Chapter Thirty-Three
? Jackson ?
I spent a grand total of maybe six hours with my mom before I was crawling out of my skin.
She eventually fell asleep on the couch and I snuck out the door.
I suddenly hated the rickety old steps as they wobbled under my weight.
But eventually, I found myself in front of the little shed back behind the house.
I wasn’t sure who groaned louder, me or the door, but eventually, I got the damn thing open.
Inside, my bike waited. Someone had cleaned it.
The chrome caught the morning light, tank full, chain oiled.
Diego’s handiwork, no doubt. The sight hit me harder than the desert sun ever had.
I gripped the handlebar, felt the smooth leather under my fingers, the faint tremor in my leg screaming don’t even think about it.
“Yeah, not today,” I muttered, but still, I leaned the cane against the workbench and propped myself carefully up next to the familiar machine.
The silence pressed in. I hadn’t realized until that moment that I didn’t even own a phone anymore.
No wallet, no car. I was a ghost trying to rejoin the living.
I was sure they had sent Mom my things, but the chances of her having any idea where she had stashed it was slim to none.
So I did the only thing that made sense—I grabbed my cane and hobbled across the gravel to knock on the neighbor’s door.
Old man Carter opened the door, wearing a fishing hat and an expression somewhere between heart attack and ghost sighting. “Jackson?”
“Hey, Mr. Carter. Sorry to bother you. Can I borrow your phone?”
Carter blinked. “They said—you were—”
“Yeah,” I said quietly. “I know.”
The man finally stepped aside. “Phone’s on the counter.”
I ordered an Uber to the only address that mattered. When he handed the phone back, Carter was still staring. “Thanks,” I muttered, not meeting his wide eyes.
“Anytime,” came out on autopilot, the man still frozen in the doorway as I limped back down the steps.
Back outside, the air smelled like honeysuckle and rain.
I eased myself down onto the front step, cane across my lap, and waited.
The Uber driver pulled up in a dented Camry, chewing gum and glancing at me in the mirror every few seconds like she was afraid I was a ghost she had picked up and was trying to make sure I didn’t vanish.
When the car turned into the long gravel drive, my throat went dry. The Steel Saints sign stood proud on the siding, weathered but unbroken. The main bay door was half open; sunlight spilled across concrete scarred by years of oil and tread marks.
I paid, stepped out, and let the smell hit me—gasoline, sweat, motor oil, and home.
The gravel shifted under my boots as I crossed the lot.
The cane clicked against stone, steady as a heartbeat.
Beyond the open garage door, the familiar chaos waited: a dismantled engine on a lift, toolboxes stacked like fortresses, a couple of couches shoved into a corner.
Every conversation in the garage stuttered out.
Rodney was elbow-deep in a carburetor. Clint leaned against a workbench, mid-story, grinning until he saw the figure in the doorway. The wrench slipped from Rodney’s hand, clattering loud enough to echo.
“Holy shit,” someone whispered.
“Impossible,” another muttered.
I didn’t stop. The click of my cane and the uneven drag of my step were the only sounds as I crossed the concrete. I didn’t look left or right. I just kept moving, through the maze of dismantled engines, straight toward the small door that led to the kitchen.
One mission left. Get home.
The kitchen smelled like frying onions and fresh coffee. Laughter. Real, easy laughter. Dalton’s low rumble, Maria’s quick tongue, Hannah’s sharper one. They didn’t notice me at first so I leaned against the doorframe, letting the sight soak in—family alive, whole, moving on.
Maria swatted Dalton with a towel. Diego was telling some story that had Hannah actually smiling.
And Jewel, God, she was taller now. She sat on the counter swinging her legs, clutching a juice pouch like it was contraband.
My chest burned. I didn’t trust my voice, so I said nothing.
Then Jewel froze mid-sip. Her eyes, so similar to her mother’s, met mine.
Her mouth formed a perfect O. I smiled, but I think it came out as more of a grimace.
“Stranger danger!” she shrieked.
Everything stopped.
Dalton turned first, towel still in his hand. Maria’s spatula dropped into the skillet with a hiss. Hannah’s smile vanished.
For a second, no one moved.
Then Dalton whispered, “No way…” He took two stumbling steps before nearly running, and then he was across the kitchen, arms wrapping around me so hard my cane went skittering across the tile.
Pain shot up my leg, sharp enough to blur my vision, but I didn’t let go.
“You son of a bitch,” he rasped, voice cracking. “You’re supposed to be dead.”
I offered up a broken grin, “Yeah. Didn’t take.”
