Reclaiming Aria

The fire cracked like old bones, sparks spiraling into the summer night. Sweat clung to Aria’s temples, curls sticking to her face as she hugged her knees to her chest. Jamison had built the pit with Kade just last week—two hours, six splinters, and a whole lot of yelling.

Kade Calloway leaned back on his elbows across from her, shirt rumpled, boots stained with ranch mud, his face lit orange by flame. He was all sharp edges and quiet stares, and Aria hated the way her stomach flipped every time he looked her way—like the boys in her dog-eared paperbacks. The ones with leather jackets and bad grades who kissed girls under bleachers and got suspended for fighting. She’d hidden Bad Boy Breaks the Rules under her pillow three nights ago.

“You still reading those cheesy high school love stories?” Kade asked, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“At least mine have a plot,” she snapped, even though her cheeks flushed hot. “Yours just end in broken bones.”

She rolled her eyes when he teased her about reading instead of joining them for a game of chicken in the creek.

“You wouldn’t know a real man if he held the door for you,” he’d said.

“I’d know he wasn’t you,” she shot back, proud of the snap in her voice—even if her cheeks burned.

Jamison just laughed between them, always the bridge, always the buffer.

But that night… something unspoken clung to the air, didn’t it? Like the stars knew something none of them did.

Then—headlights.

Gravel crunched beneath tires, cutting through the laughter. A truck door slammed.

Elaine Calloway’s silhouette stumbled into view.

Her hands trembled at her sides. Her voice—cracked and raw—cut through the silence.

“Kade… baby… it’s your dad.”

The cab of the truck smelled like old coffee, hay, and something else—something hollow. Elaine gripped the wheel with white knuckles, her lips pressed into a line that looked like it’d never uncurve again. She didn’t speak. Didn’t cry. Just stared out the windshield like she was trying to drive through time itself.

Kade sat in the middle, stiff as a board. His jaw clenched so tight it could crack. Aria sat smashed against the passenger door, knees pulled up on the seat. Her side touched his. Just barely. Just enough.

His boots were planted firm on the floor, jeans dirty from the bonfire, hands balled into fists so tight his knuckles had gone pale. He didn’t blink. Didn’t twitch. Just stared straight ahead like if he moved, he’d come undone.

No one said a word.

Aria’s chest ached. She’d never seen him like this. Not loud. Not cocky. Not arguing with her just to piss her off.

Just broken.

She wanted to say something, anything—but her throat burned and her voice wouldn’t come. So she did the only thing she could. Slowly, gently, she reached across the seat and touched the back of his fist. Her small fingers rubbed over the tight ridges of his hand, soft and unsure.

He didn’t look at her.

But his fingers uncurled.

And without a word, he slid his hand into hers, palm to palm, their fingers twining in the silence like it meant something.

Because it did.

Even if they’d never speak of it again.

Three Days Later – The Funeral

The church smelled like lilies and despair.

The stained glass caught the morning sun, casting soft colors over the pews, but it couldn’t warm the room. Nothing could. Not with that damn pine box up front and a silence so heavy it felt like it was pressing on everyone’s ribs.

Aria sat beside Jamison and her parents, dressed in a black dress too tight in the sleeves. Her hands were folded, but her fingers wouldn’t stay still. She kept glancing toward the front row.

Elaine Calloway sat alone.

Kade was nowhere in sight.

They said his father died in a freak accident. A collapsed beam at some agricultural convention two states away. One moment he was calling about securing a new supplier for the ranch, and the next… gone. Just like that. Crushed. Bones and blood and headlines. No goodbye.

His mother had gotten the call.

She drove out to that damn bonfire, headlights slicing through the night like a blade, her face already shattered when she found Kade. He’d disappeared into himself the moment she whispered the news. Not a scream. Not a tear. Just silence.

Now, he was standing at the back of the church.

Black shirt. Shoulders sharp. Face unreadable. He didn’t move. Didn’t sit. Didn’t speak. Just stood there, arms crossed like if anyone tried to comfort him, he’d set the whole place on fire.

Aria watched him the whole service.

He never looked at her.

And when it ended—when people swarmed Elaine and tried to hug her like it would bring him back—Kade slipped out the door without a word.

She ran after him. Bare feet on the pavement, her church shoes dangling from her hand.

“Kade—wait!”

He didn’t stop.

“Kade, I—”

He turned. Eyes hard. Cold.

“Don’t,” he snapped.

She froze, chest heaving.

“I’m not weak,” he growled, and god, he sounded older than 14. “I don’t need you feeling sorry for me, Aria. I don’t need anyone.”

He walked off.

And that was the last time he looked at her like she mattered… for years.