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Logan gently squeezes my shoulders. “You don’t. You just… decide not to live your whole life staring at the floor. Dev’s not asking for you to be perfect. He just wants you to be there. And I think you’ve been doing that more than you realize.”

With that, he bullshits some excuse about a work meeting and heads back inside. Honestly, I think he’s lying, and all this emotional baggage made him uncomfortable, but I let him go anyway because his parting words of wisdom bounce around in my skull.

“We can’t change the past, man, but we can sure as hell learn from it.”

“Maybe now it’s your turn to get it right.”

Picking up my wrench again, I tighten another clamp until it settles into place. Next up will be the motor, which I plan on salvaging once I can afford it. Then I’ll get some brand new wheels.

Slow and steady. One part at a time.

And maybe… maybe that’s how you rebuild most things.

Not by force, or by pretending nothing broke in the first place, but by choosing to try and fix it anyway.

The past won’t ever disappear. I know that. But it doesn’t need to own me, either.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Devon

“I shouldn’t be here.”

Scowling, I stand on my parents’ front porch with Logan and Salem beside me. The place looks pretty much the same as it did ten years ago. Maybe a little more paint chipped in places, but overall still a nice house.

It’s what’s inside of it, though, that has me wanting to puke into the perfectly manicured flowerbeds.

“You don’t have to go in,” Logan says quietly, holding his wife’s hand. Both of them look fancy as hell in their holiday best, and I feel like an ass in the sole black button-up that I own.

I shake my head and swallow hard. “If I don’t do this now, I never will. Plus, what else am I supposed to do? Hang back at home alone like a sad fuck?”

Seriously. Owen’s at his own family’s house, and so is Christian. Despite how amazing things with him have been over the last two weeks, it felt weird to accept his invite to Thanksgiving dinner. I know we’ve agreed to be exclusive, but that’s as far as the conversation has gotten. Even if I’m desperate to ask for more.

Salem releases a slow breath. “Well. Guess we'd better let them know we’re here.”

She’s nervous as hell, too. Apparently, she hasn’t seen Sarah or Joel since last year, when we all thought Logan died. Same as me. And he also didn’t tell them we were coming to dinner, so we’re in for one hell of a night.

My hand shakes slightly when I lift it to press the doorbell. A chime rings inside the house, cheerfully festive. Completely fucking inappropriate for the dumpster fire that’s about to ignite. Blood rushes to my ears as soon as the door opens, and my mother freezes the second she sees me.

For a moment, she just stares with one hand gripping the doorframe. Her hair’s longer than it was last year, blonde streaked with silver. Her face twists in disbelief, revealing new lines around her brown eyes. “Devon?”

“Hey,” is about all I can dryly manage. “Happy Thanksgiving.”

Behind her, my dad appears with a dish towel slung over his shoulder. His jaw tightens instantly when he spots us, but he says nothing.

Sarah moves first.

She steps forward and wraps her arms around me before I can react, breath hitching against my shoulder. “You’re here,” she whispers.

I don’t hug her back. My arms stay glued to my sides.

Joel clears his throat. “You should all come inside,” he says gruffly. “It’s cold out here.”

He's nervous. I can see it in the way he shifts his weight, in how his grip tightens around the towel like he needs something to do with his hands. I don’t think he’s ever been good with his emotions—a trait I clearly inherited.

The mouthwatering scent of turkey and rosemary hits my nostrils when we step inside. It’s overly warm, and wearing Christian’s heavy leather jacket suddenly feels like a mistake, but I don’t take it off.

“Oh—” Sarah starts, then stops. She swipes at her eyes quickly as she pulls Logan in for a hug. “I didn’t know you all were coming.”