Chapter 20
Twenty
Ocean breeze sweeps strands across my cheek. Strands no longer pale, no longer golden, but a deep brown that glints chestnut in the afternoon sun.
Yeah. I’m a brunette now.
This wasn’t the plan, I know. It was supposed to be a simple touch-up. A fix for the damage scissors and a breaking heart did. But sitting in that chair, the hum of dryers and the faint scent of dye all around me, I caught a long, hard glimpse of myself in the mirror.
And something clicked.
I need change. Not surface-level, temporary change but something permanent in a way I no longer feel. Something bold enough to strip away the version of me that can’t breathe under all the grief.
Do I regret it? Not really. Not yet, at least. Maybe when the numbness fades I’ll ache at letting go of this part of me. But when all was said and done and I met the girl with no trace of sun-bleached softness in the mirror, I didn’t even flinch.
The brown suits me; it matches my eyes.
I don’t even feel exposed with my loose hair brushing past my shoulders. Instead, as I walk along the sand, sunshine warming my skin, I feel kind of… free.
No more, I vow. From now on I’ll keep it like this—flowing, open, me.
The sun-faded panels of a beach house come into view, and I hesitate.
It’s either this… or the other one. The one that comes with the risk of facing my parents, my mother. So, yeah. I guess it’s not really a debate. Thank God for Aspen and her muffins.
My step falters as soon as I hit the deck.
Dylan doesn’t notice me right away, too busy with something off to the side. But then, like I suddenly ping his radar, he turns.
There’s a few seconds of that signature Dylan stare. Then, a single brow lifts. “New hair?”
“Yeah.” Why do I sound like I sprinted up the stairs instead of taking my sweet-ass time?
He gives a short nod, easy as ever, before stepping past me. “Cool.” A brush of air follows him. “You coming?”
I’m hot on his heels, no time to untangle whatever’s loosening in my chest. The door slides open, voices spilling out—
Then, nothing. A beat of quiet, like the whole room takes one breath together.
A low whistle is what cuts through it. “Is that Brielle?” Reese steps up to me, eyes glinting mischief-blue as an appreciative grin spreads wide. “Damn.”
Behind him, Aspen’s a picture of surprise.
And at the island—Carson.
Lean legs bracketing the stool which Hannah occupies. I realise I’ve walked in mid-feed, but she’s not paying attention to her lunch anymore. She’s watching me. Wide-eyed and focused.
Her brother, on the other hand, gives me a single glance. No visible reaction. Just… looks, then goes right back to slicing food for her.
“Wow. Bri.” Aspen’s words drag, like she’s still catching up to what she’s seeing. “You look… different.”
The way she says it makes my skin tighten like I’m suddenly too visible. My shoulders rise in a half-shrug that says I guess so.
“Come on,” Reese jumps in. “Give us a little spin, beautiful. Let me see it all.”
I roll my eyes. But honestly? He’s already chipped away some of the tension.
“Go away.”
“Come on.” Then, without permission, he takes my hand and twirls me. I can’t do anything but go with it. Once, twice.
If a laugh slips out, one of those almost-giggles I usually bite back, so what? It feels light. Like, for once, I’m not totally at war in my body.
I could swear I feel the burn of Carson’s attention, that weight I know all too well, but when I come to a stop and sneak a peek his way, there’s no sign he was ever looking. Of course not.
Not that it matters. Laughter’s eased the load in my chest, and it only lifts more under Aspen’s genuine smile.
“You look really good, Bri. Honestly.” That’s all she says on the matter, and I love her for it. “Come on, you need to try my muffins. I’m so proud of them. I didn’t over-mix this time.”
She passes by the brother-sister duo and I read the expectancy in the lag of her footsteps. But, nothing. Nada.
It’s not that Carson’s acting like I’m not here. He’s just… indifferent. Like my presence doesn’t warrant notice. Still, something about it doesn’t land right. Maybe it’s the slight twitch in his neck as I near. Or the shift in his shoulders, just enough to catch my eye. I don’t know.
Whatever it is, Aspen’s decided she’s going to fill the space he leaves empty.
“Brielle, this cutie pie is Hannah.” Not Carson’s sister, just Hannah. “Hannah, this is the lovely Brielle.”
It’s then that I feel it. The press against my profile that tells me he’s looking now.
