It was strange how something as simple as feeling clean could make such a difference. After Everest helped me that night, it was like a tiny spark had been lit somewhere deep inside me. It wasn't much, but it was enough to keep me moving—one small step at a time.

I started getting out of bed more, even if it was just to sit by the window and let the sunlight warm my skin. The numbness was still there, lingering in the back of my mind, but it wasn't as suffocating. I was beginning to feel things again—tiny glimpses of emotions I'd thought I'd lost forever. Sadness, yes, but also something else. Hope.

Everest was patient, never pushing me but always there. I could see the relief in his eyes every time I made a little progress, like when I finally ate more than just a few bites of food or when I sat with him on the couch, letting him hold me while we watched something on TV. He didn't say much, but he didn't have to. His presence was enough to remind me that I wasn't alone.

And then there was Austin. He'd check in on me, making jokes to lighten the mood, and it helped more than I cared to admit. He'd talk about Brooke, the way he was trying to be better for her, and I could see how much he cared. Watching him fight for her made me realize that maybe—just maybe—I was still worth fighting for too.

I checked my phone for what felt like the hundredth time, hoping—maybe even praying—that there would be something. But just like every other time, there was nothing. No missed calls, no text messages. Nothing from Aunt Teagan. It shouldn't have surprised me, but it still hurt. I told myself I was done caring, that I had built up enough walls to protect myself from her silence, but the truth was, I still wanted her to care. I still wanted her to reach out... even if I didn't know what I'd say if she did.

At least Nana had called last night. She told me they had made it to Texas safely, and though her voice was steady, I could hear the sadness behind it. She was trying to be strong for me, but I knew this move was just as hard on her as it was on me. She talked about how different things were already, how the neighborhood was quiet and how she was trying to make it feel like home. I could tell she missed this place—our home—just as much as I did. But she kept her promise. She called, and that meant more to me than she probably realized.

Now, the house felt eerily quiet. Everest was gone, taking care of club business like he always did when things needed handling. I didn't ask what it was about—I never did. I knew enough to understand that sometimes it was better not to know the details. But with him gone, the emptiness of the house weighed on me. I hadn't realized how much I'd come to rely on his presence, even when we weren't talking. Just knowing he was around had kept me grounded.

I wandered through the living room, running my fingers along the edge of the couch as I passed by. The silence was almost deafening, and I hated how it made my thoughts louder. Being alone gave my mind too much space to wander, too much room to replay everything I was trying so hard to move past. But I wasn't ready to fall back into that dark place. Not again. So, I did the only thing I could think of—I kept moving, hoping that if I stayed busy, maybe the emptiness wouldn't swallow me whole.

I had been so caught up in my own little world, headphones in, music blasting, and completely lost in the rhythm. I probably looked ridiculous, dancing around and singing out loud with no one around to hear me. But for the first time in a long time, I didn't care. It felt good to move, to feel even a sliver of normalcy after everything I had been through.

I was in the middle of emptying the dishwasher, humming along to the beat as I stacked the plates when I glanced up—and froze.

Sara was standing in the doorway, her arms crossed and a nervous smile tugging at her lips. She gave me a small wave, but it was like my brain couldn't process what I was seeing fast enough. My heart jumped into my throat, and before I could stop myself, the cup I had been holding slipped from my hands, crashing onto the tile below and shattering into pieces.

"Shit," I muttered, yanking my headphones out as I took a step back. My pulse was racing, and I couldn't tell if it was from the shock of seeing her or the sound of the glass breaking.

"Sorry!" Sara said quickly, her eyes wide as she took a hesitant step forward. "I didn't mean to scare you... I knocked, but I guess you didn't hear me."

My mind was still trying to catch up, but I managed to force a breath out, trying to steady myself. "It's okay," I murmured, though my voice felt shaky. I crouched down, starting to gather the larger pieces of glass. "I just... wasn't expecting anyone."

