Chapter 14
Becca
“Welcome back to Somebody Said in Sweetbriar. Except… not really. I’m not recording lately. Turns out talking into the void is way less comforting when the void might be listening back. Also, my laptop is probably dead as a doornail. And voice notes on my phone are faster. So, there’s that.”
By midmorning, the Sweetbriar Stop & Go smelled like coffee, gasoline, and breakfast burritos—and if there was a more accurate snapshot of my life right now, I didn’t want to see it.
I stood behind the counter, ringing up a steady stream of regulars, smiling on autopilot while my nerves stayed coiled tight under my skin. The bell over the door chimed every few minutes, and every single time it did, I jumped before I could stop myself.
I hated that.
Nothing had happened. Not since I backed out of my trailer and practically launched myself into Aggie’s arms. No strange sounds.
No shadowy figures. No red lights blinking in the trees.
Just quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that made every small noise feel deliberate—like the creak of the cooler compressor wasn’t just settling, but pausing to listen.
Like the low hum of the fluorescent lights overhead wasn’t random, but rhythmic, almost intentional.
I was creeped out and unable to shake it.
“You didn’t sleep again,” Elizabeth had said when I clocked in earlier, hands on her hips, head tilted, performing a slow and thorough inspection of my face like she was appraising a piece of furniture she suspected had hidden damage.
“I slept.”
“How much?”
“Some.”
“Becca.”
“A normal amount.”
“You look like a raccoon who lost a fight with an espresso machine.” She reached out and patted my cheek with the resigned affection of someone who had given up expecting better. “A tired, sad little raccoon.”
“That’s very kind of you, Elizabeth.”
“I’m not kind, I’m accurate. There’s a difference.” She turned toward the back room, then paused. “I’m making coffee. You’re having some whether you want it or not.”
“I already had coffee.”
“More coffee then.” She disappeared through the door. “You look like you need at least three more.” She squinted at my face, taking in the dark circles under my eyes, and muttered something about chamomile tea and bad decisions before heading to the back room.
Now I wiped down the counter for the third time in ten minutes, my reflection in the glass case looking thinner, more tired than I felt inside. Every so often, my gaze drifted to my phone sitting beside the register.
No messages.
I told myself that was fine. Normal.
Still, when the bell chimed again, my pulse kicked hard—
And then settled.
It was Matt.
My brother stepped inside like he owned the place, badge clipped to his belt, jacket slung over one shoulder, eyes already scanning the room before they landed on me. Relief hit first. Then embarrassment. Then that familiar, complicated mix of comfort and irritation that only siblings can deliver.
“Hey,” I said, trying to sound normal. “You here for a burrito or a lecture?”
“Both,” he said mildly, leaning an elbow on the counter. “Thought I’d start with more caffeine. You good?” he asked quietly.
I hesitated—just long enough to be obvious—then nodded. “Yeah. I mean. I’m here, aren’t I? Working. Alive.”
Matt’s mouth flattened, but he didn’t call me on it. Instead, he tipped his head toward the back hallway. “It’s quiet in here. Talk to me. Fill in the gaps Aggie doesn’t know about.”
I glanced toward the door, then sighed. It was time.
Aggie was right. I told him about the night of my podcast and what I saw.
I told him about the trailer last night.
About the porch light being off. About the way everything had felt wrong.
How I’d backed out without even checking inside.
Which was everything he’d already heard from Aggie.
“I didn’t stay there,” I finished, my voice low. “I spent the night at Aggie’s.”
Matt nodded once, jaw tight. “Good. Next time, call me.”
“I don’t know if it was anything,” I rushed on. “It could’ve been nothing. I um—”
“Hey,” he said gently. “The vibes were off, and you didn’t stick around. Always trust your gut. And then call me. Promise me, Becca.”
I swallowed. “Okay. I promise.”
“I just came from your place,” he went on. “Everything seemed fine. No broken locks, nothing out of place.”
“Okay. Thank you. So I can go home?”
“Yes. You should be fine.” He watched my face closely. “If I need to loop anyone else in, I will. You alright with that?”
“Yes,” I said. “I trust you.”
Matt reached out and squeezed my shoulder. “I’ve got you, Bec.”
I nodded, blinking fast. “I know.”
He finished his coffee, then straightened. “I’ll let you get back to work.”
As he walked away, I leaned back against the shelf and let out a shaky breath.
Nothing had happened. But now someone else knew. And somehow, that made it feel more real.
Matt would keep me safe. He always had. But Levi—Levi made me feel not just protected, but understood.
