I crack the door open. She’s perched cross-legged on her bed, phone still in her hands. When she looks up, her eyes dart everywhere but mine.
“Who were you talking to?” I ask.
Her fingers tighten around the phone. “Leah.”
The answer’s fast and practiced. My brows knit. “Really?”
“Yeah.” She shrugs, feigning casual, but she still won’t meet my eyes. “Who else would it be?”
I study her for a second, trying to read her face. Something about the way she tucks her hair behind her ear feels… evasive. A secret boyfriend? Maybe. The thought settles heavy in my chest, but I don’t push it. Not tonight.
She clears her throat and pivots. “Were you with Hunter?” she asks with a knowing smirk.
I exhale, running a hand over my face. “Yeah.”
Her smirk widens, but I ignore it.
“Goodnight, Maddie,” I say, backing out of the doorway.
“Night,” she chirps.
I shut the door behind me, the faint sound of her giggle following me down the hall.
***
I should’ve known better than to get attached to the fragile routine Hunter and I built together. Happiness never sticks around—not in my life. Trouble always circles back, patient as a vulture.
When I tug on my lifeguard uniform the next morning, the fabric still carries the scent of sunscreen and lake water. My curls refuse to cooperate, so I tie them back in a bun. My keys jingle in my hand as I step out the front door, bracing myself for another long shift at the beach, but I freeze on the porch.
There’s a maroon sedan parked beside my truck—a car I don’t recognize. Leaning against the driver’s side door, arms crossed and posture stiff, is Stephen.
The sun bounces off Stephen’s sunglasses, hiding his eyes. He’s wearing a navy jumpsuit stained with oil, his name stitched in neat red thread across the chest.
“Mason,” he greets firmly. My name sounds foreign and clumsy rolling off his tongue, like he hasn’t said it in years.
I clench the keys in my fist, the sharp metal biting my palm as I bounce off the steps. I don’t stop until I’m crowding his space. Only then do I realize I’m taller than him.
Huh. When did that happen? Sometime between the day he left when I was eight and now, I guess.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” I demand.
He presses a palm to my chest, nudging me back gently. “Please, calm down.”
“Don’t tell me what to do,” I snap. “You’re not taking Maddie with you. I won’t let you.”
His brows pinch, his hands raised defensively. “I’m not here for Madison—”
“Maddie,” I cut in, my voice sharp. “She hates being called Madison.”
He exhales a shaky breath. “I’m not here for Maddie,” he says gently. “I’m here for you. I just want to talk.”
“You had thirteen years to talk.”
His face twists, like my words physically pain him. It makes my mouth twitch into a satisfied smile. Good. I want him to carry a fraction of the hurt he inflicted on Maddie and I.
“Let me buy you a coffee,” Stephen offers.
I shake my head and rip open my truck door. “Can’t. I have to work so I can support my sister,” I say bitterly.
