Page 66

I smiled at that. “No pressure,” I echoed.

“I’m really glad you came today,” Sawyer said again. This time, I believed her fully.

“I am too. How can I help? I could do a couple hours on Thursdays during Jace’s session if that’s helpful,” I said.

Volunteering had been my reason for coming, but now . . . now it felt like something more. I glanced toward the door, where the muffled sounds of the main room filtered in: kids learning and people helping—a steady rhythm of something quietly meaningful.

“We would love to have you come on Thursday. I’ll set you up with another volunteer to learn the ropes, then we’ll decide the best placement for you.”

I straightened slightly, adjusting the strap of my bag on my shoulder. I hesitated, then added, “Is this Thursday too soon? Maybe bring Jace?”

“That would be great. Let me collect your email, and I’ll send over some forms we’ll need,” she said.

“Okay,” I said, feeling something warm settle in my chest.

We exchanged emails, and just like that, Thursday held something to look forward to. We moved toward the door together, and as I stepped back out into the main room, the hum felt alive and purposeful. I caught a glimpse of Lane across the room, talking to one of the kids, completely at ease in a way I hadn’t seen before. For a second, our eyes met, but I looked away first—not out of discomfort, but because he wasn’t what mattered in that moment.

For once, my thoughts went somewhere other than the past. Sawyer was okay. A place like this existed. Jace might have found something he needed. And for the first time in a long while, there was something on my calendar I wasn’t dreading or simply getting through.

Every Thursday, I’d spend a few hours showing up, helping, and building something instead of simply surviving it, because I wanted to.

Thirty-Two

Cali

Not telling Jace where we were going until we reached the parking lot wasn’t an oversight—it was self-preservation. Give him too much time, and he’d either retreat behind silence or bury everything beneath jokes until neither of us remembered why we’d come.

“Where are we?” he asked, squinting out the window.

The Hope Center stood at the end of the parking lot. A few cars were parked out front along with a row of bikes leaned against the bike rack. The door was propped open like it was expecting people.

“It’s a community center.”

He glanced at me. “That’s . . . vague.”

I huffed a quiet laugh. “It’s a place that offers counseling, tutoring, and support services. Landry mentioned it.” Only half the truth. The rest lodged beneath my ribs. Lane volunteered here too. The paperwork was already submitted, and somehow I’d resisted writing Can I volunteer anytime Lane Massey isn’t? across every page. Just barely. We were adults. Living in the same town meant learning to coexist, whether I liked it or not.

Jace’s gaze drifted back to the building. “Why are we here?”

“Because you’ve had a lot thrown at you lately. I don’t want you carrying it alone, and I thought maybe we could do something good for someone else while we’re here.”

He didn’t answer right away. His jaw worked once, twice, like he was deciding how much to push back.

“I’m fine,” he said finally.

My chin dipped. “I know you are. But fine doesn’t mean you don’t get support.” Somewhere inside, laughter drifted through the open doorway.

The sound tugged loose the memory of the night before—Jace crying out, me racing to his room, finding him tangled in sweat-damp sheets, breathing hard after another nightmare. He never talked about them, but they seemed to come more often now. His shoulders loosened a fraction. His gaze moved from the windows to the bikes, then the people drifting through the open door before settling on the security camera above the entrance.

“You coming in with me, Doc?” he asked.

“You bet,” I said. “I’m not dropping you off and running. Promise.” A quiet snort escaped him before he reached for the door handle.

“Good,” he muttered, pushing the door open. “Because I’d find you.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” I bumped his shoulder with mine. “Who else is going to keep you fed?”

The inside of The Hope Center was exactly as I remembered—warm and welcoming.