Chapter 6
Gavin
DON’T TELL ME YOU NEED ANOTHER KEY
“It still smells like fire.”
Lily waves her hand through the air, nose scrunched, as we head for the door.
I swear I can cook, but dinner got away from me last night.
I had a million things on my mind, and not one of them was the chicken on the stove.
It burned to a crisp. Luckily, that was the worst of it—and Lily was more than happy to use it as an excuse for drive-through nuggets and fries.
I caved, because sometimes you have to pick your battles.
“I’ll leave the window above the sink cracked. That should help,” I tell her.
She nods without looking up from the tablet she’s clutching, which might as well be a teenage eye-roll in seven-year-old form. It seems she’s already mastered selective hearing
I ease the window open, the hinge groaning, and avoid glancing at the scorched pan soaking in the sink. I’m pretending it’s salvageable, but we both know it’s not.
No one warns you the worst part about being an adult is figuring out what to feed yourself for the rest of your life. Add a kid to that, and mealtime becomes an Olympic sport—only worse, because you never win.
Except Sunday dinners.
Those are sacred.
Every week, no matter how chaotic or busy things get, my family gathers at my parents’ house. My mom or Shane usually takes the lead in the kitchen, and it’s the one night I can shut my brain off. Lily gets to be the center of attention, and I get to breathe.
I used to dread the idea of routine—thought predictability was another word for boring. But somewhere along the way, I started craving it.
The days of hopping on planes to chase adventures across the globe—Spain, Croatia, Argentina—feel like they belonged to someone else entirely.
That version of me lived out of a suitcase and thought freedom meant never staying in one place long enough to unpack.
Now I live by alarm clocks and school calendars, and as much as I sometimes miss that restless energy, I wouldn’t trade what I have for it.
You can grieve who you were and still be grateful for who you’ve become.
Lily skips ahead of me as we walk the short stretch down the gravel road that connects our property to my parents’.
Her loose hair bounces with every step, her pink backpack swinging off one shoulder even though she insisted she didn’t need to bring anything.
The late-summer heat presses against us, thick and heavy, but the air carries a sweetness—the first hint of harvest.
The grapes are just starting to soften, sugar levels creeping up as the vines drink in the last stretch of sun. Every breeze smells faintly of fruit and dust.
“Think Grandma made dessert?” Lily asks, twirling in the middle of the road.
“Probably.” I grin. “Likely something that involves enough sugar to keep you awake until midnight.”
She giggles, that pure, unguarded laugh that still sounds child-like. She’s the best thing I’ve ever done, and some days, the scariest.
When we reach the porch, Lily doesn’t bother knocking. The screen door creaks open and she bolts inside. Before I can even shut it behind me, she’s in my dad’s arms.
“There’s my Lily Bear,” he says, voice booming. “Now that you’re seven, I might finally let you take the Grand National for a spin.”
She gasps, pressing a finger to her lips. “You can’t tell Dad!”
He zips his lips dramatically. “Your secret’s safe with me.”
They exchange a conspiratorial wink before disappearing into the garage, leaving me shaking my head, grinning despite myself—like I don’t already know what they’re up to.
That car has been in pieces for years—his “retirement project.” Every time I see them tinkering out there, I think about how lucky Lily is to have that bond—and how she’ll never catch herself being a damsel in distress with a flat tire, thanks to my dad keeping her covered in motor oil and grease since she was a toddler.
In the kitchen, Shane’s standing at the stove in an apron that says Kiss My—the word “cook” replaced by a proud-looking cartoon rooster. I bought it as a joke when he graduated from culinary school. He hated it then, but now he wears it all the time.
“Hey,” I start, but he cuts me off.
“Here.” He shoves a spoonful of sauce toward my face.
“What the hell, man?” I sputter as béchamel hits my tongue. “Maybe warn me first?”
He’s unfazed. “If I stopped stirring, it would’ve split.” He gives the sauce a few more aggressive whisks. “So? Good?”
I nod, still swallowing. “It’s fine.”
“Fine?” He looks personally offended.
My gaze deadpans. “Pretty good, then. But don’t ever grab me like that again—or I’ll spit whatever you put in my mouth right back in your face.”
He scowls. “Well, now you’re just being a fucking dick, bruh.”
“Language,” our mom sing-songs from the doorway, sweeping in with a dish towel draped over her shoulder.
Shane and I exchange the look of two grown men caught red-handed.
“Sorry, Mom,” we say in unison.
She rolls her eyes but smiles, placing a bowl of salad on the counter. “I swear, you all revert to children the second you’re under my roof.”
“That’s because you baby us,” Shane says, stealing a crouton.
