Page 54 of The Goat Next Door

“She’s twenty-five, Lauren. She’s got the whole world ahead of her, and a bank account that could buy her a brownstone in New York tomorrow morning if she gets tired of the mud. I’m thirty-one, I’ve got a five-year-old kid, and my shift starts in forty-five minutes.”

“And you think twenty-five means she’s a toddler?” Lauren asks, her hand reaching out to give my forearm a firm squeeze. “Brooks. She doesn’t look like she’s planning to go back to the city. She looks like she’s trying to put down roots in the only place that feels real to her. And every time she looks at you, she looks like she’s trying to figure out if you’re going to let her.”

I don’t answer. I can’t.

My throat feels dry, the image of Emmy in her yellow overalls—the bright, unbothered heat of her smile—flashing behind my eyes with a force that makes my pulse thud heavy against my ribs.

“You know what your problem is?” Lauren asks.

“I have several. Be specific.”

“You think if you loosen your grip on anything for five seconds, the whole world’s gonna catch fire again.”

My jaw clenches instantly.

“Ever since Tommy died, you’ve been acting like it’s your personal responsibility to hold every wall up with your bare hands,” she says. “You manage everything. The station. The town. Sophie. That house across the field.” Her eyes flick toward Emmy’s place. “You don’t even realize you’re doing it anymore.”

“That isn’t what this is.”

“Really?” she asks lightly. “Because from where I’m standing, you look half in love and half terrified she’s gonna slip through your fingers the second you stop supervising her.”

A short, humorless breath leaves my chest.

“She’s chaos, Lauren.”

“And you like fixing chaos,” Lauren shoots back. “Because fixing things feels safer than wanting them.”

That one lands harder than I want it to.

I shake my head once. “You done psychoanalyzing me?”

Lauren grins. “No, but I can pause for snacks.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.” Lauren’s smile softens into something smaller, more knowing. “You deserve things that aren’t emergencies too, Brooks.”

I don’t answer her.

Mostly because I don’t know how.

“Daddy,” Sophie’s voice cuts through the quiet, her chair scraping against the floorboards as she stands up, holding a piece of paper high above her head. “Look. I drew the new stove. It has the little buttons.”

Lauren steps back, her expression shifting instantly into that bright, proud glow as she leans over Sophie’s shoulder.

“Oh, bug, that is an exquisite piece of art,” Lauren gasps, her fingers tracing the wobbly purple lines of the burners. “Look at the stove. Brooks, look at your daughter’s composition.”

“It’s very accurate, Soph,” I say, walking over and lifting her up into my arms, the smell of crayons and lotion clearing the last of the smoke from my brain. “But your mother’s right. The composition is highly advanced.”

“Can we show Emmy later?” Sophie asks.

“We’ll show her tomorrow, bug,” I say as I look out the window toward the dark timber line of the Gilded Goat.

13

Ember

BREAKING: