32. Jp
JP
T he clink of silverware against ceramic is the only sound at the table. And it’s driving me fucking nuts.
It’s that weird awkward silence that happens when no one wants to talk about something bad that happened, that stretches too long and too wide. We’re worried about her.
After urgent care yesterday, Cass sent her a text. Then another this morning. Quinn did too. I know because I saw him typing one while the coffee brewed, his thumb hovering like he was debating every word.
She didn’t answer.
Nothing. Not a damn word.
And now it’s been nearly a day since she replied to anyone.
I pull my phone out under the table and check my messages like it’s a guilty secret. I haven’t told them I texted her too—late last night when I couldn’t sleep. Just a simple update. Quinn’s hand isn’t broken. We’re back home. He’s okay.
That’s all I said. But it felt like more when I hit send.
Like I was trying to reach across whatever distance there was between us, even if I didn’t have the right.
I know I’m the one creating the distance.
But I couldn’t help myself. I’d snuck her number from Quinn a week or so ago.
I felt like a stalker but I couldn’t seem to find anything wrong with it. Unrepentant.
I scroll to the message. No reply.
The screen stays one sided and the knot in my chest pulls tighter.
I glance up. Cass is pushing his food around his plate and Quinn’s tapping the rim of his water glass in an erratic rhythm that’s starting to drive me crazy.
I shove my phone back in my pocket and take a slow breath.
Even Blake isn’t talking. And that kid talks…always. He’s usually a little whirlwind—chattering about dinosaurs or superhero capes or some made-up game he played on the playground. But tonight…crickets.
I clear my throat and glance at him. “Hey, buddy. Heard you rode the bus today for the first time…”
Blake nods, still not looking up. “Yeah.”
I soften my voice. “How’d it go?”
Blake shrugs a little, poking a carrot on his plate with his fork. “It was okay.”
“Any of your friends from class on the bus with you?” I ask, trying to ease him into it. Keep things normal. Gentle.
He shakes his head. “Uh-huh.”
Cass glances at him, narrowing his eyes just a little. “What’s wrong, kiddo?”
Blake makes the most dejected face I think I’ve ever seen. Shoulders sagging, mouth turned down, those bright blue eyes—so much like Quinn’s—well with tears.
“Miss Hart wasn’t at school today,” he says.
We still, eyes bounce from one to the other, a silent wave of alarm passing between us.
“You had a sub?” Cass asks, voice even and calm.
Blake nods. “She was nice. But she wasn’t Miss Hart.”
My throat tightens. Quinn reaches over and musses Blake’s hair, affection lightening his voice just enough to keep from showing the full depth of panic brewing underneath.
“Did the sub say where she was?”
Blake shakes his head, looking down at his plate. “No. And she didn’t give out stickers when we did our letters.”
“That’s a crime. No stickers?” Quinn chuckles, the sound just a little forced.
Blake gives a tiny smile, but not a believable one. “I missed her,” he says, plain and simple. A truth so solid it makes something in my chest crack open.
Something’s wrong. I know it deep down in that place where instinct lives—where instinct and gut feelings become one and the same. And fuck if I’m going to wait around any longer.
She hasn’t texted. Hasn’t called. Hasn’t answered a single message. Not mine, not Quinn’s, not Cass’s. Radio silent.
She was shaken yesterday—after the run-in with Graves. Who the hell wouldn’t be? Graves is a first-class prick. And after urgent care, we came in fired up. I don’t blame her wanting to take a minute. Hell, I was rattled, too.
But Sterling didn’t seem like the type to ghost anybody. In fact, she seemed much more likely to be eaten up by guilt for ditching Quinn. She just seems too thoughtful for that. It took all of watching her with Blake for a minute to know that that girl’s drive to nurture is huge.
Cass told us she said she wasn’t feeling well. That she didn’t want to risk getting us sick. Maybe that’s true. But it just doesn’t track.
I think she’s in trouble.
And the certainty of that has been kicking around my head for hours until I’m wound so tight I can hardly breathe.
I glance at Blake. He looks miserable. I knew Sterling was becoming important to him, but I didn’t realize just how attached he’d gotten. It’s only been three days since he’s seen her, and it’s like someone died.
Poor kid’s trying to be strong, but I see it—the way he’s picking at his food, the way his eyes keep flicking toward the front door like he’s hoping she’ll walk in like she did last week, and make everything feel normal again.
It guts me.
We can’t talk freely in front of him—not about this. Not with the way his little heart’s already breaking.
“Hey, buddy,” I say gently, softening my voice. “How about you take your plate into the kitchen and put on a show? I think there’s a new episode of Lego City Adventures.”