“I do not. At least not much.” She winks.
“But if I did, it’s because you’re my favorite.
” She catches his chin and gives it a squeeze.
Shane grins smugly—until she adds, “For the next five minutes.” Sighing, she sets down her wine.
“Ethan and Marisa called—they’re stuck in traffic on the pass.
Layla’s studying for a lab, and Dominic’s on shift tonight. So it’ll be a smaller crowd.”
“Their loss.” Shane crunches loudly. “I’ll pack up the leftovers for them.”
Dinner unfolds in the familiar cacophony I’ve come to rely on.
Elyse and Ariana are laughing over a book Ariana just finished, their heads tilted together as they stare at her phone screen.
I hear the words milking farm and immediately decide I don’t need to know more.
Across the table, Lily’s recounting her latest summer-camp drama to my mom with more hand gestures than words.
My dad’s animatedly describing some fishing trip he’s planning, trapping Shane and me in the crossfire.
Elyse’s phone buzzes loudly against the table.
Ever since her incident a few months ago, she’s been even more attached to it.
She’d probably never admit it, but I think she lives in a constant state of worry that she’ll lose Dominic to something that happens on the job.
They came so close to losing each other once—after nearly a decade apart, I’m sure they’re both still a little traumatized. Hell, I know I am. We all are.
Any worry I might’ve had eases when Elyse glances at the screen, her smile widening as she reads the caller ID.
“Scottie,” she says, before answering. “Don’t tell me you need another key.”
I turn back to Dad, ready to make a joke about his fishing obsession, but the scrape of Elyse’s chair stops me cold.
“Wait, wait, wait—slow down. What happened?” Her voice trembles.
The room stills. Even Lily quiets.
I hear her say the words townhouse and fire, and my stomach drops.
Elyse’s face drains of color. Her free hand presses to her chest, rubbing slow circles like she’s trying to soothe herself.
“What units?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. She listens, nods once, and hangs up.
“Scottie is fine,” Elyse says quickly, before anyone can speak. “She wasn’t inside. But a fire broke out in one of the townhouses. It spread to mine.”
For a moment, the only sound is the faint hiss of Shane’s sauce bubbling on the stove.
Then everyone starts talking at once—questions, offers to help.
Elyse holds up a hand. “Everyone, quiet. I just need to go see it. I’ll call Dominic once I know how bad it is.”
“I’ll come with you,” Mom says instantly.
Elyse shakes her head. “No, Mom. You’ve had wine. I’ll be fine.” She stands, grabbing her purse, already halfway to the door.
“I’ll go,” Shane says, tossing a kitchen towel on the counter.
“Me too,” Ariana adds, pushing back her chair.
Elyse waves them off. “Really, it’s fine. I just need to see it for myself. I’ll have to deal with insurance and who knows what else.”
It’s not fine. I can tell by the tremor in her hands as she fumbles for her keys. We all know her mental health is still fragile—this could be too much for her. But my worry for Elyse isn’t the only thing that has my pulse hammering.
It’s Scottie.
The thought of her standing there alone makes my chest tighten. I don’t know why it hits me so hard, but it does. The need to make sure she’s okay claws its way up my throat before I can stop it.
“I’ll drive,” I hear myself say.
Elyse blinks, surprised. But if she’s going to let anyone come with her, it’s me. “You sure? You’ve got Lily—”
“Mom’s got her. You’ve got her, right?” I cut in, glancing toward the table where Lily sits wide-eyed and silent while Mom nods. I turn to Elyse. “I’ll take you.”
Elyse studies me for a second, then nods. “Okay. Let’s go.”
I grab my keys from the counter and follow her out, my heart pounding for reasons I can’t quite explain.
Elyse slides into the passenger seat before I’ve even started the engine.
She’s gnawing her lip raw, eyes fixed straight ahead.
I don’t say anything, because what is there to say?
Scottie is supposedly fine; fine enough to call.
But it’s like neither of us will feel settled until we see it with our own eyes.
The drive is short but tense. Gravel gives way to asphalt, and the last traces of daylight fade behind the hills. My fingers drum against the steering wheel, beating to a steady rhythm to disguise the shake in my hands.
When the flashing lights finally come into view, something in my stomach twists.
The townhouses look ghostly in the wash of red and blue. Firefighters move like shadows against lights.
It doesn’t take long to spot Scottie. I half expected to find her in tears, maybe in need of comfort.
But I’ve clearly made the same mistake everyone else has—underestimating her.
She’s standing with Toby, the fire chief, talking a mile a minute while he looks downright terrified to be on the receiving end of her wrath.
She’s not yelling, but she’s sure as hell not being sweet as sugar either.