Chapter 1 #3
Sam called over the years, first once a week, then once a month, but I would rarely answer.
I knew that if I talked to him, if I heard him say he missed me, my resolve would break.
I also knew who he wanted to talk about, and I wasn’t ready for that.
In the past couple of years, his calls stopped, and the crack in my heart widened. But could I really blame him?
I expected him to be cold towards me. Despite what our parents said, I knew he was angry. I left home so abruptly, overnight, breaking his best friend’s heart as he told me on the phone once.
He takes a staggering step forward, then another, as if he can’t quite believe I’m real. Then suddenly he’s moving, crossing the kitchen in three long strides and pulling me into a hug that lifts my feet clean off the floor.
I freeze.
“Hazel,” he breathes against my hair, his voice thick with emotion. “What are you doing here?”
His arms are strong around me, smelling of motor oil and the outdoors, and I realize how much I’ve missed this—missed him. My big brother who used to chase away my nightmares and teach me how to change a tire and threaten to beat up anyone who made me cry.
“I came home,” I whisper into his shoulder as my eyes turn wet, my body trembling.
I can hear the sound of boots being kicked off in the mudroom—someone else came in with him. Sam must realize it too, because he suddenly stiffens in my arms.
“I’ll be right back,” he says, releasing me quickly. His voice is oddly tight as he glances toward the mudroom. “Just... give me a minute.”
He disappears back through the doorway, and I hear the low murmur of voices—Sam’s and someone else’s, though I can’t make out the words.
The conversation is brief, urgent, followed by the sound of boots being hastily put back on and then footsteps heading toward the back door.
A moment later, a car engine starts in the driveway.
When Sam returns, I’m still standing in the middle of the kitchen, Mom hovering nearby with worry creasing her features.
“Who was that?” I ask, though part of me already knows.
Sam runs a hand through his hair, looking awkward in a way that reminds me of when we were kids and he’d broken something. “Just a friend.”
Something cold settles in my stomach. His reaction confirms who it was, but I push the thought away before it can take root.
“Well,” Mom says, breaking the tension with practiced ease, “you’re both here now, and that’s what matters. Sam, go wash up. I’ll make you a sandwich.”
He nods and heads back toward the mudroom. I hear water running, then he returns a few minutes later with clean hands, taking the seat across from me. Mom begins preparing another sandwich, falling back into the rhythm of feeding her children.
I settle back into my chair, but my hands shake slightly as I pick up my hot chocolate.
The normalcy of the moment feels surreal—here I am, sitting in my childhood kitchen after eight years, as if no time has passed at all.
The emotional intensity of seeing my family again, of being home, leaves me feeling off-balance.
“So,” I manage, wrapping my hands tighter around the mug. “How’s... how’s the auto shop been?”
Sam takes a bite of his sandwich, studying my face as he chews. “Busy. Good busy. Why are you back?”
His blunt question makes Mom hiss at him but he ignores her. “No, I want to know. She’s been gone for eight years without so much as a visit or calls.”
“I called,” I frown.
He scoffs. “Barely. Let’s face it, Hazel. You cut us off.”
“Sam, that’s enough!” Mom’s voice is sharp just as Dad enters the room.
“What’s going on?” he asks, looking at the tense atmosphere.
“He’s going to drive her away if he keeps up this attitude!” My mother turns to him, sounding upset. “She just got here, and he’s —”
“Mom, I’m fine.” I look between my parents before my gaze settles on Sam. “This is my home too. I can come and go whenever I please.”
Sam makes a face about to say something but Dad slaps him on the back of his head. “Enough. Be nice to your sister.”
My brother just rolls his eyes and bites into his sandwich, but not before kicking me lightly under the table. I kick him right bac,k and he immediately makes a huge show of choking, clutching his leg dramatically, his mouth still full. “She kicked me! My leg!”
Our parents immediately look at me.
“He kicked me first!” I protest.
“I think she broke my leg.” Sam whines, and as my Mom checks, Sam sticks his tongue out at me, making me bristle.
“Your leg’s fine, Sam. Hazel, don’t kick your brother,” Mom chastises.
“Yeah, don’t kick— Ow!” Sam lets out a cry as Mom grips his ear in a punishing hold.
“And don’t try to get your sister in trouble.”
Dad just rolls his eyes. “I’ll take your things out of your car, Hazel.”
“No, Dad. I can—” I begin, but he just holds out his hand for the keys.
Sighing, I hand them over.
Sam blinks, rubbing his ear as Mom lets go of him. “That your car out there? The Honda?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s in bad shape. I’ll take a look at it for you. Just for the heck of it.”
“Leave my car alone, Sam.”
