out onto the platform.

The station looks just the same—small, busy, full of people rushing about.

I hop in a taxi and give the driver our street.

The ride feels like flipping through a scrapbook.

There is Mellie’s Diner where we nursed milkshakes and homework.

The skate park where Jacob broke his wrist and swore the ramps were haunted.

The ice-cream parlor with chipped pink paint.

The high school crouches like a brick beast. My stomach flips.

The cab stops at the house. White fence. Trim lawn. Pink geraniums line the walkway like soldiers. It looks wholesome. I know better.

I pay the fare and walk up. My knock sounds louder than normal. The door opens.

Jacob stands there. He looks thinner. Pale. His eyes still shine. “Juniper.” I can hear the weakness clearly when he speaks.

I drop my bag and suitcase right there and pull him into a hug. "I missed you," I choke out, throat tight.

“I am glad you came.”

The smell of Mom’s pot roast drifts out. Then I see my parents in the hallway. Their backs stiff. Their eyes guarded.

“Juniper,” Mom says. Her arms cross.

I nod once. “Jacob asked me.”

Dad’s jaw tightens. “He didn’t tell us.”

Jacob clears his throat, the sound thin. “I need her.”

I stare at Jacob, anger clawing up my throat. He seriously didn’t bother mentioning I was coming? It burns, and I can't hold back. “A little warning would’ve been nice!”

Dad’s voice slices through mine. “Watch your tone.”

“Or what?” My voice shakes as tears push against the back of my eyes. “You’ll give me the silent treatment like before? Ground me? Punish me somehow? Go ahead! It's not like you haven't done it before! You and Mom already made my life miserable. Great parenting.”

Dad’s mouth opens, ready to fire back, but Jacob raises a hand. His voice cracks when he speaks. “I have advanced lupus. I need my sister.”

The room goes quiet. Not peaceful quiet but the ugly kind. The kind where everyone’s staring anywhere but at each other, wishing they were someplace else. My throat feels tight, like I swallowed glass. No one talks. No one even moves. We just stand there, stuck in a moment we all hate.

Mom’s shoulders drop a bit. Dad won’t even look at me, just stares at the floor, chewing on whatever words he’d rather say .

Jacob’s right. I hate admitting it, but he is. I shouldn’t be starting fights right now. Not today. Not when Jacob needs me. I came back. I chose this. Might as well suck it up and deal with my parents. Screaming at Dad felt good for about two seconds, but it didn’t fix a damn thing.

I swallow hard and speak. “I’m here for Jacob. That’s it. Nothing else.”

Mom nods but her eyes stay cold. “Do not expect the past to vanish.”

“It will not,” I say. “Right now we focus on him.”

They nod stiffly and scatter, slipping away like they can't bear another second near me. Jacob gently touches my elbow. “Come upstairs.”

He reaches for my suitcase, his hand shaky and thin, struggling to lift it even an inch. I grab it away. “Stop it, Jacob. I got it.”

I haul it up myself, step by step. Halfway up, my eyes catch on the staircase wall. It's covered with family photos—but not one of me. They completely erased me, like I never even existed. The ache punches through my chest hard and deep. But honestly? Screw it. Screw them.

My old room looks like a glorified closet now, boxes stacked to the ceiling like somebody tried to box my whole childhood and shove it out of sight.

Bits of faded wallpaper peek between the cardboard, shelves sit empty, and whatever purge Mom and Dad went on left only the twin bed, the wardrobe, and the rickety dressing table .

Jacob drops onto the mattress and exhales. “Sorry it’s a wreck.”

I sit next to him and nudge his shoulder. “Forget it. Next time just give them a heads-up.”

He aims a small, tired grin my way. “Deal.”

We slide into a clumsy quiet until I clear my throat. “Remember when you swore the skate park was haunted?”

His laugh is barely there. “You roasted me for weeks but still showed up.”

“Couldn’t let you be freaked out alone,” I say.

We lose track of almost an hour, swapping stories about Grams and the few days that never hurt. The catch-up feels easy, like we never drifted. Eventually Jacob yawns, stretches, and stands. “I’m beat,” he says.

“Sleep well.”

“Night, Juniper.” He shuffles out, leaving the room.

Once Jacob is gone, I look around the room and it just feels weird being here… Again.

Boxes, boxes, dust. Quilt half hanging off. I shove the boxes in a corner, wipe the mirror with my sleeve, yank the quilt straight. Find a lone sock that looks like a dried slug, toss it.

Last box skids by the closet. My foot hits a loose board. Clunk. Heart does a hop. I crouch, pry it up. Under there—a band shirt, my old diary tucked tight inside .

I sit right on the floorboards. Crack the cover. Pages shout back at me. Cringe poems. Big feelings. Brian this, Brian that. I laugh once, then my eyes burn. Let a few tears drop, whatever.

Sniff, swipe nose on the shirt. Diary goes back in its hole. Board down. Like I was never here.

“I got this,” I mutter.

House moans a little. I kill the lamp, flop on the bed, quilt over my head. Think about the river. Cold water, Grams’s ashes twirling slowly.

“Night, Grams.”

I know Jacob is counting on me. The past can howl, claw, and spit, but I am not letting it pull me under. I breathe in, breathe out, and promise I will hold.

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