Chapter Five
Juniper
We get back to the house, and the front door gives that same familiar creak as it swings open.
Jacob and I walk inside. He’s quiet, still cradling his arm like it might fall off if he moves wrong.
I steer him toward the kitchen, pull out one of the chairs, and lower him into it as gently as I can.
He tries to smile at me like he’s fine, but his face is pale and I know he’s in pain.
I head straight for the cabinet. My fingers are shaking as I pull the first aid kit down. I open the antiseptic bottle, grab the cotton and bandages.
“This might sting. Just a little,” I say, even though I know it will sting a lot. I press the soaked cotton to his elbow and he flinches.
“Hold still.”
I don’t mean to sound so short, but my brain’s fried. The last hour has been a mess.
And then I hear her. My mom.
“Couldn’t you keep an eye on him for one afternoon?”
She stands in the doorway. Her arms are crossed. Her lips are pressed thin. Same as always. Disappointed. Distant. Somehow more mad than worried.
I don’t even look at her. “Some jerk nearly drove into us,” I snap. “Can you just for once give me a break?” I slam the gauze pack into the counter.
She doesn’t move. “You know how fragile he is,” she says. “You should’ve paid attention. He’s not like you.”
Before I can respond, I hear footsteps behind her. My dad walks in and leans against the doorframe like he’s just stumbled into this by accident.
“You need to be more careful, Juniper,” he says, not even bothering to look at Jacob. “Your brother can’t handle this kind of stress. You’re here to take care of him. Not make it worse.”
I stop what I’m doing for a moment, but then get back to finishing up bandaging his arm. Jacob looks up at me. He doesn’t say a word.
I breathe through my nose, nod once, and say, “I know, Dad.”
And then, louder—“It wasn’t my fault.”
That last part comes out sharper than I planned. Not yelling. Just full of something I’ve been swallowing all day.
“Don’t use that tone here.”
My dad’s eyes cut through me. He doesn’t yell. He doesn’t have to.
I freeze. Not because he’s right. Just because I’m tired. Too much has happened today and I don’t have the energy to fight both him and my mom in the same hour.
Jacob’s still sitting at the table. He glances between us, then pushes back his chair. Quiet. Smooth. Like he’s defusing a bomb.
He stands and reaches for my hand. “Come on.”
I let him pull me out of the kitchen without a word.
On the stairs, Jacob glances over his shoulder. His hand is still wrapped around mine.
"You should get out for a bit. Just go… be somewhere else. Clear your head."
I pause halfway up the steps. "What?"
He shrugs like it’s obvious. "Go out. Go do something that isn't this house, or Mom, or Dad. Or me. Just for a night."
I stare at him. He’s not wrong. My brain’s still buzzing from earlier. Everything feels too tight, too loud, too close. "I don’t know," I mutter.
"Do it anyway," he says, giving my hand a small squeeze before letting go. "You need it."
I don’t argue. I just nod and walk into my room.
I lie down on my bed for a while, staring at the ceiling like it’ll give me answers. It doesn’t. Of course it doesn’t.
After a while, I get up. Walk to my suitcase. Start digging through it. My hand brushes over a black dress—soft, worn, familiar. I pull it out, hold it up, and then just slip it on. No second-guessing.
It fits like always. A little loose around the shoulders, snug around the hips. I add boots and tie my hair back. No makeup. Even though I love it, I got energy for that tonight.
The bar’s only a few blocks away. I walk there. The night air helps, a little. My legs move fast. I don’t stop thinking, but at least I’m not in the house.
Inside, it’s the same as always. Low light, warm wood, chatter humming over the speakers. People leaning close at small tables. A couple guys throwing darts by the bathrooms. I slide onto a stool near the end of the bar.
I order a whiskey. Something with heat. I don’t want to sip something sweet. I want to feel it.
While I’m waiting, two guys nearby are talking. Loud enough to hear, not loud enough to pretend it’s meant for anyone else.
"That new guy in town, Patterson. You hear what he’s doing?"
That name hits like a slap.
My stomach tenses.
The other one laughs. "The suit? Yeah. Some big resort thing. Supposed to be massive."
"Right by the park," the first guy says. "Gonna change everything."
I tune out whatever comes next.
Patterson. The same guy fro m earlier. The one I slapped in the middle of the street. The one who almost hit Jacob.
Now he’s trying to rip up Cody Riverside Park.
I pull out my phone, type in his name. Articles come up instantly. Headlines about multimillion-dollar builds. Photos of him standing in front of glass towers and sweeping golf courses. Everything pristine. Perfect.
None of it belongs here.
Every resort looks the same. Giant footprints stamped onto land that used to breathe. He takes places like this and turns them into something else—something shiny and loud that only rich people can enjoy.
I scroll until my thumb cramps.
When I finally look up, I realize it’s been almost an hour. The bar’s louder now. Someone turned the music up. People are on the small dance floor near the jukebox, half-drunk and swaying to the beat.
I toss back the rest of my drink and stand.
I don’t usually dance. I don’t usually do this kind of thing at all. But my head’s spinning and my chest is tight and I need something to cut through it.
So I walk out there.
The music’s got this low, pulsing rhythm. I let it take over. Let my body move without thinking. Not sexy. Not polished. Just motion. Just sweat and noise and distraction.
I ’m almost starting to feel okay when I feel a hand on my waist.
It jolts me. Not gentle. Not casual.
I turn fast. There’s a man standing behind me. Tall. Smirking. Way too close.
"Hey there," he says, leaning in. I can smell the beer on his breath. It’s thick. "You looked like you wanted company."
I step back. "No. I’m good."
He moves forward like I didn’t say anything. "Aw, come on. Don’t be like that."
His hand tightens.
Something inside me locks up. My throat. My stomach. My arms.
I try to pull away. "Let go."
He grins wider, like this is funny.
"Relax. I’m just having fun."
That’s when the panic hits. Hard and fast. Everything closes in. The music, the lights, the bodies around me—it’s too much.
"Let go of me," I say again, louder now.
He doesn’t.
I shove him.
He stumbles back a few steps, catches himself, and looks at me like I’ve just ruined his night.
"Crazy bitch," he mutters.
He walks off.
I stand there for a s econd, there’s a thump in my chest I can’t ignore. My whole body is shaking.
No one around us even looks.
I walk straight out.
The night air slams into me. Cold. Sharp. I walk fast, boots hitting the pavement with every step. I don’t look back.
By the time I hit my block, my hands are still shaking. The whiskey’s worn off. The music’s still echoing in my head.
I try to keep it together, but it’s not happening.
Tears blur my vision. Everything looks unfamiliar. Like I’ve never walked this route before.
Why does this still happen to me? Why can’t I just forget?
I think of that other night. The one I don’t talk about. The one that wrecked everything.
The guy I trusted. The lies. The way everyone believed him, not me. The way he turned it all on me.
I walk faster.
My breath stutters. My chest starts to hurt. I keep swallowing like that’ll stop the sobs, but they’re already coming.
By the time I reach the house, I’m done.
I go straight upstairs, shut the door, and slide down to the floor.
The tears don’t stop. I cry until my throat aches.
I stay there, curled up on the floor, until I fall asleep right where I am. Exhausted. Cold. Empty .
Just done.