I glance, quick like it’s nothing, and note the change. He’s no longer folded over Hannah. There’s a shift, the casual sprawl of his arm along the counter, but that too feels untrue.
I’m not giving it any thought, though. Hannah’s front-line and centre, and she’s looking at me the way children do when they piece things together in real time.
I see the question bloom before it even lands.
“Your friend, Car?”
When he nods, azure eyes drift back to me, and in them I see him—not in the sharpness, but in the way she studies me. Attentive. I guess the trait runs in the blood, only wearing a softer face with her.
“You didn’t take your lemonay.”
Aspen’s body tilts toward me, paired with a barely-there glance that never makes it all way before landing on Carson.
“Arthur said it’s because you were upset.” she blinks up at me, matter-of-fact. “He said he didn’t need to see your eyes to know they were sad.”
My throat seizes like I’ve swallowed dust.
I wish I could say it’s only me that feels the punch behind the statement, but the way the air changes is unmistakable. Suddenly I’m hyper-aware of every presence around me.
Reese, unusually quiet to my left. Dylan, observant somewhere behind me. Aspen, close enough to touch, holding herself small.
And Carson—still unmoving. But not really; he adjusts his grip on the spoon he’s not even using anymore.
I feel like I’ve been caught red-handed. Why? Is it because I’ve been exposed for something I never intended on showing?
My face burns. I want nothing more than to rewind, hit delete, pretend it never happened. But I’m a master at this game of pretend, so I allow myself only a few seconds of internal shit shit shit before I try to reset.
Except—I can’t lie to her. Not with her doe-eyes so focused on me.
In the end I settle somewhere between honesty and ease.
“Sorry.” My voice is steady, and I’m damn proud. “The lemonade looked really good. If you ever make it again I’d love to try it. Would that be alright?”
She tilts her head, thoughtful in a way that feels older than she is. Then, like her brother, she gives one firm nod.
The moment’s over after that.
“I’m full,” she tells Carson, nudging the bowl aside.
I hover on the outside, watching as he pulls a napkin free. With practiced care, he tips her chin and wipes the corner of her mouth, before brushing away a faint smudge from her cheek.
“Messy eater,” he murmurs, zeroed in on her, and only her.
She smiles up at him.
“There. All set.” He starts to let her go, but at last second his brow dips. “You’re not just skipping out on lunch so you can show Reese your teddies, are you?”
A beat of silence.
Then, the very slow, very deliberate shake of her head.
Carson sighs, the kind that says he already knows better. “All right, go on.” It’s gentle the way he lifts her and sets her down.
Right on cue, Reese swoops in with an extended hand. “Lead the way, boss.”
Aspen watches them disappear, shaking her head. “Of all people, it’s Reese she wants to show her teddies to.”
It’s not really what she wants to say, I can tell. Just a throwaway line, to ease the leftover weight of the moment.
For a second, I let it work.
But it doesn’t hold. Because then she turns, and she might aim for casual, but it’s not really. “You didn’t mention you saw Brielle today.”
Carson’s hand pauses mid-motion where it was dragging a lazy arc along the granite. His fingers curl, once, and he straightens. “Didn’t know I had to, Aspen.”
I stare at him. It’s not rude, but it’s not kind either.
Unease prickles under my skin. He’s different. Off. A thought trips itself over in my chest. Was it what he saw on the boardwalk?
God, I haven’t even considered what I must’ve looked like to him. He probably thinks I’m a complete train-wreck.
More dots connect. How he normally watches me, unblinking. Now his gaze is erratic, avoidant. Did I make him uncomfortable?
Something in me curdles.
Was the solid comfort of his arms something else entirely for him? Something more along the lines of an… obligation?
You’ll be okay.
Aspen’s voice breaks through before anyone notices the breath I’m withholding.
“I’m just asking because I mentioned her earlier. Was this before or after the hair switch?”
Panic slides in fast, but I don’t have time to process it, to even brace. Because that’s the moment Carson finally stops avoiding me.
His eyes meet mine. Then inch, sideways, to my hair.
Thud-thud.
Seconds stretch in a cruel taunt, each one daring him to call me out.
He doesn’t. There’s only the clench of his jaw, a clipped, “before,” and he’s gone, heading toward Dylan.
Aspen trails his retreat with knitted brows.
To me, she mouths, What was that about?
I shrug.
I don’t know.
That’s the worst part. I actually don’t.