Not Him (Firebrook Valley #2)

Chapter One

Evan

Firebrook Valley

I kicked a rock ahead of me like it was a soccer ball, but my heart wasn’t in it.

The woods were damp, my shoes soaked through, and I didn’t care.

Anything was better than the house. Mom’s voice from last night kept looping in my head—quiet at first, then sharp, the way she got when she was trying not to wake us.

“When does having three kids with you earn me some loyalty, Gabe? Or am I never going to be good enough for your family?” Dad never yelled back.

He went quiet, shutting her out. Then came the crying.

Soft. Hidden. I hated that sound more than anything.

It twisted my stomach like I’d swallowed something sour.

Every summer was like this. Mom didn’t want to come. Dad insisted we spend the break at the ranch he was obsessed with improving. We owned some of the most expensive Friesian horses in the world, yet none of us really enjoyed riding. The horses seemed happier than we were.

I wandered deeper into the woods, not ready to go back.

Bella was probably curled up with one of her serious books, pretending nothing was wrong.

Brady was too little to sneak out with me—he wanted to play trucks.

Me? I couldn’t sit in my room pretending I was deaf.

So I slipped around the big house where no one noticed, helped in the kitchen, or followed Laurent around the barn.

As long as my hands weren’t idle, nobody snitched.

During the day I told everyone I was headed to the barn even when I wasn’t. Laurent always covered for me.

The river rushed louder today, angry over the rocks.

I pushed through the bushes toward the clearing where the old oak—the burning tree—used to stand.

Dad had cut it down a few years back. All that remained was a charred stump.

I’d asked him once if it had been on fire when he chopped it.

He’d looked at me like I’d asked if Santa left teeth under pillows, so I never asked again.

That’s when I saw her.

Nora Burke sat on a fallen log, knees pulled to her chest, face buried in her arms. Blonde hair hung like curtains around her. She was sniffling, small hiccup sounds that shook her tiny shoulders. Six years old and smaller than anything.

I knew who she was. Everyone in Firebrook did. The youngest Burke. Dad said we didn’t mix with them. Her father was a thief, a traitor—something terrible enough that my father hated him so much he made us summer right next to their ranch every year.

Adults made no sense.

I almost kept walking. But then her shoulders shook again, and it sounded too much like Mom. Brady was her age, and if he was crying alone in the woods, I’d want someone to check on him.

“Hey,” I said, not too loud.

Her head jerked up. Big, red-rimmed eyes, surprised. She wiped her nose on her sleeve. “You’re not supposed to talk to me.”

“Yeah, well, you’re not supposed to be on this side of the river.” I shrugged and sat on the far end of the log, plenty of space between us. “What’s wrong?”

She picked at the bark, eyes on the ground. “I don’t like my school in Boston. It’s too fancy. Everyone talks funny and wears uniforms. I want to stay here with Mom, but she says I can’t.” Her voice cracked. “And I have no friends here.”

I nodded. I got that. Sort of. “Sucks.”

She looked at me funny. “What do you do when you don’t want to be somewhere?”

I picked up a stick and poked at the dirt.

“I look for the sunny part. See?” I pointed at the sky.

One side of the mountain wore dark, heavy clouds.

The other side floated bright blue with lazy white puffs.

“Over there it’s all storm. Might come this way, might not.

Up there?” I tilted my head back. “All blue. Nothing bad yet.”

She followed my finger, quiet.

“When it feels like a storm at home, I try to find sunshine somewhere. If I can’t see any, I . . . I make some, I guess.”

“Make sunshine?” She sounded like she was tasting the words.

“Yeah. Means I don’t stay where I’m miserable. I don’t follow every stupid rule.”

She shook her head. “I do.”

I shrugged. “That’s why you’re crying.”

Nora stared at the bright side of the sky for a long time. “But what about the storm? If you don’t look, it’s still there. Aren’t you scared of thunder? Lightning?”

“Not till it’s right on top of me. Why be scared of something that hasn’t happened yet?”

She pressed her lips together and sniffed. “I don’t like lightning.”

“Me neither. I also don’t like having no friends. So if I don’t like the people around me, I look for ones I could like.” I grinned a little. “Or I try to find something likeable in the ones who I’m stuck with. It’s hard, but you can find at least one thing.”

“Even in a Burke?” she asked, almost smiling.

“Even in a Burke.”

Her shoulders straightened a little. “I want a friend.”

I kicked at the dirt. “I know some cool kids at Mabel’s. Bennet’s six, like you. Dorry’s seven. They might play with you. My brother Brady’s your age too, but . . . you probably shouldn’t hang out with him much.”

“Because he’s a Holliston.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m not supposed to talk to you.”

“It’s only a problem if somebody finds out.”

Her eyes got wide. “I don’t keep secrets.”

“That sounds like a you problem.” I stood up. “I make my own rules. And I keep my own secrets. I’m heading to Mabel’s now. If you want, I’ll walk you over. Maybe you won’t feel so lonely.”

Nora bit her lip. “My dad would never let me go to town by myself. I’d have to lie.”

“Not all lies are bad,” I said, seriously. “If it’s for something good and you’re not hurting anybody . . . it’s okay. Just don’t do drugs or let anybody hurt you.”

“What are drugs?”

“Never mind. Forget I said that.”

She laughed—a small, surprised sound that chased the sad from her face. “I can’t hurt anybody. I’m little.”

“Then you gotta learn to stick up for yourself.”

Her eyes went shiny. “I have a big brother. He’d beat them up for me.”

“Good. Hang on to him.” I held out my hand to help her off the log. She took it for a second, then dropped it fast, like she remembered the rule. “And if anybody ever bothers you, you can tell me too. I’ll set ’em straight.”

She looked at me like I could fly. “My dad might be okay with me playing with Mabel’s kids. I can’t talk to you or Bella or Brady.”

“We don’t have to be friends. Just don’t tell anybody we don’t hate each other. Deal?”

She nodded fast. “Deal.”

We started through the woods toward Mabel’s. The path was narrow, roots everywhere. Her little legs moved twice as fast to keep up.

“I wanted to see the burning tree,” she said. “But I couldn’t find it.”

I pointed back down the trail. “The stump’s over there. Dad knocked down a bunch of trees last year. It’s charred, but I don’t think it was burning when he did it.”

Nora glanced at the river like it might bite. “Do you think it’s haunted? Or evil? My dad told me not to swim in it.”

“Nah. It’s water.” I grinned. “My dad told me not to swim in it either. Probably figured I’d have too much fun.”

She giggled.

Mabel’s house came into view, a big porch with the smell of fresh cookies drifting out. Voices and laughter spilled from inside—Owen yelling about forts, some other kids making truck noises.

Nora stopped, suddenly shy.

“It’s okay,” I said. “They’re good kids. They’ll like you.”

Her eyes rounded as she looked up at me. “I’m gonna find the sunshine in them.”

Mabel Weaver spotted us from the porch. She was older than my mother and warm in all the ways our family wasn’t.

Half the kids tearing around her yard weren’t even hers, but she welcomed every dirty, loud one the same.

She looked from me to Nora, raised a brow, then smiled big, walked straight over, and took Nora’s hand like she’d been waiting for her all day.

I hung back.

Kai and Owen tackled me to the ground. Tim and Chay pointed and laughed because they were jerks and also my best friends.