Maria made a broken sound—half laugh, half sob—and then she was there too, Jewel on her hip. Tears streaked down her cheeks as she reached out, her fingers trembling before she pressed her palm against my face.
“Mi Dios…Jackson. It’s really you.”
I swallowed hard. My throat burned. “Yeah. It’s me.”
Jewel peeked out from behind her mom’s shoulder, eyes wide, frowning like she was trying to solve a puzzle. “You’re not a stranger?”
The sound that came out of me almost didn’t feel real—a laugh choked through too much ache. “Not anymore, kiddo.”
Hannah hadn’t moved. She just stood there, hand pressed to her chest, eyes shining like she was afraid to blink.
When she finally came forward, it was slow, deliberate—like one wrong move might wake her from a dream.
She stopped in front of me and reached up, fingertips brushing the stubble on my jaw. “You came home,” she whispered.
I nodded once, my voice low. “Guess I did.”
For a few heartbeats, everything blurred together—voices, tears, the weight of too much love, too much loss. The walls started to close in. The clang of a pan from the stove made me flinch. My chest tightened.
“I’m fine,” I said when Mac’s hand found my shoulder.
He didn’t buy it. “You look like hell.”
I forced a grin. “Hell looks worse.”
Maria wiped her face, trying to steady her voice. “Somebody needs to tell Holly,” she said softly.
The name hit me like a live round. My chest locked up. I turned to her. “Where is she? How is she?”
Maria hesitated, glancing toward Hannah. “She’s alive. Stronger now. Out of town for a conference. She’ll be back soon.”
I nodded, but my throat felt like sandpaper. Of course she was out of town. The disappointment threatened to settle deep in my bones. Dalton glanced at me.
“I just need some air,” I muttered as I headed towards the porch.
Outside, the late afternoon light spilled gold across the gravel lot.
The bikes gleamed in neat rows, dust glowing in the beams from the open garage.
Somewhere out back, a wrench clanked against metal, steady and familiar.
I made it as far as the porch before my leg started screaming.
I eased myself down onto the step, elbows resting on my knees, the cane balanced across them like a lifeline.
The screen door creaked behind me. Dalton stepped out, two beers in hand. He didn’t say anything—just dropped one beside me and sat down. For a while, neither of us spoke. The cicadas filled the silence. The wind moved slow through the pines.
“You look good. All things considered.”
I glanced at him, eyebrow raised. I looked like shit and knew it. It would take a few more months of eating something that wasn’t jerky and naan to get me back into shape. “That’s generous.”
“Maybe. But it’s good to have you back.”
I tipped my head back, watching clouds drift slow across the tree line. “Feels weird. Like I’m visiting my own life.”
“It’ll pass,” he said. After a moment, quieter, he added, “She’s not the same, you know.”
I didn’t need to ask who.
Dalton rubbed the back of his neck, eyes on the gravel. “She went through hell after you were gone. It’s not my story to tell, but…she’s a hell of a woman. She’s like a sister to me.”
My throat tightened. “I always knew she was special.”
He laughed. “Yeah. The way she eviscerated you in that parking lot all those years ago must have been a dead giveaway.”
I laughed then too, a genuine sound that sounded foreign.
We settled into a comfortable silence and I stared down at my hands—scarred, shaking, real.
A few minutes later, Diego and Mac joined us on the porch.
For a few moments, I remembered us as kids.
Freshman year. Then sophomore year, dominating the football field.
The carefree, natural we had worked together as a team even after Mac graduated.
“Didn’t think I’d ever get back here.” The admission surprised even me.
Diego nudged my shoulder. “You made it. That’s all that matters.”
We sat there until the sun dipped low, painting everything in orange and shadow. Inside, the clubhouse started to hum again. I was finally home. But home was still missing its heart.
My heart.
? Holly ?
The terminal still buzzed with end-of-conference adrenaline—rolling suitcases, clacking heels, and the smell of too much coffee and cheap perfume.
My tote bounced against my hip, the conference badge still swinging from my neck: Young Entrepreneurs Summit—Detroit.
Three days of panels and speeches. Three days of smiling until my cheeks ached.
Three days proving that I could stand on my own, that I wasn’t just the girl who almost broke and stayed broken.
The keynote went perfectly. Willow’s Harbor picked up two new donors. I even had people asking for advice afterward—me, the girl who used to live off caffeine and panic attacks.
I was exhausted. Proud. Alive.
Then I saw them.
Maria. Hannah. My mom.
They were standing by baggage claim like a wall of silence.