CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
You’ll Hurt Me
The mug warms my hands in that soft, steady way that makes the world feel almost kind.
Steam curls up, catching sunlight like thin silk.
The porch boards creak beneath my bare feet, the same boards that carried years of our lives.
Some are scratched by Jasper’s sneakers, others dented from the old swing that used to hang here.
The smell of damp earth rises from the yard, thick and sweet, a reminder that this place still breathes even when we don’t know how to.
I close my eyes for a second and let the sound of wind through leaves wash over me.
It feels like being remembered by something ancient and forgiving.
Jasper and Brooks are out near the tree line, crouched low with the camera, filming a naturescape for Jasper’s page. They’re two silhouettes wrapped in early sunlight and birdsong.
And for once, everything feels... okay.
I let myself smile as my eyes land on a strip of peeling paint on a wooden slat. We should really repaint the porch. Restore it to its former glory.
But what if some things can’t go back to the way they were? Is that really so bad?
My gaze drifts back to my brother and his best friend, lost in a world of their own. Then, Brooks glances up at me. Just a look, a flash of knowing across the yard, and my insides soften like butter on warm toast.
My breath catches in my throat, unbidden.
Because somehow, without meaning to, I’ve started falling for the one person I never saw coming.
When we were kids, Brooks was just background noise—loud, wild, and always in motion.
He and Jasper would vanish into the woods for hours, climbing trees, building crooked forts, and chasing anything that moved.
He never really tried to hang out with me.
Mostly, he teased me. Sometimes taunted.
Occasionally tormented. But I tolerated him because he had Jasper’s back.
Because somewhere deep down, I knew Brooks was loyal, even if he was loud and obnoxious and impossible to ignore.
First crush?
Maybe. I can see it now, looking back. The way he looked at me. The way he covered his embarrassment with sarcasm. The way he never quite left me alone.
But knowing I was his first crush doesn’t change the truth.
I have a whole life waiting for me far away from here.
A life that pulls me in the opposite direction of everything this porch and morning light represent.
I came home afraid things would fall apart.
I didn’t expect to fear what happens if they don’t.
A gentle nudge at my elbow pulls me back. "They look happy," Mom says beside me, her voice quiet like the morning.
I blink at her in surprise. We’re standing side by side.
She’s wearing one of Dad’s old flannels, the fabric soft and frayed at the edges.
The sleeves swallow her wrists, and I wonder if she put it on without thinking.
Or if she misses him so much that she needed something that still smells like him.
Her hair is pulled back in a loose braid, more gray than I remember.
She’s smaller somehow, like the years pressed down and she just… let them.
For a heartbeat, I see her as she was before all of this. Before the silence, before the pills, before the house went dim. I remember her laughter echoing off these walls, the way she’d dance barefoot while cooking dinner, sunlight tangled in her hair. That woman feels like a ghost I once loved.
And yet, she’s standing here. Trying.
But we don’t talk about the hard things. We never really have.
Still, for this small moment, it feels almost… easy.
"They do," I reply, taking a sip of coffee to hide how raw it makes me feel.
She goes quiet for a beat, then asks, "How’s your dad?"
The words knock the breath out of me. She hasn’t asked. Not once. Until now.
I swallow against the lump forming in my throat. "He, uh… he has pneumonia. But the doctor says they’ve started antibiotics and he could be home soon."
Mom’s face tightens, her frown deepening. "Is he okay?"
"He’s hanging in," I say. "But he misses you. I think it would mean a lot to him if you two talked. Maybe we could try a video call?"
Mom hesitates, brushing a hand over her arm. Then clears her throat. "Yeah… I think maybe I’d like that."
"You want to try now?" I ask softly.
"Yeah."
I try not to let the hope show on my face as I open the video call app and tap Dad’s name. It rings—once, twice, again—and then the call ends.
I try again. Same result.
A knot lodges itself in my chest. My fingers twitch against the phone, but I force myself to breathe. It’s early. He might still be asleep. Or maybe a nurse is in the room. Maybe it’s just bad reception. I tell myself these things on a loop, trying to drown out the unease rising in my throat.
"We’ll try again," I say quickly, dialing once more, as if sheer will might make the line connect.
But there’s no answer. The silence after the failed call hums louder than the morning itself.
I stare at the phone, at my own reflection ghosted across the black screen, and the ache that’s been living behind my ribs sharpens.
I wanted her to hear his voice. Wanted proof that forgiveness still has a pulse.
Instead, it’s just me and the sound of birds, and the taste of disappointment that’s starting to feel too familiar.
I set the phone down before the weight of it pulls me under.
Mom’s frown deepens, and she takes a half-step back. "I should head inside."