"I know," she said softly, and I could hear the hesitation in her tone

. As I started picking up the larger pieces of glass, I felt Sara crouch down beside me, carefully helping gather the shards. The silence between us was heavy, but I could feel her glancing at me, waiting for me to say something.

"So..." I finally broke the tension, my voice quiet but laced with something I couldn't quite hide—maybe irritation, maybe just exhaustion. "What are you doing here, Sara?"

She shifted slightly, her fingers brushing against mine as she picked up a piece of glass. "I just... wanted to check on you."

I let out a soft scoff, barely looking at her. "Really?" I said, my tone a little sharper than I intended. I paused, setting the glass down on the counter before finally meeting her gaze. "It's been... what? Months? And now you decide to show up?"

Sara's expression faltered, her eyes dropping to the floor. "I know," she murmured softly. "I've been... I don't know, giving you space, I guess."

"Space?" I repeated, a bitter edge creeping into my voice. "Sara, let's not pretend like we've ever been that close. I mean... you're not exactly one of my favorite people."

I didn't say it to be cruel, but it was the truth. Sara had always been around, always part of the chaos that came with the club and everything else in my life. But she was never someone I turned to. If anything, she was just... there. And after everything that had happened, her sudden concern felt too little, too late.

"I get that," she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. "And I don't blame you for feeling that way." She glanced up, her eyes meeting mine again, this time filled with something I couldn't quite place—regret, maybe. "But I didn't come here to argue or make excuses. I just... wanted to see how you were."

I sighed, running a hand through my hair as I stood up, feeling the weight of her words settling over me. "Well," I muttered, my voice softer now. "As you can see... I'm surviving."

"Barely," she murmured under her breath, but I caught it.

I didn't respond. I didn't have the energy to argue with that. Because deep down, I knew she wasn't wrong.

"I just wanted to apologize for everything," Sara said softly, her voice almost hesitant. "And... I heard about your grandparents. I'm really sorry, Avery. I know things have been hard lately, and I'm..." She paused, her gaze meeting mine with a rare sincerity. "I'm really the only family you have left here in Locus. I don't want us to be on bad terms."

Her words caught me off guard, and for a moment, I didn't know how to respond. I crossed my arms, leaning back against the counter, trying to process what she was saying. Family. That word felt heavier now than it ever had before.

"I..." I started but didn't know where to go with it.

Sara must've sensed my hesitation because she quickly filled the silence. "Look, I know I wasn't exactly... the best," she admitted, her tone laced with guilt. "But I'm trying, Avery. I've been trying to fix things. I even... I made amends with Brooke."

That made me blink in surprise. "Brooke?"

She nodded, her expression softening a little. "Yeah. I mean, she wasn't exactly thrilled to see me at first, but we talked. And with her and Austin back together, I didn't want to keep holding onto all that... bitterness. It wasn't doing any of us any good."

I let that sink in for a moment. Brooke had never been Sara's biggest fan—and for good reason. But the fact that Sara was making an effort to fix things? That was something I never expected.

"I'm really trying to be a better person," Sara continued, her voice quieter now. "I've messed up a lot, Avery. I know that. But I don't want that to be... all I am. And I don't want things to be this way between us."

I looked down at the counter, my fingers absentmindedly tracing a line on the surface. There was a time when I wouldn't have cared what Sara had to say. But now? I wasn't so sure.

"Anyway," she added after a moment, her voice almost hesitant again, "I know it's a long shot... but I wanted to ask if you'd come to my graduation. It's coming up soon, and... it would mean a lot if you were there."

That hit differently. I lifted my eyes to meet hers, surprised by how genuine she sounded.

"Graduation?" I murmured softly, my mind flashing back to everything that had happened over the years.

The truth was, Sara wasn't even my full cousin by blood. Her father had married someone on my father's side, making her family by marriage, not by blood. But despite that technicality, she had always been around—sometimes too much, sometimes not enough. And even though we were never close, there was still a weird, tangled sense of obligation between us.

