Chapter 8
I don’t go into the coffee shop the next morning.
My parents don’t question me, don’t ask, but they look after me in their own ways.
Dad drops by my room in the morning with cinnamon and apple waffles and a cup of freshly roasted coffee.
Mom makes me her roast beef sandwiches and leaves me one in front of my room.
Coming home was the right decision. I know it now.
The holes I picked in my soul over these past eight years, my family is slowly filling them in with their love and affection, like they know how to heal me.
I spend most of the morning in bed, staring at the ceiling of my childhood bedroom. The pale yellow walls that once felt cheerful now seem washed out, faded. Like everything else in my life lately.
Around noon, there’s a soft knock on my door.
“Hazel?” Sam’s voice is gentle, careful. “Can I come in?”
I don’t answer, but the door opens anyway. That’s Sam for you—asks permission but does what he wants regardless.
He sits on the edge of my bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. For a long moment, we just sit in silence. I can feel him studying my face, taking inventory of the damage.
“You look like hell,” he says finally.
“Thanks. Just what every girl wants to hear.”
“I’m serious.” He reaches over and brushes a strand of hair away from my face. “When’s the last time you actually slept?”
I shrug. “Sleep is overrated.”
“So is wallowing.”
That gets me to look at him. Sam’s face is serious, concerned in a way that makes my chest tight. There are shadows under his eyes too, like he didn’t sleep much either.
“Am I different?” I ask suddenly. “Than before, I mean. Have I changed?”
Sam considers this, tilting his head as he studies me. “Yeah,” he says finally. “You have.”
The honesty stings, even though I was expecting it. “How?”
“You’re...” He struggles with the words. “Duller somehow. Like someone turned down your brightness setting.”
I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “That’s exactly how I feel. Like all the colors inside me have washed away.”
“Is this about Luke?”
I shake my head immediately. “No. This isn’t about him.” I sit up, pulling my knees to my chest. “I’m tired, Sam. Tired of the life I’ve been living. Living in the big city made me lose my purpose.”
“Your purpose?”
“I’ve been searching for my purpose in everybody else when I should have been searching within myself.” The words come out in a rush, like they’ve been building pressure for months. “I thought Derek was my purpose. I thought the job was my purpose. But all of it just felt... empty.”
Sam raises an eyebrow. “Damn, Hazel. Getting a little philosophical on me here.”
Despite everything, I smile. “Shut up.”
“I’m serious though.” He leans back against my headboard. “When did my practical, logical sister become so introspective?”
“When her life fell apart.”
The silence stretches between us, comfortable in the way only siblings can manage. Then Sam’s expression shifts, becomes more serious.
“What happened in LA, Hazel?”
“I don’t want to talk about it. Not yet,” I murmur, knowing how he’ll react. I don’t have the strength to get into a battle of words with him. To my surprise, he doesn’t push me.
“Why didn’t you ever tell me?” he asks quietly. “About what Luke did?”
My stomach clenches. “Sam—”
“I had to find it out from you sobbing in a treehouse. Why didn’t you tell me eight years ago?”
I wrap my arms tighter around my knees. “Because I knew how much he loved you. How much he loved Mom and Dad.” My voice comes out small, ashamed. “I also knew how devastated he’d been when Brittany walked away from him after his parents died.”
“So?”
“So maybe I was the one being selfish, standing in his way when the woman he really loved had returned.” The words taste bitter. “I didn’t want him to lose his family again.”
Sam stares at me for a long moment, then runs both hands through his hair. “Jesus Christ, Hazel.”
“What?”
“You protected him.” His voice is incredulous. “Even after he hurt you, you protected him.”
“I—”
“No, listen to me.” Sam turns to face me fully, his brown eyes blazing. “Your biggest flaw has always been your soft heart. You’ve never been able to be selfish, not even when you should be.”
“That’s not true—”
“It is true!” His voice rises, frustration spilling over. “You carried this pain for eight years to protect someone who broke your heart!”
I flinch at his tone. “Sam—”
“And what about Brittany?” He stands up, pacing the small room. “Why didn’t you tell me she was harassing you?”
The question startles me. I look down at my hands, shame burning in my chest. “I thought... since Luke didn’t believe me, why would you?”
The silence that follows is deafening.
When I finally look up, Sam’s face is a mixture of hurt and rage that takes my breath away.
“Because I’m your brother!” he shouts, and suddenly he’s grabbing one of my throw pillows and hitting me with it. Not hard—just emphatic taps that punctuate his words. “Because—”
thwap
“—even if you—”
thwap
“—had been lying—”
thwap
“—which you weren’t—”
thwap
“—I would have—”
thwap
“—had your back anyway!”
