Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
LUKE
I'm standing in the backyard at my parents' house, and my bottom jaw is resting on the ground in front of me. Brandon takes the opportunity to provoke me.
“You’re going to catch flies in that big hole of yours if you don’t shut your mouth,” Brandon says dryly.
I close my mouth, though I still can’t quite believe what I’m seeing.
Andi stands there looking endearingly shy, clearly unsure of what to do with all the attention.
My mother, meanwhile, is fawning over her—pulling her into one hug after another, each one tighter than the last. I half expect Mom to crack a rib at this rate.
Andi doesn’t seem to mind the affection, but the sheer focus of it all has her a little flustered, her embarrassment evident as she endures my mother’s enthusiastic approval.
“Andi, I just can’t believe you did this! I just can’t get over it!” Mom has said that at least ten times since we got here a few minutes ago.
“It’s nothing. Really. I just wanted to do something for you, and this is the only thing I knew you wanted." Andi tries to explain, hoping my mom will just drop it already.
No such luck. Mom is gushing and running around the backyard, touching everything at least once.
Dad called Brandon, Greg, and me over to their house early this morning because not only has Andi ordered the patio furniture my mom wanted from the catalog, but she’s also ordered the whole backyard scene that Mom wanted to create.
Everything’s here—the hot tub with a waterfall that creates the illusion that it’s spilling over into the pool, the outdoor kitchen area with appliances, the matching furniture that goes all around the backyard, and all the brick pavers needed for the walkways and retaining walls.
She also arranged for several workers to be here to help set everything up.
Andi smiles at me sheepishly. “It’s nice, isn’t it?”
I smile and start toward Andi, but Brandon gets there first. He slips an arm around her shoulders and rests his head gently against hers. “It’s beautiful, Andi. Just like you. Mom and Dad love it, sweetheart,” he says.
A trace of annoyance rises in me. I step forward, nudge Brandon aside, and shoot him a glare that says, “Hands off.” He just grins, unfazed. I slide my arm around Andi and pull her close. “How many times can I say it? You’re amazing, Andi.”
Her beautiful smile lights up her face as she says, “Luke, you did such a great job at the youth center, with the landscaping and directing the boys. Think you can take over here and make sure it gets done the way your parents want it?”
I start to answer, but my dad answers for me. “That's an excellent idea, Andi. Linda, why don’t you and the boys here,” gesturing to me, Brandon, and Greg, “divide it up? I have some work I need to finish inside.”
Mom is more than happy to push us around the yard to start working on her dream garden oasis.
Andi announces she’ll get the drinks and snacks, and my father follows her into the house.
Mom is absolutely thrilled with everything.
Even though she keeps saying she can’t accept all this from Andi, she hasn’t slowed down in giving orders on exactly how she wants every piece installed or where it should be placed.
The thing is, Andi, she will never miss the money she spent on my mom’s little slice of heaven.
Everything she buys is top of the line—no expense spared—but when it comes to gifts, Andi never thinks about the cost. She thinks about the person.
I’ve never seen her check a price tag. If she knows one of us needs or wants something, she just gives it, no questions asked.
After I started training with Mack, she surprised me with a complete set of new boxing gear—not the cheap knockoffs, but the best brands: gloves, headgear, mouth guards, a speed bag, shorts, tanks, boxing shoes, and running shoes.
All of it was neatly packed into a huge gym bag she’d picked out herself.
One day, it was just there in my apartment.
She never mentioned it, and when I tried to pay her back, she looked genuinely hurt.
I’ve learned to thank her in other ways, small gestures here and there, but I know now that helping others is what makes her happiest—just like at the youth center.
Her generosity today doesn’t surprise me.
What does surprise me is how quietly she does it, never seeking praise or attention.
She wouldn’t have wanted me to make a fuss, tell my mom, or spoil the surprise.
Andi amazes me. Despite everything she’s been through, she’s chosen to be loving and giving.
Where most people would grow cold, her childhood struggles have made her kinder.
Dad has been distant again today. I haven’t had a chance to talk to him alone to ask what’s wrong.
