Both kids cheer as the five of us stand. My eyes dart to Levi's, questioning Alex's sudden need for chocolate syrup, but he looks to the ceiling with a quick shake of his head. "You good with this?" I ask Ruthie, pulling her close.
She wraps one arm around my waist and peers up at me. "Duh." She gives me a squeeze. "We'll bring you home a scoop of Mint Chocolate Chip Moose Tracks."
"With gummy bears?"
She grins. "You got it."
I lean down and kiss the top of her head. "Thanks, Roo."
Standing tall, I open my arms up to my brother. He claps me on the back, strong and steady, and I glance behind him at his wife, his stepson, and my little girl. It's times like these that remind me that our little family might not be conventional, but it's ours. And it's good.
Levi's always been there. And now, Alex is too. No, Ruthie doesn't have a mom to go to with certain secrets or to ask questions she can't bring herself to ask me. But she has an aunt and an uncle who both treat her like their own—and a dad who would move mountains to make sure she never felt that missing piece.
Still, sometimes I wish she got to have it all.
"Thanks, little brother," I say, stepping back, still grateful.
He smirks. "For the soccer tickets or the inevitable sugar rush?"
I shove my hands into my pockets, exhaling the weight of another year passed that we survived—thrived.
Together.
I shrug. "For all of it."
Walking in the front door feels different tonight. Not because I'm not sore or exhausted or more excited to be in bed by 8:30 than I should be. All of that still stands. But because Tessa is inside. And Ruthie isn't.
And that changes everything.
I didn't expect this to happen so soon. I thought I'd have a buffer—another night to mentally prepare for being alone with her tomorrow. But now? When the house is this quiet and I'm this drained?
I'm not sure I'm ready for it.
Stepping out of my shoes, I peer into the den—no Tessa, which is what I'd expect. But as I walk further inside, my gaze floats around the kitchen and the living room—still nothing.
It's not completely empty, though. What is here are subtle reminders of her. The blanket thrown over the back of the couch that I definitely didn't fold. Soap at the kitchen sink that's not the same one I've repeatedly reordered for the last three years. That damn book from the plane sitting on the island. All around are the quiet whispers of a woman's touch. That she's been here—that she's settling in. And I never knew I liked that feeling until this very second.
"Tess?" I say loud enough that she might hear me if she were in the dining room. She doesn't answer, so I grab an ice pack from the freezer and wrap a nearby towel around it before tucking it into my sock.
My heart rate increases as I head toward the stairs, my mind running through the possibilities. Her being in her room makes me nervous—I'm not sure I have the strength right now to keep the lines drawn where they currently are. But as I climb higher, I realize that's not the thought that gets me most. It's the nagging idea that maybe… she's not here at all.
I saw her car outside, so my instinct says she has to be.
But halfway up the steps, I freeze.
Unless someone picked her up.
Brooke or a sibling could have swung by to get her for whatever plans they may have had. But, no. That's not where my mind goes first.
Instead, I assume that Tessa's on a date.
Or even worse…
With him.
The thought hits hard—a brutal reminder of the feelings I've been actively avoiding. Our kiss completely spun my world off its axis, but that doesn't matter if, for her, it was just a rebound. I didn't sacrifice for this long only to break now and become some sort of placeholder for Tess.
I shake the thought enough to breathe again as I glance down the short stretch of hallway before moving toward the bedrooms. My heart still hammers inside my chest as I take each step slowly—the voice I need to call out to her caught somewhere between my throat and the pit in my stomach. The deafening silence almost makes it seem as if the house itself is listening for her.