Like he didn’t need to fix me, he just wanted to stand beside me while I figured it out for myself.
The difference settled in my chest like a quiet ache because I wanted both.
But I also wanted neither. I wanted to be the kind of person who didn’t need anyone.
But the part of me that remembered his cheek under my lips, the part that still felt his thumb on my knuckles, knew I was lying to myself.
Elizabeth came back with the kind of look that said she’d already decided I wasn’t getting out of this conversation. “You still look like hell,” she announced cheerfully, tying her apron back on. “I’m worried.”
“I’m touched,” I said. “And offended.”
She slid behind the counter beside me, eyes flicking over my face with practiced precision. “You’ve got the dark circles of someone who’s been arguing with their ceiling fan at three a.m.”
“I like to live dangerously.”
She snorted. “You like to live tired.” She let it go, but I could feel her filing it away for later.
The bell over the door chimed not five minutes after that, and I jumped hard enough that Elizabeth raised an eyebrow.
“See,” she said. “You’re jumpier than a cat in a rocking chair factory.”
“I’m just overcaffeinated,” I said weakly.
Harper walked in right on cue, Bella trailing behind her with her backpack bouncing and her hair coming loose from its ponytail. Bella waved like she’d spotted a celebrity.
“There she is!” Harper said, eyes already scanning my face. “Elizabeth texted me.”
Elizabeth held up her hands. “I didn’t tell her anything dramatic. I said you weren’t sleeping, and you look exhausted, and you won’t tell me anything.”
Harper leaned on the counter, studying me with that gentle, infuriating best-friend look. “You are not okay.”
“I’m fine,” I protested, too quickly.
Bella frowned. “You flinched when the door opened.”
“I did not.”
“You totally did,” Harper said. “Like—” She made a dramatic little jolt with her shoulders.
Elizabeth pointed at me. “That. She does it all the time.”
“I’m standing in a gas station all day,” I said. “I’m allowed to be tired.”
Harper didn’t argue. She just reached out and squeezed my hand. “Okay. But if you need anything—”
“I know,” I said. “I promise I’ll call you.”
Harper checked her watch, then looked at Elizabeth over my head with the particular expression of two people who had already discussed something and reached a conclusion. Elizabeth gave a small nod. I caught it.
“What?” I said.
“Nothing,” Harper said, in the tone that meant something. “Actually—” She straightened, pivoting from gentle concern to cheerful determination with impressive efficiency. “Elizabeth and I are taking you out this weekend.”
“You’re not.”
“We are. Already decided. Non-negotiable.”
“Harper—”
“You’ve been running on empty for two weeks,” Elizabeth said from behind the counter, not looking up from the register. “You need one night that isn’t this.” She gestured broadly at the store. “Or that.” She gestured at my general expression.
“I look fine.”
“You look like someone who hasn’t laughed in forever,” Harper said.
“Which I am choosing to fix at the Twilight Tavern. With drinks.” She held up a hand before I could speak.
“Bella is staying with Uncle Jake, so I have no excuse, you have no excuse, and Elizabeth has new boots she’s been waiting to wear somewhere that isn’t here. ” She tilted her head. “So.”
Elizabeth finally looked up. “The answer is yes,” she said pleasantly.
I looked between them. “You two are terrifying when you coordinate.”
“We prefer effective,” Harper said. “Say yes.”
I hesitated long enough to make it look like a decision, which we all knew it wasn’t. “Fine,” I said. “Yes.”
Bella pumped her fist. “Finally.”
“You were in on this?” I said.
“I helped plan it,” she said proudly.
“Of course you did.” I looked at Harper. “Your daughter is a menace.”
“She really is,” Harper agreed, pressing a kiss to the top of Bella’s head. “Okay. Come on, bug. If we don’t leave now, we’ll be late for dinner, and you’ll get cranky.”
“I’m already cranky,” Bella said cheerfully. “I’ll get hangry if we don’t hurry.”
“Thank you for that distinction,” Harper said. She turned back to me. “Get ready for some fun.”
“Okay, I’ll gather up all my whimsy.”
“If you try to cancel, I will physically carry you to the bar.”
“I know you will,” I said. “Go feed your child.”
They waved and headed out. Elizabeth and I worked the last stretch in companionable quiet—straightening shelves, wiping counters, shutting down the coffee machine.
When we finally flipped the sign to Closed, she nudged me with her elbow.
“Go home,” she said. “Sleep. Or at least lie down and stare at the ceiling with purpose.”
“Always the goal,” I said.
She gave me a look that said she’d be checking in whether I liked it or not, then locked up behind us.