18. June
JUNE
“Get home safe, okay?” Meredith whispers to me as we finally pull ourselves up from the kitchen table and waddle onto the porch. The sheer volume of food we’ve consumed wraps us all in a drowsiness that threatens to pull me under, giving Meredith’s concern some merit.
Nevertheless, I scoff at her. “Yeah, of course.”
Then, her arms are around me, and I sink into the warmth of the embrace.
We stay like that for at least half a minute, both too tired to articulate the feeling when the squeeze of our bodies speaks them louder anyway.
When I finally pull away, it’s with no small amount of sadness. “I’ll catch up with you tomorrow?”
The promise sparks hope in both our chests.
“Yeah, sounds good.” Her eyes sparkle in the darkness. “Goodnight, June.”
With that, she steps back into the house and gently closes the door behind her. The porch light glows behind me as I make my way down the steps to join the others. Moths batter themselves against the bulb, as if desperate not to let happiness go. I guess I kind of understand the feeling.
I’m still thinking about Mom’s soft smile. The pie. Sophie managing to make Meredith blush by simply saying Eddie’s name. The strange truce with Richard. I keep replaying the moment I caught myself smiling without effort. That hasn’t happened in months.
It should feel like victory.
The gravel crunches beneath my shoes as I head toward our cars. Sophie is walking a bit ahead, speaking in hushed tones with our brother.
It should feel like a victory.
It was a miracle, wasn’t it? All of us, alive and well, in one place without tearing each other’s heads off.
When was the last time the Holloways sat down to do that? It should be one for the record books. That’s the kind of thing that should be all over social media, the miracle of a lovely family meal.
A final family meal.
The thought doesn’t have time to take root.
It happens on some unseen trigger. Maybe the silence hits wrong for a second. Perhaps it’s just that we’re leaving and there’s no need to perform anymore. Maybe Trent just can’t take pretending for one more second.
Either way, he suddenly stops walking.
And the air changes.
I catch up to them, just as Trent says, “You’re not coming home tonight, are you?” His voice is quiet, but not calm. Trembling around the edges. Jaw tight and twitching with tension.
Sophie freezes. “Trent, can we not do this right now? It’s been a good day.”
“That’s the problem,” he fires back. “Every time it’s a good day, you go and share it with someone else.”
I feel the second-hand anxiety coil tight in my stomach. Here we go.
Sophie folds her arms, chin tilting stubbornly. “And who, exactly, do you think I’m spending all my time with? When all I do is work day in and day out, looking after you.”
“Oh my God.” Trent laughs bitterly. “Why can’t you just admit it?”
I step between them. “Guys, come on. Let’s keep it down, okay? Mom’s asleep.”
But neither of them seems to hear me. Or care.
“If there was even something to admit, which there isn’t, what business would it be of yours anyway?” Sophie steps around me, face taut and determined.
“It’s my business if you keep lying to me about it!” Trent begins to pace. “Who is it? Who is it that’s making you keep things from me? You promised me you wouldn’t do this to me again. But I’ve seen you sneaking out to see whoever it is that’s more important than me!”
Sophie’s shoulders stiffen. “That is not what this is.”
“Then what is it?” His hands fly out, helpless and angry. “Because if it’s nothing, why can’t you just tell me?”
She swallows, throat working. “It’s complicated.”
“So there is something!”
Something fragile flickers across Sophie’s face. Guilt. Panic. Shame.
I step slightly between them again, instinctively needing to protect both of them from each other. “Hey, let’s maybe take a breath before Richard starts calling the cops on us. We don’t know how long that good mood of his will last.”
Neither of them laughs.
In fact, Trent’s attention flicks to me, dark eyes wild and wounded. “You know, don’t you?”
My stomach drops. “Know what?”
“That’s why you’re defending her.” He gestures at Sophie like proof.
“Hey,” Sophie snaps, sharp as a blade.
“You promised me—you promised—no secrets.” His voice cracks.
My hands are up in the air in surrender. “Whoa. Trent, I swear. I don’t know what’s going on here, I’m just trying to diffuse the situation.”
Silence falls hard enough to bruise.
“It’s been a long day, Trent,” I say gently. “She’s not trying to hurt you.”
“Then what is she trying to do?”
I look at Sophie.
Her mouth opens. Closes. Breath shudders out of her. “I just need time,” she says quietly. “Please. Can you trust me enough to give me that?”