"I know I don't deserve to ask," she said softly, breaking through my thoughts. "But... I'd like to at least try to make things right."

I stayed quiet, my mind spinning with everything she'd said. A part of me wanted to tell her no—to keep that distance between us. But another part of me... wasn't so sure anymore.

I took a deep breath, letting her words settle in. My mind kept going back and forth, weighing everything that had happened between us. But as much as I wanted to hold onto the grudge, I knew that part of me was just... tired. Tired of carrying all that anger and hurt. Tired of keeping people at arm's length.

"Graduation's still a couple of months away, right?" I finally asked, my voice softer than I intended.

Sara's eyes lit up with a glimmer of hope. "Yeah," she said quickly, almost like she was afraid I'd change my mind. "It's in June. Plenty of time. I mean... you don't have to decide right now. I just—"

"I'll think about it," I cut in gently, offering her a small nod. "I'm not making any promises, but... I'll think about it."

The tension in her shoulders seemed to ease a little, and she gave me a hesitant smile. "That's all I can ask for."

The silence that followed wasn't as uncomfortable as I expected. For once, it felt... neutral. No animosity, no bitterness. Just two people trying to find common ground after everything that had been broken.

"Thanks, Avery," she murmured after a moment. "I mean it."

I gave her a small, almost tired smile. "We'll see how things go."

In truth, I wasn't sure how I felt about it yet. Graduation was still a couple of months away—plenty of time to change my mind. But for now? It felt easier to leave the door cracked open than to slam it shut completely. And maybe, just maybe, that was enough for now.

I stood by the window, watching Sara's car disappear down the dirt road, the sound of the tires kicking up gravel fading into the distance. It wasn't a big deal—nothing major had happened between us. Just another conversation that left me feeling a little... off. I meant it when I told her I'd think about it. And honestly, a part of me knew that going to her graduation wouldn't be the worst thing. I'd get to see Brooke walk too, and I was so proud of her. Brooke had a big family, always there, always cheering her on. She had people who showed up for her.

But Sara... she didn't have much. Her dad was around, but that was about it. And it's not like I had a big family either. Maybe that's why I couldn't shake the feeling that I should be there for her. I knew what it felt like to not have a crowd waiting for you at the finish line.

I let out a quiet breath, my fingers brushing against the cool glass as I closed the window shade. The house felt too quiet again, almost too still. I turned away and headed toward the kitchen, my eyes falling on the broken pieces of the cup I'd knocked off the counter earlier. I'd told myself I'd clean it up later, but "later" was just another excuse. So, I grabbed the dustpan and swept up the last of the shards, tossing them into the trash.

By the time I was closing the dishwasher, I heard the front door open. I glanced up just as Everest walked in, carrying two brown paper bags. His expression shifted the second he saw me—his easy smile fading into something softer, more careful.

"Hey," I said quietly, barely above a whisper. I could tell he hadn't expected me to be up and doing anything. There was a flicker of surprise in his eyes, but he didn't say anything about it.

"I got ya food," he said, his voice warm as he set the bags down on the table.

I walked over, unwrapping them, and the familiar smell of orange chicken, white rice, and broccoli hit me. He'd gotten my order exactly right—like he always did. It was such a small thing, but it made my chest ache in a way I wasn't ready to unpack.

"Thanks." I murmured, my fingers brushing lightly against the container.

"Anytime," he said softly, standing close but giving me space. And just like that, the house didn't feel quite so quiet anymore.

I stood by the counter, my arms crossed tightly over my chest, watching Everest move around the kitchen. I could feel the tension building, the quiet between us thick and uncomfortable. I knew this wasn't going to go the way I wanted, but I had to try.

"I was thinking..." I started softly, trying to keep my voice steady. "Maybe I could go back next week. Just for a couple of hours. See how it feels."

Everest didn't look up. He kept his focus on the takeout containers, but I saw the way his body stiffened, his jaw tightening.