“It’s okay, Hazel. You don’t have to beg me to fix it.” He grins. “When did you last change the oil?”
I frown. “Six years ago. I think. Or maybe four years. I don’t remember.”
He drops his sandwich on his plate. “Did your brain stop working when you left Autumn Ridge? You know that the car oil has to be changed at least—”
“A mechanic takes care of all those things,” I mumble.
Sam shakes his head, looking at me like I’ve suddenly grown two horns. “You’re crazy.”
“I didn’t have time. I was working!” I argue.
“Oh please.” Sam is ready to launch into another argument when my Mom breaks it up.
“Stop it. No fighting. Hazel, let your brother have a look at the car. He knows what he’s talking about.”
“Fine, but I need it to get around.”
“Since you’re helping at the coffee shop,” Mom interjects, “your father and I can drive you.”
Sam’s eyebrows shoot up. “You’re working at the coffee shop? Since when?”
Mom beams. “Since she offered to help us out. Unlike some people, she has time to spare.”
I waggle my brows at Sam. “See, I’m helpful.”
“Hey,” Sam protests, pointing his sandwich at her. “I’ve got a business to run. Can’t be making lattes all day.”
“You made exactly three lattes the last time you helped,” Mom retorts. “And you burned two of them.”
“Technical difficulties,” Sam says with mock dignity.
I find myself smiling despite everything. This—this teasing, this connection—is what I’ve missed most.
“You really drove all the way from LA?” Sam asks, turning back to me. “Why didn’t you just fly?”
“I wanted to clear my head.”
Without warning, he reaches over and flicks my forehead with his finger.
“Ow! Sam!”
“Just helping you clear the cobwebs,” he says with a grin. “Looks like you’ve got plenty of room up there.”
“You’re such a pain,” I complain, rubbing my forehead, but I’m laughing now, and it feels good. Real.
“Too bad. Now you have to deal with me while you’re here,” he says, taking another bite of his sandwich. “Which is how long?”
“A month.” Dad replies, entering the room with my suitcase. “She broke up with Derek.”
“Dad!” I scowl. “He doesn’t need to know that.”
“Why not?” Sam immediately turns to face me. “What did he do?”
His question catches me unawares.
He didn’t ask what happened, what I might have done, what caused the breakup. He just naturally assumed my ex-boyfriend did something.
“Nothing I want to talk about,” I finally say. “I’m going to go to bed. I’ve not slept properly in days.”
“Go, go.” Mom ushers me out of the kitchen. “Sleep. We’ll be here in the morning. And you don’t have to come to the coffee shop to work if you don’t want to. You can just come there to sit, meet your friends.”
At the landing of the stairs that lead up the bedrooms, she takes me in her arms, squeezing me so tight that I can’t breathe for a moment. Her voice is thick with tears. “I’m so glad you’re back, Hazel. Your father and I have missed you.”
I hug her back, my arms around her neck as I let her warmth soothe some of the pain inside me.
* * *
My childhood bedroom is exactly as Mom promised—the same pale yellow walls, the same white furniture, even the same stuffed animals arranged on the window seat. It’s like stepping back in time, and for a moment, I’m twenty again, heartbroken and desperate to escape.
I try to sleep, but my mind won’t quiet. The events of the past few weeks keep replaying in my head—Derek’s betrayal, the humiliation of being escorted from the building, the long drive home. And underneath it all, the nagging question of who Sam sent away tonight.
Finally, I give up and do what I used to do as a kid when sleep wouldn’t come. I climb out my bedroom window onto the roof of the wraparound porch, settling into the spot where I used to sit and watch the stars.
The October air is sharp against my skin, carrying the scent of dying leaves and distant chimney smoke. Above me, the sky is clearer than it ever gets in LA, scattered with more stars than I remember.
I’ve been sitting there maybe ten minutes when the window creaks behind me.
“Knew I’d find you out here,” Sam says, settling beside me with the careful movements of someone who’s done this before.
We sit in comfortable silence for a while, leaning against each other the way we did when we were kids. I rest my head on his shoulder, feeling some of the tension leave my body for the first time in weeks.
“Are you okay?” he asks quietly, his earlier sarcasm no longer there.
The simple question breaks something loose in my chest. “No.”
“Hazel, if you want to talk…”
“I don’t. I just want to be around my family. I want to feel okay, Sam, like my life isn’t falling apart around me.”
He presses a kiss to the top of my head, the gesture so familiar and comforting that I have to close my eyes against the sudden sting of tears.
“You’ll be fine,” he says softly. “You’re home now.”
I don’t answer, but I lean into him a little more, letting his certainty and his presence wrap around me like a blanket. Maybe he’s right. Maybe being home really will be enough to put me back together again.