I actually have to close my eyes against the disappointment and impending inevitability of the fallout.
“Trust?” he echoes, sounding like he’s been slapped. “You want trust? Try giving some first, Soph.”
His voice is shaking now. And it kills me. Because under all that fury is fear. The old one. The foster homes. The social workers. Everybody leaving. Being abandoned in LA.
He’s not mad she’s lying. He’s terrified of why.
Sophie steps forward. “Trent.”
“I can’t do this with you right now.” He turns away so fast it startles both of us.
“Trent, wait.” I move automatically, reaching for his arm as he pulls open his car door.
“June,” he says without looking at me. “Please. Don’t.”
Something in the way he says it freezes me. He doesn’t need me to fix it. Doesn’t want me to mediate. He just needs to get out.
And isn’t that a feeling I can relate to?
Slowly, I withdraw my hand from his arm.
“Get home safe, okay?” I say, echoing Meredith’s earlier words and praying that they’re at least half as comforting.
Whether they are or not, he doesn’t look at me as he climbs into the driver’s seat. The engine roars to life a moment later, and I belatedly step away to allow him to reverse out of the drive.
And then he’s gone, gravel spitting out behind him as the Discovery disappears down the dark road.
I exhale slowly and turn around, bracing myself for whatever I might find.
Sophie stands there trembling, arms wrapped around herself as if she might literally fall apart without something holding her together. She’s not crying yet, but all the telltale signs are there.
Her voice, when it comes, is paper-thin. “Could you…um—” She swallows. Tries again. “Could you give me a ride home?”
“Yeah,” I say softly. “Of course.”
I unlock the Land Cruiser and gently steer her toward it, casting one last glance at the quiet beach house. Inside, the warm, glowing lights switch off one by one. Casting us both into darkness.
A shiver runs down my spine, and suddenly, I’m more than eager to put some miles between us.
I could drive home blind.
The tires hum against the asphalt as the headlights carve the familiar ribbon of night between Sconset and town.
I’ve made this drive after shifts at the Shack, after fights, after victories, after days when everything felt possible, and after days when it felt like the world had collapsed and I had forgotten how to breathe.
Once, to rescue a frightened teenage boy from an airport.
Sophie stares unseeing out the passenger window. She sniffles once, twice, then lazily rubs her face with the sleeve of her sweater, a motion that’s way too young for someone who’s been raising a human for years.
I allow her the dignity of ignoring her tears entirely.
Finally, she exhales in this long, shaky, theatrical groan. “What a mess.” Her voice is cracked a little around the edges, but not entirely seeped in grief, which is, at least, a good sign.
I tighten my grip on the wheel just enough to keep my hands from reaching for her and pulling her into a hug. “Well, you did literally kidnap your sisters for a day of forced bonding on a boat, which was…honestly successful. So, hey, one family crisis at a time, right?”
She lets out a wet laugh. “This is karma for pushing you two together, isn’t it?”
“Absolutely.” I nod solemnly.
When she lets out a sigh and doesn’t speak up again, I gather my wits to break the silence.
“Look, I don’t know a lot about teenagers…”
Man, I really thought I’d have something to say after I got to the end of that sentence. This is why Meredith is the best at prep talks.
“He’s not a teenager for much longer.”
That knocks the wind from my lungs a little. Right. One last summer and then he’ll be eighteen before we know it.
It’s strange how much space Trent takes up in my world now.
How normal it is to expect his sarcastic texts and his lazy smile when he leans on the Shack counter, pretending he isn’t waiting for Danny to break him out of his shift early.
The way he says my name, still with that mild disbelief that this is all real.
That we’re all together here and that he has a family beyond his Sophie-shaped cradle.
The thought warms and crushes me at the same time.
“But he still is for now,” I say softly. “And if I remember anything about what you were like at that age, yelling and sulking and dramatic exits are part of the deal.”
She nods, but she doesn’t smile. The silence settles back in, heavier this time.
I last about fifteen seconds before I crack. “So, what are you hiding?”
She stiffens.
Okay, in hindsight, I probably could’ve been more tactful there.
“I’m not?—”
“Soph. Come on. He’s not stupid. If he says something’s up, I’m inclined to believe him.” I glance at her stiff profile and try not to sigh in annoyance. “What could be so bad that you couldn’t even tell me?”
