25. Sienna
Chapter 25
Sienna
T he air in Brody’s garden smells like salt and earth and something sweeter I can’t name.
Maybe it’s the lemon trees. Or the wild rosemary. Maybe it’s the fact that, for the first time in a long time, I just feel… peace.
We’re sitting at a small wrought iron table tucked into a corner of the backyard, breakfast plates half-forgotten between us.
Milo dozes under Brody’s chair, completely relaxed.
"You're lucky," I say, picking at a piece of toast. "Most people have backyards they actually have to mow. You've got... this."
Brody chuckles, low and easy. "Perks of having a few ancestors who refused to give up their land."
I raise an eyebrow. "Ancestors?"
He leans back, the morning sun catching the laugh lines around his eyes. "Yeah. Turns out, the King family’s been tangled up in Breaker's Isle a long time. Since the early 1700s, if you believe the stories."
I tilt my head, intrigued. "What stories?"
Brody’s grin tugs wider. "You ever hear of Captain Silas Blackwater?"
I shake my head.
"Pirate captain. Legend says he ran the Avalon aground just off the coast during a hurricane. Treasure’s still supposed to be out there somewhere, buried under coral and salt and a couple centuries of ocean pollution, I’m sure." He casually pops a grape into his mouth.
"Pirates?" I echo, a little breathless, because of course this wild little island would have pirates in its veins.
"Yeah. And rumor has it, Blackwater survived. They say he made it ashore, changed his name, built a life here. Might’ve started our family line."
I stare at him. "You’re telling me… I’m pirate royalty?"
Brody throws his head back and laughs, full and unguarded.
"Something like that."
The thought curls warm inside me. Not because of the treasure or the drama, but because for the first time, I can trace a line between myself and something bigger. Something older. Something that feels like it belongs. Like it always had.
"That’s actually kind of badass," I admit, grinning.
Brody winks. "Runs in the blood."
We settle into a comfortable silence, the kind that feels rare enough to notice. I sip my juice, gathering my nerve.
"What about you?" I ask. "Your family?"
He’s quiet for a beat, the breeze lifting the edges of the paper napkins between us.
"My dad was a bit of a hardass. Built like a slab of stone, cold to match. My mom was softer. Smarter. I spent a lotta years trying to make the old man proud." His mouth twists. "Didn’t take."
There’s a sadness there, muted but alive. I don’t poke at it. I know better than most that some wounds don't scar over easy.
“No siblings,” I ask him.
He shakes his head. “Only child.” Brody glances back at me, a little crooked smile tugging at his mouth, making a dimple appear. "Guess that's why Levi and I stuck. Neither of us had much else worth holding onto in the family department.”
I twist my fingers in my lap. "How'd you two meet?"
"The Army." His smile fades into something heavier. "We met in basic. We had different units. Same hellholes. He saved my ass more times than I like to admit."
I look down at Milo, who shifts in his sleep, his paws twitching like he's dreaming.
"Is that how you got...?" I trail off, gesturing lightly toward Brody’s legs.
He nods, once. "IED. Took out my convoy. Levi was supposed to be on that detail, but he swapped shifts last minute to cover for someone else. I've got scars. He’s got ghosts."
I swallow hard.
"They sent me home with half a working body and a pocket full of survivor’s guilt," he says softly. "Levi stayed. Finished out his tour. Then went back and volunteered for another one. The masochist."
There's another long stretch of silence between us. I like getting to hear from Levi about my dad. I can tell he cares about him. There’s a deep respect there.
And somehow, it helps me understand Levi a little better. The way he holds onto everything so tight. The way he blames himself for things no one could’ve stopped. It goes beyond the garage. Beyond Evie.
To a time when he was about my age, it seems.
"What about you?" he asks, tipping his chin toward me. "Your mom?... Your family?"
I glance down at my plate, pushing what’s left of my crumbs around with the side of my fork.
"It was... different," I say carefully. "Mom came from a very religious family. Like, very religious."
Brody listens without interrupting, Milo breathing steady at his feet.
"My grandparents ran the show," I continue. "Strict, controlling, always preaching about hellfire and damnation if you so much as looked at the world wrong. Sometimes..." I swallow. "The way mom described growing up, sometimes it felt more like a cult than a family."
Brody’s jaw tightens subtly, but he lets me keep going.
"Mom— Amalie —she was the rebel of her family. She was the one who got out. She kept in touch with her sister, Julian’s mom. But growing up she taught me and Julian there was more to life than fear and guilt. She gave us a real shot at something better. Something free and beautiful."
"Sounds like you’re a lot like her," Brody says quietly.
I blink against the sting behind my eyes. "Thanks." It’s probably the greatest compliment I can get.
"And Julian? How’s he doing?"
I nod, feeling a pang of something raw and messy. "Yeah. He’s... he’s been my best friend forever. Except lately he’s been... distant, I guess. Bailing on plans. Always with some new excuse."
Brody frowns, genuine sympathy creasing his forehead.
"Give him a little grace. Sometimes people pull away when they’re trying to find themselves. College does that to people."
“Did you go to college?”
He scoffs. “Hell no. Army all the way, baby!” Then he pulls back, “Not that anything’s wrong with college if that’s what you hope to do.”
I grin.
“It’s never really been an interest of mine. I’m not sure what I’d even study. Motorcycles have been my biggest love for as long as I can remember.”
“Sounds like you’re doing exactly what you should be, then.”
Brody pushes up from his chair. "C’mon. There’s something I want to show you."
He jerks his chin, motioning for me to follow. Milo feels him stir and pops up like he’s been awake the whole time.
We walk through the maze of stone paths, past citrus trees and climbing vines and an old stone fountain so covered in moss it looks like it grew there.
And then we turn a corner… and there they are.
Peonies.
Rows and rows of them, thick and wild, their heavy blooms spilling into the path, bursting with every shade of pink and white and red.
I stop dead, breath catching, petals brushing my legs as I step closer.
I swallow hard, throat tight.
"These were Mom’s favorite," I whisper.
Brody smiles, hands tucked into his pockets. "I know."
I turn to look at him, blinking. "How?"
He shifts, a little awkward for the first time since I’ve known him.
"When we met—your mom and me—on our one and only date, I brought her peonies from this very garden."
He glances around the garden, voice going rough around the edges.
"She said no one had ever brought her flowers before. And that they were her favorite."
Something in my chest cracks open, sweet and aching.
"And you kept them up.”
Brody shrugs like it’s no big deal, but I can see the truth in the way he looks at the garden.
"Maybe I was hoping, someday, she’d find her way back here.”
I blink fast, because damn it, he’s not supposed to say things like that.
And I’m not supposed to need to hear them.
But standing there, surrounded by petals and sunlight and the quiet hum of something older than both of us, I realize...
Maybe I’m not just passing through.
Maybe I’m finally where I was always meant to be.