His eyes flick to mine, big and unsure. “Okay, Uncle Jamie,” he says quietly. He gathers his plate and heads into the kitchen.
On his way back, he stops, throws his arms around my waist, and hugs me tight.
“I love you,” he says, and I feel his little body melt into mine, and fuck, it about breaks me. He’s worried. He doesn’t have the words for it yet, but he feels the tension in the air, just like we do.
I lean down and whisper against his hair, “It’s going to be okay, little man. Promise.”
He nods, sniffling, and runs off to get cozy on the couch.
When I turn back to the table, the weight of my brothers’ eyes are already on me.
“Nothing about this feels right,” I say, voice like gravel, low and certain.
They don’t argue.
“When was the last time any of us heard from her?” Cass asks, his voice tight, looking between us.
I glance at my phone that’s now on the table. Still no response. “I haven’t…You?”
“Not since she told Cass she was sick last night,” Cass mutters.
“Yeah, and it’s weird that she’s called out. She’s definitely the type who would drag herself to school with a fever if she had to, regardless of how she felt.”
I push back from the table, the chair legs scraping loud and sharp against the hardwood. “Hell, she wouldn’t miss a day unless she physically couldn’t move.”
And now my head’s spinning, filled with a horror reel of worst-case scenarios—gas leak, house fire, food poisoning, an intruder. The possibilities just keep getting darker, more insane, more fatal. I scrub a hand down my face, trying to breathe through the rising panic.
I know I’m flooding them with how I feel, but I can’t fucking help it. “I’m going over there,” I say, already halfway out of my chair. “If you’re coming with me, better get moving now.”
Cass doesn’t hesitate—he’s grabbing his coat before I even finish the sentence. Quinn’s already moving too, but his eyes flick to Blake, softening with that ever-present dad instinct.
“I’m calling Mom,” Quinn says suddenly, pulling out his phone and standing. He paces into the kitchen. “If something’s wrong, we should all go.”
Cass and I exchange a look. My heart’s already racing, my body halfway to full Alpha panic. The scent of my own adrenaline is sharp in my nose, and I can smell the same thing coming off Cass and Quinn. It takes every fiber in my being to wait for Quinn to finish his call.
“Easy, brother. She’s okay.” Cass’s voice is low and steady from right next to me, the kind of calm only he can manage when everything inside me is burning.
He places a warm, familiar hand on my shoulder—a gesture we’ve passed back and forth for years, through storms and shitshows and late nights on the boat. It’s grounding. Unspoken reassurance.
And I relax. Just a little.
“She fucking better be,” I grind out.
Quinn’s voice carries in from the kitchen, tense but controlled. “Hey, Mom. Can you come stay with Blake?”
There’s a pause, and I can already tell by the shift in his tone that she’s instantly concerned.
“No, he’s fine,” he says quickly. “We’re just—we’re worried about someone. We want to go check on them.” Another pause. “Yeah, all of us. I don’t think I could make any of them stay behind if I tried…” He chuckles. “Yeah. It’s Sterling.”
Another pause. Quinn’s tone drops. “No, nothing official yet. God, I hope not…no, we haven’t talked to her since she took me to urgent care yesterday. She hasn’t answered our calls or texts. She missed work today. We just—we need to check on her.”
He listens a moment more, then says, “Thanks, Mom. Yeah, just a couple hours. We’ll keep you posted…And Mom? Thank you.”
Quinn’s mom deserves Grandma of the Year. No hesitation, no questions asked—just support.
He ends the call and slips his phone back into his pocket. When he walks back into the room, he heads straight to Blake, his expression softening. I don’t know where Quinn learned that look—it’s all parental instinct, tender and steady. But it’s impressive and makes me feel somehow less adult.
“Grandma’s coming over, bud,” he says gently, crouching to Blake’s level. “We’ve got to go take care of something. Grown-up stuff.”
Blake frowns. “Is Miss Hart okay?” This kid is just too intuitive.
Cass kneels next to him and ruffles his hair. “We’re gonna go make sure. She might just need a little help, yeah?”
Blake nods solemnly. “Tell her I miss her.”
I squeeze his shoulder. “We will, kiddo.”
Right then, there’s a knock at the door, and it swings open a second later.
Sue steps inside like she owns the place—which, to be fair, she kind of does.
Quinn’s mom isn’t just Grandma of the Year—she’s also our next-door neighbor and has taken up the mantle of honorary mother to all of us.
Yet another reason she wins all the awards.
Minutes later, the truck’s flying down Main Street. Quinn’s behind the wheel, while Cass and I are crammed into the rest of the cab.
—