CHAPTER TWENTY
Pinned to the Moment
"I think we got it!" Belle drawls through the laptop speakers, her voice full of that signature Southern sunshine.
"If we need to reshoot anything," I reply, adjusting the camera angle slightly, "I'll still be around for a while."
Belle's brows lift. "You're not heading back to LA?"
I shake my head. "Not yet. My dad's still in the hospital. My family needs me right now."
I don't tell her the full truth. That I've already made the decision to stay for a few more weeks. Or until Dad gets out of the hospital. Whichever comes first.
It doesn't feel official yet, like saying it out loud will make it real. But it's already settled somewhere deep inside me. I can't ask Jasper to carry this alone. I can't keep leaning on Brooks like he's some permanent backup plan.
These people—flawed, complicated, exhausting—are my family. They're the only one I've got. And for the first time in a long time, I feel like maybe I'm right where I need to be.
"Do you mind if I say something?" Belle asks gently, her voice unusually tentative.
"Sure," I say, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.
"I know you're going through a lot right now, Elowen, but you seem… better."
"Better?" I repeat, nearly choking on the word like it doesn't belong to me.
"More relaxed, maybe," Belle clarifies. "LA never felt like it fit you. But wherever you are now? You look lighter. Happier, even."
"Thank you," I reply softly, not entirely sure how to take the compliment.
Happier? I don't know if that's true. But there is something different about being home.
It's not easy. It's messy, emotional, and sometimes suffocating.
But here, I'm not performing. I'm not crafting captions or chasing the next trend.
I'm just... me. Tired, overwhelmed, a little raw, but me, nonetheless.
I'm known here. Not just by my family, but by the rustling trees and the heavy, humid air. By the faded porch swing and the scent of Mom's chocolate chip cookies.
By Brooks.
Maybe it's not happiness I'm feeling. Maybe it's the absence of pretending.
"Well, I better get started on editing," Belle says, pulling me back to the screen. "I'll be in touch soon."
"Sounds good. Thanks, Belle," I say, then click to end the call.
Silence settles around me. I sit with it, breathing it in.
Life in LA is hard. The grind, the pressure to smile on command, to sparkle even when I feel dim.
But life here? It's hard, too, just in different ways.
It's learning to carry other people's burdens.
It's showing up when I want to disappear.
It's giving pieces of myself even when I’m running on empty.
Life is hard. No matter where I go, it will always be hard.
Maybe it's not about choosing the easier path, just the one that feels most right. And right now? I don't know what that path is.
But I'm starting to think I'll only figure it out by standing still long enough to listen for the answer.
"Elowen?" Mom's voice drifts in from behind me, tentative, like she's unsure if she's allowed to interrupt whatever world I've been living in lately.
I swivel my chair to face her. "Yeah?"
"I just made snickerdoodles," she says, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. "I know they're your favorite."
It’s the same recipe she’s used since I was eight, the one she used to burn on purpose just so Dad could scrape off the edges and make me laugh.
A lump forms in my throat, but I stand anyway. "I'd love some."
We settle into our usual seats at the kitchen table. Two cookies on a napkin in front of each of us. No coffee. No milk. Just the stillness between us, and the weight of everything we're too afraid to say.
I take a bite, the cinnamon-sugar crumble grounding me in a strange kind of comfort. We chew in silence.
No mention of Dad. No mention of her not going to the hospital. No mention of how we're barely holding things together in a house filled with so much history and so many ghosts.
We just sit there, pretending this is fine.
"I should get going," I say after a moment. "I'm taking over for Jasper tonight at the hospital."
Mom nods and wipes a crumb off her lap. "Oh. Okay."
I hesitate, unsure if it's kindness or cruelty to ask. "Did you... want to come with me?"
Her eyes dart to the hallway. "I—I think I better stay here. Keep an eye on... things."
Things. The word lingers like fog.
I nod, forcing a smile that doesn't quite make it to my eyes. "Okay."
We sit there a few seconds longer, as if maybe time will give one of us the courage to bridge the gap. But it doesn't.
So, I leave. And I realize I'm not upset that Mom didn't come with me.
Maybe it's because I'm starting to understand that some people are made of absence, and some people, no matter how flawed, always show up.
***
The drive is quiet. I roll the windows down and let the warm air curl through the cab, catching strands of my hair and tossing them across my cheeks. I try to anchor myself in the stillness. But every time I chase peace, my thoughts drift to Brooks.
Brooks, of all people.
I don't know when it happened. When the boy who once left me dangling on a zipline became the man whose arms I now associate with safety. But it did. That hug after the zipline... it unraveled something in me. Something real and raw.
When I reach the hospital, the parking lot is nearly empty.
I park close and walk slowly through the automatic doors.
Familiar faces glance my way—nurses, a few family members of other long-term care patients, even Dr. Kulkarni, who pauses just long enough to give me a gentle update.
Dad is stable. Resting still more than usual but eating better. Small wins that feel huge.
When I push open the door to his room, Jasper is asleep in the chair, his head tilted back and a small line of drool at the corner of his mouth.
Dad raises a finger to his lips and smiles when he sees me.