Right now, there's no way I could get any information from my mom because she's too excited about her yard project. If I walk away from the “crew” she assigned me, I know I’ll never hear the end of it. Mom is scary when she’s mad, even to a grown man, and I don’t want to be the one to catch the brunt of her fury.
Just ask the poor guys in her “crew” right now.
They’re looking longingly at my crew and Brandon’s crew, wondering how they drew the short straws in this game of chance.
My guys are chuckling as they listen to Mom chastise her team for putting the pavers down the wrong side up.
She won’t listen when they try to explain that there is no wrong side up on pavers.
She’s determined to have the perfect patio, down to the very last concrete block.
After two hours in the unrelenting sun, sweat trickles down my back, and my shirt clings damply to my skin.
My mouth is dry, my tongue thick and heavy, and every breath tastes of dust and cut grass.
I scan the yard, squinting against the glare, searching for any sign of Andi—or the cold drinks she promised.
The air shimmers above the concrete, and I notice the other workers wiping their brows, lips cracked, eyes darting hopefully toward the house. Not a single cup in sight.
Andi never forgets things like this. Her kindness is as dependable as sunrise; she always makes sure everyone is taken care of.
The absence of her and the drinks gnaw at me.
A knot of unease tightens in my stomach, prickling beneath my ribs.
This isn’t like her. She wouldn’t just leave us to bake in the heat.
I start across the yard toward Brandon, the grass crunching under my boots, each step heavier than the last. The pit in my stomach deepens, and with every stride, a chill creeps up my spine despite the sweltering afternoon.
“Hey, have you seen Andi lately?” I ask Brandon.
He thinks for a second before replying. “No, I haven’t, actually. She was going to get drinks a while ago. That is strange," he says absently, looking around the yard. "Hey, where's Mom?"
Now that he said that, I realize I haven’t heard Mom arguing with her crew in a while. "Maybe they're both in the kitchen making us something to eat," I say, but even I don't believe it.
Brandon obviously doesn't either, because he gives me a look that says, Yeah, right. “You think Mom would leave all this to go inside and cook for us? Uh, no, I don’t think so.”
We tell our crews to take a break and head for the back door together.
The moment I step into the kitchen, a cold, unnatural stillness hits me.
The overhead lights are too bright, casting sharp, accusing shadows across the counters.
The tray of empty cups sits abandoned, the coffee congealed and bitter, as if time itself has stopped.
The air is heavy, permeated with the scent of burnt coffee and something sour—maybe milk left out too long.
There’s no food, no laughter, no sign of life.
Only the echo of my own heartbeat, thudding in my ears.
Brandon and I freeze, exchanging a look that’s half question, half warning.
The silence is so absolute it feels like a scream.
Then, from down the hall, I catch the faint, muffled sound of voices—strained, broken, leaking through the closed door to my dad’s home office.
My skin prickles. Every step toward that door feels like wading through wet cement.
I push open the swinging door. It creaks, the sound slicing through the hush like a blade. I brace myself for the usual—my parents bickering, my mom fussing. Instead, I step into a room so charged it’s suffocating. The air is thick, electric, as if a storm is about to break.
My father sits at the head of his conference table, his posture rigid, jaw clenched so tight I can see the veins standing out in his neck.
In front of him, a manila folder with Andi’s name scrawled in black marker.
My mother is beside him, hands twisted together so hard her knuckles are bone-white, silent tears streaming down her face, her breath coming in shallow, shuddering gasps.
The room smells faintly of her perfume, now soured by fear.
At the far end of the table, Andi is folded in on herself, shoulders hunched, as if she’s trying to make herself invisible.
Her hair falls forward, hiding her face, but I can see her hands shaking while she clutches a stack of photographs.
She doesn’t even seem to notice we’ve entered—the only sound is her ragged breathing and the slight, wet sniffling from my mother.
“You could’ve just told me you needed it,” Andi says, her voice scraped raw, barely more than a whisper.
“I would’ve given it to you. Sam, you don’t know what this could do to you.
Please don’t do this.” Her words hang in the air, heavy and desperate, and I feel them settle on my skin like a bruise.
My mind scrambles, panic rising. Given him what?
“What the hell is going on?” I demand, my voice cracking, the taste of dread metallic and bitter on my tongue.