CHAPTER THREE
Unfiltered Silence
"Mom," I call, dragging my suitcase behind me as my heel sinks into the dirt. All I can smell is pine, dust, and memories I don’t feel ready for. "This place hasn’t changed a bit."
She laughs, the sound too loud, too fake as it bounces off the trees. "Well, it’s not Los Angeles, that’s for sure."
I manage a small smile, but it’s more out of politeness than anything else.
I’m not sure how to explain to her that right now, that’s the problem.
This place… it’s not Los Angeles. It’s too far from the world where I’m in control, where I make the rules, where I get to pick and choose which sound byte or video gets published for the world to consume.
I reach the porch, and she pulls me into a tight hug. I can smell the coconut in her graying hair, the same shampoo scent she’s used since I was a kid. It’s comforting and familiar and almost makes me forget how out of place I feel here.
"Your brother’s inside," she says, pulling back to look at me, her green eyes crinkling in the corners. "And you’ll never guess who’s with him."
I don’t have to guess. Jasper and his childhood best friend have been joined at the hip since Dad bought the land and started building our house.
The second I step through the creaking screen door, I hear his voice—deep, easygoing, unchanged since the days we played hide-and-seek in the woods between our houses. Sometimes, I still dream about him chasing me, his laugh too loud, too close, echoing long after I wake.
And then I see him. Boots kicked carelessly by the couch, broad shoulders slouched like he owns the place, a faint trace of pine and soap hanging in the air around him.
He doesn’t look like the boy I remember.
He’s filled out, taller somehow, more solid.
Worse, he knows it. The smirk tugging at his mouth says he couldn’t wait to remind me he still has the power to get under my skin.
"Elowen," he says, dragging out my name like it’s some kind of joke. He’s obnoxious, but I can’t deny the way the room warms at his smile.
"Brooks," I reply, trying to keep my tone neutral, but I know it’s useless. He has always been able to get under my skin, and from the look on his face, he knows it, too.
"What, no hug for your old friend?" he teases, standing up and stretching like he’s been waiting all day just for this moment.
"Friend?" I scoff, crossing my arms as I take him in for the first time in three years. His hair’s still that rich, tousled brown.
His eyes? Still, unfortunately, that ridiculous stormy gray that makes girls fall over themselves.
"Last time I checked, friends don’t leave you stranded on the zip line for three hours. "
Brooks laughs, and the sound grates on my nerves. "You’re still mad about that?"
"No," I lie, lifting my chin a little higher. "Just reminding you that I haven’t forgotten."
"Well," he says, stepping closer, that infuriating grin never leaving his face, "I guess we have plenty of time to make new memories, don’t we?"
I want to roll my eyes, brush past him, and lock myself in my childhood bedroom until I can figure out a way to survive the next few days in this godforsaken place.
But there’s something about the way he’s looking at me, something that makes me wonder if maybe I’m not the only one who’s changed since we last saw each other.
"I guess we do," I say, the words hanging between us. The look he’s giving me is full of something I’m not quite ready to unpack.
"Ellie," Jasper interrupts our greeting and hugs me.
"Jasp," I say as I close my eyes tight. "How are you?"
My brother shrugs as he lets me go. "Hanging in there."
"And Dad?" I inhale sharply, grasping the handle on my suitcase.
"Still unresponsive," Jasper whispers as his eyes dart over to Mom whipping something up in the kitchen.
I know the answer before I ask, but I ask anyway. "Has she been to see him?"
Both Jasper and Brooks shake their heads.
"She needs to go," I argue.
Jasper motions to the bedrooms. I move to follow him, but Brooks steps in front of me and winks. I narrow my eyes as he takes my suitcase from me and carries it down the hall.
He’s so annoying.
"She’s terrified, Ellie," Jasper explains once all three of us are in my tiny old bedroom with the door bolted shut.
"Of what?"
Brooks plops down on my old bed, his eyes never leaving my face. Why is he even here?
"The hospital," my brother answers. "And of leaving the house."
"No," I reply as I lean a hip against the dresser that’s peeling cotton candy-colored paint. "She’s gotten worse, hasn’t she?"
Jasper exhales heavily. "It’s been hard without you here."
"You mean because I was the only one who made her get out of the house?" I clarify.
I remember so many Saturdays talking Mom into going to the farmer’s market down the street with me. We always had fun, even if it took her a little while to work up the courage to leave the front porch.
"She did alright when you first left." Jasper won’t meet my eyes. "She tried, Ellie. But then the world got loud and too fast, and you were gone."
"This is not my fault," I argue. "Don’t blame me for this."