I tiptoe in and perch on the edge of his bed. "How long's he been out?"
"Ten minutes, maybe," Dad whispers, his voice gravelly.
"He looks so young when he sleeps," I murmur, studying my brother's peaceful face.
Dad places a warm hand over mine. "How are you?"
I let out a long breath. "I'm... okay."
He lifts an eyebrow. "You decided when you're going back to California?"
I glance at Jasper, then back to Dad. "I think I'm going to stay for a while. My manager's handling my place and mail."
"That's kind of her."
"She's good at what she does."
Dad’s hand squeezes mine once, a gesture that feels both fragile and fierce. The quiet hum of the machines is the only sound until Brooks steps in, holding a plethora of brown paper bags in his arms and a smug grin on his face. "Special delivery," he announces.
Jasper jolts upright, swiping at the drool on his chin. "How long was I out?"
Dad and I both laugh as Brooks hands over a bag.
"Not long," Dad says, clearly entertained.
Jasper immediately checks the time. "Crap, I'm late for my video call with Wren." He shoots me a pleading look. "Can I borrow your car? Brooks brought me in the shuttle this morning."
I dig into my purse and toss him the keys. "Don't wreck it."
"I can drive you home," Brooks offers, but Jasper has other plans.
"I don't have time to wait for you to hand out all that food!" Jasper exclaims as he's halfway out the door. "Just give Ellie a ride."
Before Brooks can respond, Jasper's gone.
I glance over at Brooks. "So, now you're a food delivery guy?"
"I'd do anything for five bucks and a thank-you," he smirks. "Mr. Shaw wanted pie. Rosie in 210 wanted fries. I figured if I was going to the diner anyway..."
"That's actually really sweet," I say, the softness in my voice catching me off guard.
He licks his bottom lip and smirks. "It is sweet of me, huh?"
Dad groans from the bed. "If I have to listen to this flirting, I'm pulling out my IV."
Brooks laughs and tosses me a wink. "I'll go finish handing out the food."
"I'll be here," I say quietly.
When he's gone, Dad raises his eyebrows. "What was that?"
I blink. "What was what?"
"You and Brooks. Since when are you two not trying to murder each other with sarcasm?"
I shrug, casually stealing a fry. "We've turned over a new leaf. We're... friends."
Dad squints at me like he's watching a puzzle solve itself. "Right. Friends."
But even I don't believe it anymore.
We talk about the weather. About the dry heat of summer and the way it settles in your bones.
About Jasper's naturescapes and how his latest one uses crushed shells to form the shape of a doe in the woods.
We even talk about the time Dad took me fishing and I got tangled in the line and cried the whole way home.
But we don't talk about Mom.
We don't talk about the way Dad tires faster with every passing day. Or about how Brooks isn't just Jasper's annoying best friend anymore. He's something else entirely. Something that doesn't have a name yet, but definitely doesn't fit into the old boxes I used to keep him in.
We talk until Dad gets tired.
Brooks returns quietly with a drink in hand and sinks into the chair across from me just as Dad starts to drift off. We sit in a silence that stretches between us. Not awkward. Not heavy. Just present.
I finish my burger. Brooks closes his eyes for a few minutes, the soft rhythm of his breathing a kind of anchor.
And for once, the silence isn't something to run from.
Not like LA, where silence screamed with absence.
Here, it's gentler. Here, it's a kind of permission.
A nurse pokes her head in and gives us a soft smile. "Visiting hours are almost over if you’re not staying the night."
I nod and begin gathering my things. "We should go," I say quietly to Brooks.
He rises and tosses the trash, while I lean over to squeeze Dad's sleeping hand. His fingers are warm but loose in mine.
"I'll be back in the morning," I murmur.
In the hallway, Brooks walks beside me without saying a word. Then, just before we reach the doors, he grabs my hand and laces his fingers through mine. He does it so naturally that it takes me a moment to notice. Another moment to realize how right it feels.
His hand is warm. Solid. Steady. And, somehow, peaceful.
When we stop in front of his truck, he stops and turns to look at me. "You're quiet tonight," he says, his voice low.
I nod, our joined hands still between us. It’s not pretend this time.
"I just have a lot on my mind."
"Like what?" he asks, his thumb brushing gently over my knuckles.
I look up at him and take a deep breath. "A while ago," I start, "you told me I need to figure my shit out."
Brooks grins. "Yeah. I did."
"Well... I think I'm finally ready to do that now."
He raises an eyebrow, but before he can respond, I let go of his hand and step closer. I reach for the collar of his shirt and tug him toward me, steady and sure. The air stills between us. One beat. Two.
Then, I press my mouth to his.
He doesn't hesitate. One hand finds my waist while the other slips into my hair, angling me closer as he pins me gently against the side of the truck. The kiss deepens, frenzied and warm, his lips claiming mine like he's been waiting years for this exact moment.
And maybe he has. Maybe I have, too.
Because for the first time in a long time, I'm not thinking about what comes next. Not about Mom, or LA, or how I'll explain any of this.
I'm just here. Letting myself feel it.
I’m pinned to the moment, and I don’t want to move.