“Your parents did a number on the both of you. You have each other, don’t forget it. And you also have me. Family is family, and we stick together through hell or high water. No matter what. We’ll all need each other’s help at some point,” she said, satisfied. “Now, finish your tea. You’re staying here tonight, and I’m calling your brother to come check out your place.”
I glanced toward the door, toward the dark shape of my trailer beyond it. “Thank you. I don’t want to be alone tonight,” I said.
Aggie nodded, already reaching for her knitting. “That’s my girl. No more keeping it all inside. It does no one any good.”
The kettle clicked off behind us, the Airstream humming softly as the night pressed on outside. Aggie finished her tea and set the mug aside, studying me the way only someone who loved you without conditions could. “Alright,” she said gently. “You settle in. I’ll call Matt.”
I glanced toward the door again, toward the dark outline of my trailer beyond the trees. The initial spike of fear had ebbed, replaced by something calmer and more practical. I didn’t feel panicked anymore.
“I’ll sleep better knowing you’re here with me,” Aggie said, already pulling out a spare blanket. “And tomorrow, we’ll reassess. In daylight. But for now, you just rest, honey.”
“Okay. Thank you, Aunt Aggie.”
She padded down her hallway to her room, then came back with a flannel nightgown for me to wear, and smiled as she grabbed her phone and headed back down the short hallway.
As I changed and settled in, I picked up my phone, thumb hovering over Levi’s name. I didn’t want to worry him. Didn’t want to turn a strange feeling into something bigger than it was. But I’d promised to text him when I got home. So, I typed anyway.
Me: Made it home. All good. Thanks again for checking on me today.
The reply came a minute later.
Levi: Anytime. Sleep well. I’m here when you need me.
I set the phone down, the glow fading as the lamp clicked off.
Curled up in Aggie’s guest nook, the sounds of the campground settling around us, I told myself I’d done the right thing. That I was safe. That nothing was wrong.
Still, sleep didn’t come easily.
Tomorrow I’d call Matt myself and talk it out. Tomorrow, I’d figure out what to do about the quiet that felt too quiet and all the reasons why I was so jumpy. Tonight, I let myself rest in the knowledge that I wasn’t facing it completely alone. Not with Aggie down the hall. Not with Levi’s text still open on my phone. And not with his quiet promise to be there for me, still echoing somewhere soft inside me.
Chapter 12
Levi
Iwoke up the way I always did after a long shift—too alert for how little sleep I’d gotten, my body heavy and my mind already scanning for problems. Gray morning light filtered through the blinds, striping the wall beside my bed. The house itself was still. Jude hadn’t gotten back from his shift yet, and the absence of noise pressed in—familiar, but louder than it should have been. I lay there for a moment, listening to it, letting my breathing even out.
The first thing I thought of wasn’t work.
It was Becca.
The way her lips had brushed my cheek after Holloway’s. The faint warmth that had lingered long after her taillights disappeared. The way she’d looked at me right before she drove off, eyes searching mine like she was asking a question she wasn’t ready to voice.
My hand went to the spot without thinking. I exhaled slowly, chest tight.
God. It was just a kiss on the cheek.
I let out a quiet breath, almost a laugh under it, because I knew how pathetic that sounded… lying here, stuck on something so small.
But it wasn’t just that. Not from her.
Not after everything.
I dragged a hand over my face, staring up at the ceiling. I shouldn’t want this so much.
I reached for my phone on the nightstand and checked the time, then her messages. Nothing new. Just the one from last night telling me that she had made it home. All good. Short. Simple. Exactly what she’d wanted me to see.
But I knew Becca. She could make “all good” sound convincing even when she was unraveling. I stared at the words until they blurred, thumb hovering over the reply button as if I could somehow reach through the screen and feel if she was really okay. I wanted to be the person she turned to. The one she didn’t have to pretend for. The one she let see the cracks. But every time I got close to saying it out loud, the old fear rose up that I would push too hard and she’d pull away.