“Sam!” I laugh despite my tears, trying to block the pillow assault. “Stop!”
“I am the one person—”
thwap
“—who will always—”
thwap
“—be there for you!”
Thwap thwap
“Even if you’re wrong! Even if the whole world is against you!”
The pillow fighting stops as suddenly as it started. Sam drops the pillow and his voice cracks. “That’s what brothers are for, Hazel. That’s what family means.”
The tears spill over then, eight years of held-back pain and guilt and loneliness pouring out all at once. Sam immediately sits back down, pulling me into his arms like he did when we were kids and I’d skinned my knee or had a nightmare.
“I’m sorry,” I sob against his shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”
“Shh.” His hand smooths over my hair. “I’m not going anywhere, okay? I’m always going to be here.”
I cry until I can’t breathe, until my chest aches and my throat is raw. Sam just holds me, rocking slightly, whispering reassurances.
“I missed you,” I whisper when the tears finally slow.
“I missed you too.” His voice is thick with emotion. “Don’t ever shut me out again, okay? I don’t care what it is, I don’t care how bad it gets. You tell me. Promise me.”
“I promise.”
We sit like that for a long time, brother and sister, holding onto each other in the quiet of my childhood room. Outside, the maple tree scratches against the window, and I can hear Mom humming downstairs in the kitchen.
“For what it’s worth,” Sam says finally, “I punched him.”
I pull back to look at him. “You what?”
“Luke. I punched him.” Sam examines his knuckles with satisfaction. “Right in the jaw. Felt pretty good, actually.”
“Sam!”
“What? He had it coming.” Sam’s grin is fierce. “Besides, someone needed to defend your honor. No?”
I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. “You can’t just go around punching people!”
“Watch me.”
Despite everything, I find myself smiling. “What did he say?”
Sam’s expression grows more serious. “He says he didn’t do anything. Says he doesn’t remember.” He pauses. “He seemed genuinely confused, Hazel. Like he really doesn’t know what you’re talking about.”
The words hit me like ice water. “He’s lying.”
“Maybe. Or maybe there’s more to this story than either of you remember.”
I shake my head immediately. “I know what I saw, Sam.”
“I believe you.” His voice is firm, certain. “But maybe it’s time you told him the whole truth of what you saw. Confront him.”
The thought terrifies me. “I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because...” I struggle for the words. “Because saying it out loud makes it real. And I’ve spent eight years trying to pretend it didn’t happen.”
Sam holds my face in his hands, forcing me to meet his eyes. “It already is real, Hazel. It’s been real this whole time. The only difference is whether you keep carrying it alone or get it out of your system.”
I want to argue, want to retreat back into the safety of silence. But looking at my brother’s face—at the love and determination there—I know he’s right.
“Not today,” I whisper.
“Okay. Not today.” He presses a kiss to my forehead. “But soon. Promise me.”
“I promise.”
Sam stands up, stretching. “Good. Now get dressed. Mom made your favorite soup as well, and she told me to remind you there are sandwiches in the fridge. She’ll have my head if you don’t eat something.”
“Sam?”
He turns back at the door. “Yeah?”
“Thank you. For finding me last night. For being here.”
His smile is soft, gentle. “Always, little sister. Always.”
After he leaves, I lie back down and stare at the ceiling some more. But something has shifted in my chest—a tiny loosening of the knot I’ve carried for eight years.
Maybe Sam is right. Maybe it’s time to stop carrying this alone.
But not today. Today, I’m going to eat Mom’s soup, stuff myself with sandwiches, and let my brother take care of me like we’re kids again.
Tomorrow, I’ll figure out how to be brave.
* * *
I slip on my jacket and head outside, needing the sharp autumn air to clear my head after yesterday’s emotional breakdown. The morning is overcast, gray clouds threatening rain, matching my mood perfectly. I’m halfway down Elm Street when I spot a familiar golden figure trotting toward me.
“Max?” I call out, and the dog immediately changes direction, bounding over with his tail wagging like he’s genuinely happy to see me. “What are you doing out here again?”
I look around for any sign of Luke, but the street is empty. Max sits at my feet, panting slightly, his leash trailing behind him in the fallen leaves.
“You can’t keep escaping like this,” I tell him, scratching behind his ears. “You’re going to get lost.”
Max tilts his head at me, then stands and starts walking in the direction of the forest path that leads to Luke’s cabin. He stops after a few steps and looks back at me expectantly.
“Are you doing this on purpose?” I ask him seriously.
Max just wags his tail harder and licks my hand.