"Back where?" His voice was low, but there was an edge to it.

"Work," I said, my tone a little quieter now. "Just part-time, Ev. Nothing crazy. I just need to... I need to feel normal again."

That was when I saw it—his whole body froze. He slammed the container down on the counter, his frustration erupting all at once. My chest tightened.

"Are you kidding me, Avery?" he snapped, his voice harsh and sharp. "After everything that's happened? After I told you—told you that if things got bad, you'd stop working? And here you are, still trying to go back?"

His words hit me harder than I expected, but I stood my ground, even though my heart was racing. "I'm fine, Everest. I need this. I need to feel like I'm doing something, like I'm not just—just stuck."

"You're not fine, Avery!" His voice rose, the anger boiling over. "You think just because you go back to work, everything's gonna magically be okay? It's not! You're still running from everything that happened, pretending like it never even happened, and I'm not gonna let you do that."

I felt my chest tighten, the words cutting through me. "I'm not running from it, Ev. I just want some sense of normalcy again. I can't keep sitting around here, doing nothing."

"Nothing?" He shook his head, his anger flickering into something more bitter. I opened my mouth to argue, but the words got stuck in my throat. The frustration was building inside me too, and I hated how right he sounded. But at the same time, I couldn't just sit here anymore.

"I'm not a kid, Everest," I finally said, my voice shaky. "I know my limits."

"Clearly not," he muttered under his breath, pacing a step away from me, his hands running through his hair in frustration. "I've been here, I've seen it, Avery. You just wanna pretend that everything's gonna go back to normal like nothing's happened until something happens again and you're laid up in bed for weeks killing yourself."

I could feel the tears pricking at the corners of my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. I wasn't going to let him see me break.

"I'm not asking for permission," I said, my voice quieter now, more determined. "I just want to feel like myself again."

Everest stopped pacing and turned to face me, his eyes full of anger, but also something else. Worry. Fear.

"Then stop pretending like everything's fine when it's not," he said, his voice hard, almost a growl. "You're not going back to fucking work! Even if I have to chain you to the god damn bed!"

I stared at him, the weight of his words sinking in. I wanted to argue, to scream, but instead, I just stood there, feeling the silence grow thicker between us.

Without another word, Everest grabbed his keys off the counter and stormed toward the door.

"Ev..." I tried, but my voice was barely a whisper, lost in the tension that hung in the air.

He didn't even look back as he walked out, slamming the door behind him so hard that I flinched. A moment later, I heard the roar of his motorcycle start up outside, the sound of it echoing in my chest as he revved the engine and sped off, leaving me standing there in the aftermath of it all.

I stood there for a long moment, the silence of the house pressing down on me. Everest's motorcycle revving out of earshot felt like a punch in the gut. What had I been thinking, bringing up going back to work? The second those words left my mouth, I regretted them. I knew I wasn't ready. I knew it wasn't about normalcy—it was about trying to bury everything that happened. Trying to forget. And now, after everything, it just felt like I'd made things worse.

I closed my eyes and let out a shaky breath. I couldn't go back to work. Not yet. Not like this. I wasn't fooling anyone, least of all myself. I wasn't healing by pretending I was fine. The reality of it all sank in like a stone in my stomach. The fear of it all—the way things were spiraling, how I kept trying to outrun the feelings instead of facing them—was crushing me. The way I was avoiding it... avoiding him... it was all becoming too much.

I dragged myself toward the bathroom, barely registering the steps as I moved. The mirror on the wall reflected a face I didn't recognize. Tired eyes, worn-out, too many thoughts swimming in my head. I stared at myself for what felt like hours, my reflection a ghost of who I used to be. A part of me hated what I saw. Another part of me was terrified of what was happening to me.

I pulled my phone out of my pocket and, almost instinctively, shot off a text to Bonnie and Tequila. I needed something. Anything. Some distraction.

As I pressed send, I sighed, the weight of it all pressing down even harder.