He nods once, signaling quiet approval as he squeezes my shoulder.
Catalina squeezes my hand again before pulling away, then turns back to the stove with a sniff.
“Well,” she says softly, “if she’s meant for you, she’ll find her way back. The ones that matter always do.”
I stare down into the dark swirl of coffee, her wordsechoing somewhere deep in the hollow space she left behind.
Maybe she’s right. Maybe she will.
But for now, I sit here in my brother’s kitchen, the sun pouring through the window, the smell of cinnamon and coffee in the air, trying to believe that love this quiet can still find its way home.
That two souls who are meant to be will always find a way back to each other. No matter the distance or the situation, what’s meant to be will be. And I pray to whatever God that my sweet girl, Layla, will be able to leave and come back to me.
Catalina looks back at me, resting her chin on her hand as she studies me with those sharp yet gentle eyes that see too much.
“I can tell you love her,” she says quietly. “Even if you won’t tell me who she is.”
I huff out a quiet sound that might be a laugh if it didn’t ache. “You always this nosy?”
“I’m pregnant, and I’m a chismosa,” she says dryly, her hand resting on her small bump. “It’s literally my job to know everything.”
That earns a half-smile from me, but it fades quickly. The kitchen hums softly around us, gentle morning light, the kettle hissing faintly on the stove.
My throat tightens up as I drag a hand down my face. “When she’s gone, Cat, it feels like the lights go out. And when it’s quiet, really quiet, it gets hard to be here with my own thoughts.”
Her expression softens instantly. “Reed…”
I shake my head, staring at my hands, avoiding her gaze. “These thoughts come lingering back, and sometimes I?—”
Choking up on that thought, I remember when the darkness became too much, and I attempted.
My brothers found me, and they each swore they’d never let me go through this again, but it’s easier said than done when you have these demons living in your head.
The constant gaze directed at me, the whispers of ‘freak’ thrown my way, and the persistent loneliness I endure.
Given what I’ve experienced—the accident and the grief from my mama and Beau—it weighs heavily on me most days.
But Layla, fuck, she brought color into my life.
I shouldn’t say it, but I do. “Sometimes it feels easier to disappear.”
Before I can blink, Catalina is already on her feet, crossing the space between us, and she slaps my arm.
“Don’t say that,” she snaps, voice cracking at the edges. “Don’t you ever say that again.”
I look up, startled.
She’s glaring at me with tears shimmering in her eyes. “You think we wouldn’t notice if you were gone?” she says, her voice trembling but fierce. “You think Carter wouldn’t break? You think Maverick wouldn’t fall apart? You thinkIwouldn’t?”
I try to look away, but she won’t let me.
She steps closer, eyes shining. “You were there, Reed,” she says, softer now. “You saw me in that hospital. You remember what it looked like when I thought I had nothing left to live for.”
“I do,” I whisper.
The memory hits hard; the sterile light, Carter’s cracked voice, Catalina pale against the white sheets, the quiet horror in all of us.
She nods, her voice trembling. “And you were the onewho sat by my bed when Carter couldn’t even breathe. You held my hand and told me that sometimes we just need one more sunrise. That’s what you said. One more sunrise.”
