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I raise my head and sweep strands of my hair out of my eyes right in time to see her enter the room with a dress in her hand. It’s blue and has flowers on the straps and hem.

She holds it up to her. “You think this is too fancy?”

“No, but if the festival is outside, you’ll be cold,” I point out, pointing at the window.

Outside the sky is a gloomy grey, the trees branches are swaying like a sleepy lullaby, and crisp leaves dance across the grass.

“I guess Trystan will just have to lend me his jacket then.” She smirks before whisking back into her room and shutting the door.

I do hope this thing she has going with Trystan works out for her. Wylder had spoken to his friend about it, but I’m still wary. But I’m almost always wary about anything anymore. Life was so much easier when I did constantly worry, but I was also naïve. I never thought of myself that way, though, until one stormy night shattered my entire world, along with my sister’s, and probably even my brother. It changed how I looked at things, altered it—distorted it.

Pushing up from the table, I backtrack to my room to collect my phone. Then I dial my sister’s number and cross my fingers she’ll answer and be okay. The moment she answers, it’s clear she isn’t.

“I can’t talk right now, Harper,” she snaps. Crying is coming from the background and the sound of glass shattering. “Shit.”

More crying.

“Are you okay?” I ask after a handful of silent seconds tick by.

She doesn’t answer but someone continues to cry. It has to be either Will or Penelope. “Zoe, are you there?”

Nothing. But she hasn’t hung up since the background noise remains. Although, the crying is getting fainter.

“Dammit,” I curse as I get up from my bed.

I set my phone down with the speakerphone on and pull off my pajama bottoms and t-shirt and quickly throw on a t-shirt and a pair of wide-legged jeans. I slip on a pair of sneaks, grab my car keys and wallet, then scoop up my phone.

“Hey, can anyone hear me?” I ask as I rush out of my dorm room.

“A Harp?” Will’s voice flows through the phone.

“Hey, kiddo,” I say as I jog down the hallway and practically run down the stairs. “Where’s your mom?”

“Cry,” he replies with a sniffle. “I’m scared.”

“Is your dad there?” I slam my palm against the exit door, shove it open, and step out into the cold air, wishing I’d brought a jacket, but I’m not about to turn around and get it.

“Yay,” he replies. “With swing.”

Okay, so their dad is home and in the backyard I think. That is if I’m translating a three year old language properly.

That doesn’t bring much relief to me, at least for my sister’s sake. But I’m glad the kids aren’t home alone.

But I’m worried what she may be doing in her room.

No, she wouldn’t do that with the kids home…

But doubt weighs in my gut. My older sister, the one that’s sober, would never do anything like that. The addict version, however, may have not been thinking clearly.

The painful reality is that I have no clue anymore what my sister would and would not do. And I’m not about to just end the call and not check up on her. I owe her more than that.

“Okay, I’m headed there,” I tell him as I jog across the grass and toward the parking lot. “Go hang out with your dad, okay?”

“Okay. Bye-bye.” He hangs up.

I reach my car then, climb in, and start the engine. A light drizzle has started to weep from the clouds so I flip the wipers on then buckle my seatbelt.

I’m picking up my phone to call Liam, even though that’s the last thing I want to do. But I have to double check that he is with the kids. My finger is hovering over his contact number when the phone rings. Zoe’s name flashes across the screen so I quickly answer it.