Chapter 34
Liv
I don’t think I’ve ever been this tired in my life. Not physically, that kind of exhaustion I know how to handle. Just pound coffee, roll with the adrenaline, and rely on muscle memory. Long shifts, bad calls, too much blood loss, and not enough time: I can function on that.
But this? This is different. This is the kind of tiredness that rips at your attention, constantly and unrelentingly.
I stand at the edge of one of the manor’s massive windows, staring out at a yard that looks like it belongs in a magazine instead of real life. The grass is perfectly cut. The trees are symmetrical in a way that nature doesn’t bother with.
And it’s quiet, too quiet. Even after a shift.
Especially after a shift.
I wandered into the library after finding Pip and Wilfred in the kitchen. “He seems to prefer the salmon pate canned food over the chicken,” Wilfred said, grinning at me as Pip scarfed down wet cat food like I’d been starving him of the stuff his whole life.
It seems like they’re spending a lot of time together since we came to the manor. I’m not sure if that just them finding friendship in each other or if Pip just gravitates to the person who fills his kibble bowl now.
But something tells me Pip isn’t just loving from his stomach when it comes to the old butler.
“Hey.” Alex’s voice comes from behind me.
I don’t turn right away. “Hey,” I echo.
“You just got back?”
“Yeah.”
We both pause as he steps beside me in the window. “You didn’t eat yet.”
Of course he noticed. “I’m not hungry.” That’s a lie. But the idea of sitting at that massive dining table again, or asking permission to use the kitchen, or anything else I could possibly do in this house like I’m pretending I belong here… I can’t
“Come on,” he says.
I finally glance over my shoulder. He’s already across the room.
“Where?” I ask.
“Outside.”
I hesitate but start moving anyway. Because inside feels worse.
The garden is different at dusk, softer and more subdued. The sharp edges of everything, from the stone to the structure to the perfection, blur under the fading sunlight. The air is cooler, carrying the faint scent of flowers.
Gravel crunches under our feet as we walk. Neither of us speaks right away. The silence isn’t awkward; it’s just heavy. I wrap my arms around myself, more out of habit than the cold.
“You’re quieter than usual,” he says after a minute.
I huff a small breath.
“That’s saying something.”
He almost smiles. “You want to tell me what’s going on?” he asks.
I stop walking. I don’t know how to answer that. What is going on? Everything, nothing, and too much all at once.
“I had a call today,” I say instead.
He stops beside me. “Yeah?”
I nod, staring out at the line of trees ahead of us.
“Teenage girl,” I continue. “Collapsed, dehydration, and malnourished.” My throat tightens slightly.
“She wouldn’t let go of my hand,” I add, remembering the feeling over her fingers in mine.
“Like that was the worst part.” I finally look at him.
“She wasn’t even scared of being hurt. She was scared of not knowing where she’d end up next. ”
Something shifts in his expression, darkening his eyes. I recognize it because I’ve seen it before. At scenes and at hospitals. Helpless anger.
“I know that feeling,” I say. The words slip out before I can stop them.
He looks at me, sharper now. “What do you mean?”
I hesitate. “From foster care.”
He doesn’t interrupt, doesn’t soften me. Just listens.
“You don’t get attached,” I continue. “You don’t unpack all the way.
Because you never know when you’re going to have to leave again.
I stayed in the second home until graduation, nearly eleven years.
But it still took me over two months to actually unpack there.
I thought I’d get moved out of there soon enough anyway, just like the previous home. ”
I shrug slightly. “After a while, it stops feeling temporary,” I add. “It just feels… expected.”
I don’t look at him this time, I don’t want to see his carefully curated reaction.
“Do you remember it?” I ask, looking only at the darkening sky.
“Kind of,” he says quietly, assuring me that my point has been made. “I’m sorry.”
I shake my head. “Don’t be.”
Because pity isn’t what I want. Understanding is. The way I felt then and now, aren’t very different.
We start walking again, slower and more deliberately. The path curves slightly, leading us deeper into the garden where the trees grow thicker and shadows stretch longer across the ground.
“I didn’t want to accept my dad at first,” he murmurs, tucking his hands in his pants pockets. “I couldn’t understand why he wanted me. I figured he’d change his mind.”
I nod, “that tracks.”
His brow furrows slightly. “How?”
“You don’t move like someone who’d come into this life easily,” I say, gesturing lightly around us. “You notice things too much.”
He studies me for a second, then nods once.
“Yeah, it’s true. I didn’t let myself get attached to this home for over a year.
I waited to be sent back to foster homes.
But he never did, he waited me out, met me every step of the way.
It took until I was twelve before I called him dad.
It was my birthday; I’ll never forget his face.
I think he was happier at my birthday than I was. ”
I study him more carefully now, watching as he speaks, watching the way his shoulders stay slightly tense even while recanting a good memory. I watch the way his eyes track movement out of the corner of his vision. The way he-
“You’re hiding something.” The words come out before I can stop them.
He stills just long enough to make me even more suspicious. “No, I’m not.” He answers too quickly, basically automatically.
I cross my arms. “Alex.”
“Liv-” he starts to sound dismissive but I’m not having it.
“Don’t,” I cut in. “Don’t do that thing where you act like I’m imagining it.”
The muscles tense along his jawline.
“I’m not imagining it,” I continue. “You’ve been off since we got here. More than just what the situation should comfortably cause.”
He goes silent, which tells me that not only am I right, but that I’m onto something here. I take a step closer. “What aren’t you telling me?”
The question hangs heavily between us for a moment. He looks at me hard. For a second, I think he’s actually going to say it. Whatever it is. I see the resolve in his eyes.
But then, “it’s the case.”
And just like that, the resolve is gone, replaced with something easier. I stare at him a second longer. Then nod, letting it be. “Right.”
I don’t believe him, not completely, which scares me more than anything else right now. Up until now, he’s been the one thing that felt solid in all of this. He’s been the one thing I didn’t have to question.
Now I’m not so sure.
We stand there in the quiet garden, surrounded by beauty that doesn’t feel real anymore, feeling something subtle shift between us. It’s undeniable, like a crack forming beneath the surface.
I don’t know if this is something we can fix because it already feels like something is breaking.