I nod, even though it feels like something is slipping through my fingers. "Okay."
She disappears into the house, and with her goes the flicker of hope I’d held onto. That she might be ready to face this. To show up for him.
For now, it’s just me. Again.
"What did your mom want?" Brooks asks, his voice gentle enough to break through the storm of thoughts circling in my head.
I offer him a sad, tight-lipped smile. "I tried video calling Dad, but he didn’t answer."
Brooks’ face falls. "I’m sorry, Ellie."
I shrug, and it feels like surrender. "It’s fine. Maybe we’ll try again tomorrow."
Brooks glances over his shoulder, watching Jasper gather up his nature supplies—rocks and twigs arranged into neat, careful buckets—then reaches for my hand. "Come here."
His fingers curl around mine and before I can even register what’s happening, he’s tugged me around the side of the house, out of sight, and into his arms. No words, no questions. Just his warmth surrounding me like shelter.
I melt into him, arms sliding around his waist, my cheek pressed against his chest. The steady beat of his heart grounds me in a way nothing else ever has.
I don’t know how long we stand there, but eventually I glance up.
He’s already looking at me.
"Are you okay?" he whispers.
I nod, though my heart aches. "Yeah. Just… worried about everything."
Brooks cups my face in one hand, his thumb resting just below my cheekbone. The gesture is tender, patient, like he’s holding something fragile. "Tell me how I can help."
The simplicity of the offer nearly undoes me. I smile, small and grateful. "I don’t think there’s much you can do."
"I could punch Holden in the face," he offers, deadpan.
I laugh for the first time all morning. "I’d pay to see that."
"Oh yeah?" His grin lifts, but then softens when he sees the flicker of sadness behind my eyes.
I look down, then back up at him. "Do you ever wish you could go back and make different choices? Just… redo it all?"
He exhales, slow and deliberate. "No."
That surprises me. "No?"
He shakes his head. "If I went back and fixed everything I screwed up, I wouldn’t be the person standing here with you. It took me a long time to like the guy I am. I still have my regrets, but I wouldn’t change the road that led me to this moment. To you."
The words settle over me like a blanket, and something in my chest softens.
"You mean that?" I ask.
Brooks tucks a strand of hair behind my ear and gives me the kind of smile that feels like a promise. "I’m crazy about you, Ellie. Have been for a long time."
My breath hitches. Not because I didn’t expect it, but because part of me did, and that’s what scares me the most.
I search his face, looking for any sign that he’s exaggerating or joking, but there’s nothing. Just that open, earnest gaze that always catches me off guard.
"Brooks…" I start, but the words fall apart in my throat. I don’t know how to respond to someone who sees me this clearly. Who always has.
He waits. He doesn’t rush me. His thumb is still brushing softly along my cheek, like he’s trying to memorize me.
"I’m scared," I finally admit. "I’m scared I’ll mess this up. That I’ll leave and you’ll hate me for it. That maybe I’m only holding on because I need someone steady while everything else is falling apart."
He nods, slowly, as if he’s already thought about all of this. "I’d rather have you now and lose you later than pretend I don’t want you at all."
The words hang between us, soft and dangerous.
The air shifts. The faint hum of crickets, the whisper of leaves overhead all fold into a silence that feels alive.
I want to answer him, but the only thing that comes is a rush of air that sounds like his name.
My heart beats too fast, like it’s trying to memorize this moment before it slips away.
He looks at me the way morning light touches the horizon—steady and inevitable. And for the first time, I stop wondering what will happen when I leave. I just let myself stand there, breathing him in, hoping time will forget to move.
"That sounds… awful," I mutter.
He smiles, bittersweet. "Maybe. But it’s the truth."
Tears burn behind my eyes. "I don’t want to hurt you, Brooks."
"You will," he says, without hesitation. "And I’ll probably hurt you, too. That’s how it goes. But if there’s even a small part of you that wants this, then I’ll take it. We don’t have to name it. We don’t have to figure it all out right now."
His honesty, his acceptance of the risk, it makes me feel things I shouldn’t be feeling.
I rest my forehead against his chest, breathing him in. He smells like pine and wind and something I can’t name but desperately need.
"I do want this," I tell him. "I don’t know what it means yet, or how long it’ll last, but I want this."
He presses a kiss to the top of my head. "Then that’s enough for me."
And for the first time in a long time, I let myself believe that maybe wanting something—even briefly—can be enough.
The world beyond the yard hums quietly. The sound of Jasper’s laughter, a far-off crow, the slow rhythm of life insisting on continuing.
It’s all so ordinary, so heartbreakingly normal.
But maybe that’s what healing looks like.
Not grand gestures or perfect endings, just small moments that finally stop hurting.