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Chapter Twenty-Six
XAN
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“So, you’re living herenow?” Jet asks as I hold up the drywall on the new studio shed in Briggs yard.
“I’m staying in Briggs motorhome for a while until we get this figured out,” I say, Jet knows what this is. I filled him in on everything. So naturally all my siblings now know and in some small way they’ve all contributed to helping Millie’s safety. Briggs hates it. She walked around with a scowl on her face for the last two weeks.
“And you’re done fucking,” Jet states it rather than phrases it like a question. A short laugh bursts from my chest.
“Dammit, Jet. Keep your voice down. Yes. We talked about it. No more.” Honestly, I’m as unhappy about that as everything else. Being with Briggs comes as naturally to me as breathing. Like the last ten years was a bad dream. I have to force the thoughts of her out of my head before I get hard thinking about it.
I was the one who brought it up. She agreed without hesitation, we don’t need to further complicate this with our own feelings.
“Alright, Bro. Just be careful,” he says but I know he’s not talking about the stalker. “You have a weak spot when it comes to her. Keep your shit together.”
Millie pops her head in the doorway, a smile I’ll never tire of between wind burnt cheeks.
“Hey,” she says out of breath. “Can you take me into town. You promised I could practice with Sarah today.”
“Absolutely. Give me a couple minutes to talk to your mom okay?” I let go of the final roof piece as Jet braces it and dust my hands on my work pants. “Where is she?”
Millie rolls her eyes and points to the upstairs window. “She’s moping. Been sitting on her bed staring into a box all day.”
I throw my arm over Millie’s shoulders and tuck her into my side. “Your Mom has a lot on her mind right now. We’re all trying to help out.”
“You’re all being weird,” she shoots back, and I laugh. It’s not a lie. No one has told Millie anything about the danger she’s in. The general idea is stay as normal for her as possible. But it’s not very possible when she’s an emotion sponge.
“You are too smart for your own good,” I say, pulling her hat down to cover her eyes and she giggles, wrestling out from under my grip. “I’ll be a couple minutes. Get your stuff packed and in the truck.”
I dust off as best I can before going inside. I’m used to the shade from Louis. He didn’t approve when we were teenagers and he definitely doesn’t approve now. He did awkwardly tell me he was glad I was there, or Briggs could have died. He also was quick to remind me if I wasn’t there she would have slept in her own goddamn bed. His words.
I can see Briggs as I crest the staircase and Millie was right. She’s somber, staring into a small cardboard box and holding a small piece of paper in her fingertips.
“What’s that about?” I nod to the paper and she studies me, no doubt gauging how much to tell me.
“Love notes,” she says and that’s not what I was expecting. I never wrote her love notes. “Written by my mother.”
I sink down next to her and glance at the note.
I hate them for doing this. I’ll hate them forever.
“Doesn’t sound very loving to me,” I try to joke, and she smiles out of pity for my attempt. She grabs another note and I read it. The handwriting is different, and I lean in closer.
“Can I see that?”
She hands it to me, and I study the letters closely. This is familiar.
“This is my dad’s handwriting, B.”
Her eyes widen but the words don’t seem to be sinking in. I shake the note at her.
“This is my father’s writing. I’m certain of it.”
Dad used to drink and write long nonsensical pages of conspiracy theories and journal entries before he would begin ranting at us—spewing his sermons through his booze filter.
The reality of it sinks in slowly until we’re both slack jawed and staring at each other.
