Chapter 37
Colter
Kayla jerks upright in bed, a sound breaking from her chest like she’s choking on air. The bedsprings creak, her fists grabbing at me in the dark.
I blink awake, heart hammering, ready for an intruder. But the terror in her eyes tells me everything I need to know.
“Kay,” I murmur, pulling her closer. Her skin is clammy, her breath staccato against my neck.
“She was here,” she gasps, words tumbling over themselves. “My mom. She—she said I’m gonna turn out just like her. That you’ll figure out I’m a mess, that you’ll get tired of cleaning up after me and—”
“Stop.” I hold her face between my palms, force her eyes to meet mine. “That’s not the truth.”
Her lip trembles, a tear sliding fast down her cheek. “What if it is?”
“It’s not.” My thumb traces the wet path. “You are not her, Kayla. You’re not disposable. You’re the best damn thing that’s happened to me in a long time.”
Her whole body shudders at that, like I’ve pulled something loose inside her. Then she crumples, burying her face against my chest. My arms wrap tight around her, keeping her together while she falls apart.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers into my shirt.
“Don’t be sorry,” I murmur into her hair. “Dreams lie. Your brain’s just being an asshole tonight.”
A muffled laugh breaks out of her—small, shaky, but there. I keep stroking her back, slow and steady, until her breathing evens. She clings tighter for a while, then slowly slackens, slipping back under into sleep.
I don’t.
When I’m sure she’s out, I ease away carefully, tucking the blanket up around her shoulders. She sighs in her sleep, face soft now, nothing like the haunted look she wore minutes ago. I brush a strand of hair off her cheek before I leave.
Downstairs, the kitchen light’s already on. Fletcher sits at the table, shoulders hunched, a glass of water resting between his palms. He looks up when I step in, eyebrows raised.
“Couldn’t sleep?” he asks.
“Kayla had a nightmare,” I say, filling a glass using the jug in the sink. “You?”
He shrugs. “It’s hard to sleep when it’s so quiet. I’m used to the sounds of the city.” His eyes flick toward the ceiling. “It’s kinda eerie.”
I drop into the chair across from him. The fridge hums, a clock ticks somewhere in the house. It doesn’t sound too quiet to me, but I guess I don’t really know what it’s like living in a big city.
After a long pause, he clears his throat. “You ever think it’s weird? You and I being the same age. And you with my little sister?”
There it is. The unspoken thing.
“Every damn day,” I admit.
That earns me a huff of surprised laughter. He shakes his head. “Didn’t expect you to say that.”
“I didn’t plan on this,” I tell him. “Didn’t want it, if I’m honest. Fought it every step of the way. Told myself it was too messy, too complicated. But Kayla—” I exhale, shaking my head. “She got under my skin. And once she did, there wasn’t a damn thing I could do to shake her.”
Fletcher studies me, jaw tight, like he’s measuring each word.
“You know she doubts herself all the time, right?” I press. “Questions every choice she makes.”
“Yeah,” he says carefully.
“Well, you don’t help.”
His eyes flash. “Excuse me?”
“You love her, I get that. But half the time, you’re cutting her off at the knees without realizing it. Every time you tell her she should just come back to Chicago, every time you tell her that she can move back in with you, you’re telling her she can’t do it by herself.”
He bristles. “That’s not what I’m trying to do.”
“Doesn’t matter what you’re trying,” I scoot back. “What matters is what she hears.”
His chair scrapes as he leans forward, forearms braced on the table.
“You think I want her to fail? She’s my baby sister.
I’ve been looking out for her since I was nineteen.
She was ten, Colter. Ten. A teacher called in to social services when Kayla showed up to school in clothes that reeked.
Turns out the water and power had been off in the trailer for weeks.
We don’t even know who our dad is, so he certainly wasn’t going to step up.
It was me who stepped up. I was the one who packed her lunches, I was the one who sat at school concerts, and I was the one who signed the permission slips.
I’ve been parent and brother all rolled into one. You think I can just switch that off?”
The sharp edge in his voice softens something in me, even as I hold my ground.
“I get that,” I say. “Hell, I respect it. You stepped up when nobody else did. But she’s not ten anymore, Fletcher. She doesn’t need saving. She needs space to believe in herself. And she can’t if you’re always dragging her back into that role.”
He rubs his hand over his face, groans low. “You think I don’t know that? Half the time I open my mouth, I mean to tell her one thing, and end up begging her to come back. I need her as much as she needs me, and I’m fucking terrified of losing her to Montana. To you and your little family.”
“You know what the first thing I learned about Kayla is?” I ask, leaning back in my chair.
“Kayla’s favorite person in the whole world is you.
She talks about you constantly. She praises the ground you walk on.
She talks about your fuck ups like they’re the best memories she has.
You’re never going to lose Kayla because Kayla would never lose you. ”
The silence between us sharpens. He stares at the table, jaw ticking.
Then, quieter: “She told me once she was afraid she’d end up like our mom. That she’d waste her life clinging to someone who would eventually decide she was worth staying for.” His throat works. “Guess I just thought if I could push her toward stability, she’d never have to feel that way.”
“Pushing doesn’t work,” I say firmly. “Trust me. I’ve tried. All it does is make her doubt herself more. What she needs is someone in her corner. Someone who believes she’s capable—even when she doesn’t.”
He looks at me for a long time, eyes searching. “And you think that’s you?”
“I know it is,” I answer without hesitation. “I’ve got plenty of baggage, Fletcher. A kid. A ranch. A past I don’t talk about much. But I’ll never run from her. Never make her feel like she’s disposable. I’ll stand beside her until she can stand on her own. And even then, I’ll still be there.”
The words land heavy, but they’re the truest thing I’ve ever said.
Fletcher leans back in his chair, lets out a low whistle. “Damn. You’re serious.”
“Yeah,” I say. “I’m serious.”
For a while, neither of us speaks. The house is quiet except for the fridge hum and the faint creak of wood settling. Finally, he nods, slow but certain. “Alright. I’ll… I’ll try to do better. For her.”
“Good,” I say simply.
We sit there a while longer, the strangeness of it settling between us—two men the same age, bound to the same woman in completely different ways. One by blood, one by choice.
It’s messy. It’s complicated. But one thing is clear: Kayla’s not fighting her battles alone anymore.