Page 49 of The Scars We Heal

The three of us broke into a fit of laughter, joy radiating around the tiny hospital room.

Soon, everyone would want to meet the newest addition to the Silver Creek gang, so I left the room to let Colter and Ellison soak up the time they had as a new family of three.

CHAPTER TWENTY

jake

Things in the friend group had been quiet since Colter and Ellison had their baby. Mikey had been visiting Juniper a lot while she was in grad school, Reid was getting ready for Isabelle to move up to Montana, and Sierra and Hayden were off in their own little world. While I was happy for them and all the exciting things happening, I couldn’t help the sadness that washed over me every now and then.

So much of the last five years had consisted of just our little group. I knew we weren’t drifting apart from each other, but they all had their own lives and futures to look forward to. Sometimes it felt like I was staying still, or just floating out on one of those buoy towers. Anchored to the same spot while the sea brought everything else to the shore.

When I looked at my friends and the girls they’d met, I saw people who were meant for each other—made for each other. If the guys were lost ships in the night, then Ellison, Isa, June, and Sierra were their lighthouses, beacons cutting through the fog and darkness to bring them home.

All I wanted was to find my own lighthouse. Someone to guide me through the wreckage and challenges of life. And I hoped I could be that for someone, too. A constant, unwavering presence to remind them of who they were when they started to lose their way.

Looking over my shoulder, I peered across the lawn to the guest house, unsure of what I was hoping to find. My lighthouse, maybe.

My thoughts didn’t have the chance to take over my mind, though, because a soft knock at the door followed shortly after.

Doing my best not to smile like an idiot, I walked at a very normal pace to the entryway. When I opened the door, Caitlin stood in front of me, wearing denim overalls over a gray T-shirt with her hair pulled up into a high ponytail. She had a paintbrush in hand and a wide grin on her face.

“Want to help me paint Whit’s room?”

I looked down at my outfit, deeming my denim jeans and old Wranglers baseball T-shirt decent enough for painting.

Throwing her a mock salute, I said, “Put me to work, boss.”

Back at the guest house, Caitlin had already moved a lot of the furniture out of Whitley’s room, leaving it clear for fresh paint.

“You moved all of her furniture yourself?” I asked.

She crossed her arms. “Yeah, it wasn’t that hard.”

Realizing she probably thought I was shocked or something, I clarified. “No, no, I’m not saying it’s a bad thing. I just could have helped so you didn’t have to do it all by yourself.”

And it would have given me more reasons to hang out with you.

She shrugged. “It’s okay. You can help me move it all back in.”

“So, how do you want to tackle this?” I asked, surveying the room. It wasn’t a large space, but I was glad she asked me to help. Even with paint rollers, it would take a few hours for one person, and I knew she also wanted to do a sort of mural on the wall once the base color was done.

Caitlin tapped her lips, humming. “Do you want to do that half?” She pointed to the south and east walls. “Then I can do the other?”

“Sounds good.” I reached for the can of paint and pulled out the bottle opener I kept on my keys to break the seal on the lid. The color she’d picked was a butter yellow, and I smiled thinking of how perfect it was going to be for Whitley’s room. “Do you have a tray somewhere?”

“Yeah, hang on.” She walked into the other room then returned with the metal paint tray.

“Thanks.” I poured in as much paint as I could then grabbed one of the roller brushes.

After a bit more prep, we started painting the walls, both of us in our respective corners. I hummed as I worked, trying to fill the silence.

As if we had the same thought, Caitlin set down her paint and brush to turn on a small speaker in the hallway. “It’s too quiet in here. What kind of music do you like to listen to?”

“Whatever you want. I’m not picky.”

Pulling her bottom lip between her teeth, she grinned. “All right, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

I raised my brows, and she shrugged as music from the ’80s started playing from the speakers. “Wouldn’t have pegged you as an oldies girl.”