“I’m supposed to be the one taking care of you,” she said.
“You still are,” Alana said. “You always will. But you don’t have to pretend nothing is wrong just to make it easier on me.”
“I’ve got a husband and a baby with mashed banana in his hair most days,” Alana said softly. “But the second you said you had a long day, he told me to go. He didn’t even blink. Said he’d handle bedtime.”
Sav’s chest clenched. “You didn’t have to drive all the way out here.”
“I wanted to,” Alana said. “And he wanted me to. He knows you’re important.”
Sav blinked a few times, fast. Her eyes burned.
“I don’t want to be a problem,” she murmured.
“You’re not,” Alana said immediately. “You’re my sister. That’s the whole point.”
Sav stared at their joined hands. It felt like pressure and relief tangled together.
Alana squeezed her hand once. “I hope whoever’s involved is worth how heavy it feels.”
Sav’s gaze dropped. Her pulse jumped. The night in the hotel hit her like a delayed blow: the warmth of Tilly’s body pressed against hers, the soft sound they’d made when she’d kissed them, the way morning light had turned everything terrifying.
She couldn’t say any of that. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
She nodded instead.
The conversation drifted somewhere lighter. Sav asked about the baby — nine months, crawling everywhere, apparently obsessed with electrical outlets. Alana showed a picture of him covered in oatmeal and looking proud of it. Sav managed a real laugh.
They talked about home. About the neighbor who still shovels everyone’s walkway. About how Sav’s mom had redecorated the living room again. About the cat who’d adopted Alana’s porch and decided he ran the place.
Sav felt parts of herself unclench just listening.
When they finally stepped outside, the sky had gone navy-blue, streetlights casting soft halos on the sidewalk. Sav’s breath came out in a faint cloud.
Alana hugged her again, longer, tighter.
“Text me when you get home,” she said. “And I’m calling you tomorrow. Don’t pretend you’re too busy.”
Savannah let out a quiet, tired laugh. “I won’t.”
“Love you,” Alana said.
“Love you too.”
Sav watched her sister walk to her car. When Alana looked back once and waved, Sav lifted her hand in return.
Then she sank into the driver’s seat, closing the door on the cold. The hush inside the car wrapped around her like a blanket she didn’t ask for. Her phone lit up with a new notification, the station group chat about tomorrow’s assignments.
Not Tilly.
A hollow ache spread quietly across her ribs.
She started the engine, the dashboard lights blinking awake. Her hands rested on the wheel, steadier now, but still unsure.
She pulled out onto the road, city lights flickering past her windows, carrying the weight of the day with her, not lighter, not solved, but cared for in a way that didn’t feel quite as impossible as it had that morning.
Thirty Three
Tilly woke up already tired.