She presses her palms over her face with a muffled groan. “Oh, this is so stupid, June. It’s all just…so humiliating. I didn’t mean for it to get this far. I didn’t mean for it to be this big thing. I just wanted it to be normal.”
“It’s not stupid if you’re this worked up about it,” I try to reason, but she’s already sinking back into the seat, fingers dramatically dragging down her face.
“He wanted to tell them. It’s my fault; I was being selfish.”
He. There’s enough weight on that word to anchor a ship.
I raise an eyebrow even though she can’t see it. “So, you’re seeing someone.”
Her silence is answer enough.
Honestly? I’m relieved. There’s no secret cult membership or criminal conspiracy. No repeat of the kind of disaster my brain defaults to these days. All things considered.
“Hey.” I elbow her lightly over the center console. “That’s allowed. You know that, right? You’re not legally required to be alone and miserable forever just because you’re raising a kid.”
Her laugh is tired. “Tell Trent that.”
“He’ll get over it,” I say with confidence born of genuine belief in him—and in her.
“He loves you. Yeah, it might take some getting used to, and he might freak out a bit. But it’s just because he’s not used to sharing you with anyone.
Remember how he reacted when he figured out you’d come here to see us? But look how it worked out!”
Everything is starting to click into place now, including where Trent’s anxiety is coming from and why he’s been so abrasive about Sophie keeping secrets.
He must know, on some level, what’s going on.
He must’ve known that it might happen at some point.
It’s okay, it’s normal. He’s just being a teenager.
With more certainty, I offer my concluding advice. “You’re allowed to be happy, Sophie. You two will meet in the middle eventually.”
She goes quiet again. Too quiet.
And suddenly, it dawns on me that there is a vital piece of information I’m missing.
“Who is he?” I ask softly.
It takes her a moment. A long enough one that I don’t think she’ll reply.
When she says it, she doesn’t look at me, hands over her eyes to prevent even the possibility. “Noah.”
Oh. Oh, no.
Noah.
Danny’s dad.
Trent’s best friend’s dad.
The ungrateful, overbearing single father who spent months treating Sophie like she was a walking disaster while secretly, apparently…not?
“Oh, Sophie.”
“I know, all right?” she says, sharp and defensive. “I know.”
I swallow, choosing my words carefully. “Sophie, that’s…”
“Insane?” she offers weakly.
“I was going to say complicated.”
I rack my brain trying to remember what I even know about the guy, beyond Trent’s constant whining that he’s too strict with his best friend. Internally, I wince. Yet another reason Trent will absolutely despise this turn of events.
I vaguely remember being at school with him.
I mostly remember the scandal surrounding his teenage girlfriend’s pregnancy.
Though clearly, she doesn’t seem to be in the picture anymore.
Then, there was that moment at Christmas, when Danny came by Birdie’s to drop off Trent’s present.
Noah had been there then. Sophie had run out after him.
Just how long had this been going on?
Trent’s voice echoes back at me. I hate being lied to.
Yeah. There’s no universe where this doesn’t explode.
“Do you like him?”
Her expression softens instantly, something almost tender slipping out from behind her hands.
“He’s different with me,” she says quietly, as if she’s afraid the night will judge her.
“He’s still grumpy and annoying and stubborn and wrong ninety percent of the time, but he’s…
kind. And steady. And he listens. And he’s honest, June.
Painfully honest. Which I didn’t realize I needed so badly until him. ” Her voice trembles on that last word.
A slow ache unfurls in my chest.
Love.
She doesn’t need to say it. It’s there, blossoming all over her smile, whether she knows it yet or not.
I swallow hard and keep my eyes on the road, desperately trying not to think about whether that’s a genetic expression. If that’s the face I make when Trent or Meredith points out the obvious.
“Is this a good idea?” I ask gently.
Her fingers twist tightly in the hem of her sweater. “I don’t know. I just know it feels like I’d regret it forever if I didn’t try. But at what cost? I can’t lose Trent, I can’t…”
I reach over the center console and take her hand in mine. “You won’t.”
But she’s shaking her head. “I don’t think anything would be worth that risk.”
And God, I recognize that ache in her voice. That certainty in the confusion. That helplessness.
It hurts.
“Then we’ll figure it out. Okay? No matter how messy it gets. You won’t do it alone. We won’t let it get to that point.”
Her hand squeezes mine back. “Thank you.”
The town lights shimmer ahead, blurry in the dark like masquerading stars fallen just to watch us ruin ourselves in the name of love.