Brooks sits up and blows out a long breath. "No one is blaming you, Ellie. We’re just trying to tell you what’s been going on the last two, maybe three years."
"This is exactly why I left," I say quietly as heat builds behind my eyes.
Jasper runs a hand through his blond hair. "She has issues, and they’re not your fault. They’re not anyone’s fault."
"She needs help." I let out a frustrated groan. "I sent money for her to see a therapist. I sent money for her to get the help she needs."
What did they do with all the money I sent? I took brand deal after brand deal, working myself into the ground to make sure there was money for Mom and Dad to have all the things they’d gone without while raising us. All the things we didn’t have when I was a kid.
"Don’t make this about money." My brother sighs, frustration leaking from every pore in his body.
He’s right. Making this about money isn’t going to solve anything. Not anymore.
I hold up both hands, trying to diffuse the situation. "I’m sorry for saying that. This is about Dad. We should focus on him. What’s the latest update?"
"Charlene, she was friends with my grandma," Brooks says as he stands. “She sent word from the hospital twenty minutes ago. He’s still in ICU, but I can take you to see him."
Brooks is going to take me? Why can’t Jasper?
Jasper’s eyes flick to his best friend, and something unspoken passes between them. That look. The one that used to make me want to scream when we were kids, like they had a secret language I wasn’t part of. Even now, it makes me feel twelve years old again, standing on the outside.
"Brooks can take you," Jasper says, and I catch the way his voice wavers like he’s trying to hold something back. "It’s better if you go now. Get it over with."
"Get it over with?" I repeat, the words tasting bitter on my tongue. "That’s Dad you’re talking about."
Jasper flinches, his hand running through his hair again. It’s a nervous habit he’s had since we were kids, one that always showed up when he didn’t have the right words. "I didn’t mean it like that, Ellie. I just… I know it’s going to be hard."
Hard? I’ve never been one to shy away from hard things. In the social media world, I face challenges head-on. I tackle them, conquer them, and then post a perfectly edited video about the experience. But this? This is different. This is harder.
Brooks picks up on my hesitation, stepping closer, his presence both grounding and unsettling. "You’re not doing this alone," he says, voice low. And for once, there’s no teasing. Just quiet, steady truth.
Alone. The word echoes in my mind, reminding me of all the times I’ve chosen solitude over connection. It’s easier that way. Safer. But as I look at Brooks standing there with that damn expression on his face, maybe I don’t want to be alone in this. Not right now, anyway.
"Okay," I say. "Let’s go."
Jasper looks relieved as he reaches out and squeezes my arm, a silent thank you. "I’ll stay here with Mom," he says. "But text me when you’re on your way back, okay?"
I nod, and before I can second-guess myself, I follow Brooks out of the room.
The hallway feels narrower than I remember, the walls closing in on me as we make our way to the front door. Each step feels heavier than the last, the reality of what I’m about to face sinking in.
When we step outside, the air is still thick but the sun is higher in the sky, casting long shadows across the driveway. Brooks leads the way to his truck, an old four-door truck that looks like an off-brand collab I would never sponsor. It smells like rust and motor oil. Just like I remember.
He opens the passenger door for me, and I hesitate for a second before climbing in.
As he rounds the front of the truck and slides into the driver’s seat, I find myself stealing a glance at him. He’s changed since the last time I saw him. There’s a quiet confidence about him now that wasn’t there before. It’s unnerving, this new version of him, and I’m not sure how to navigate it.
The engine rumbles to life, coughing before it steadies, and the whole cab smells like leather worn thin and pine sap.
Gravel crunches under the tires as we pull away, dust trailing in the side mirror.
For a long stretch, neither of us speaks.
The silence is filled instead with the low hum of an old country station crackling through the radio, a guitar twang threading through the heavy quiet.
My fingers trace the seam of the seat, restless, while Brooks drives like every curve in the road is mapped into his brain. It probably is.
"Ellie," Brooks breaks the silence after a few minutes. "I know this isn’t easy for you. We’ll get through it."
I swallow hard, the lump in my throat making it difficult to speak. "I’m not ready for this," I admit. "Any of this."
"I know," he says, his gaze never leaving the road. "But you don’t have to be. Just take it one step at a time. We’ll figure it out."
There’s a sincerity in his words that I can’t ignore, a reassurance that’s oddly comforting.
In LA, I always knew what came next. The schedule, the script, the perfect angle. Out here, there’s no script. Just trees, silence, and the weight of everything I can’t edit out.
For the first time in a long time, I’ll have to live this moment unfiltered.