Mag-log inI start to stand.His hand shoots out and catches mine.He doesn't look up. Doesn't lift his head from his knees. Doesn't say a word. He just — grabs my hand with both of his and holds on, the way a person holds on when they're out at sea and have found the only thing left that's solid.I stop moving.I sit back down."I'm not going anywhere," I say softly. "I'm right here."The auditorium breathes around us — dim and gray, the ghost light throwing its pale circle over the empty stage — and Adam Hart, who has kept every wall up and every door locked since the day I met him, sits curled on the floor of Aldridge Auditorium holding my hand like it's the only thing keeping him inside his own body.So I stay.I don't talk. Don't fill the silence with reassurances that would ring false, don't perform comfort at him the way people do when they're scared of the quiet. I just stay — shoulder close to his, hand in
Liam's voice, when he talks about that day, drops to somewhere barely above silence."He was a different kid before it happened." He doesn't look at me. He looks at his hands, at the space between us, at something I can't see. "Loud. Ridiculously curious about everything. He used to chase the dogs around this yard laughing so hard he'd fall over." A pause. Long. Heavy. "I took him to the amusement park. I was thirteen. I thought I was old enough to be responsible for a six-year-old for one afternoon." His jaw tightens. "I wasn't."I don't say anything.I don't try to fix it, because you can't fix twenty years of a guilt that has calcified into something structural — something a person builds their sense of obligation around, quietly, without naming it. I just sit close and hold his hand and let the silence be what it is.After a while, he exhales.I lean my head against his shoulder."He came back," I say softly. "He's here. That matte
He steps through the auditorium doors like the sunset itself sent him.White shirt. Black backpack slung over one shoulder. The last amber light of the evening following him in through the gap, catching the sharp angles of his face as he moves down the aisle — unhurried, self-contained, carrying that particular quality of stillness that makes every room he enters feel like it's been waiting for him.Three girls in the second row audibly stop breathing.I feel my own heartbeat do something I choose to ignore."You're here," I say.Adam stops at the foot of the stage and looks up at me. "Didn't you say rehearsal starts today?"Not good to see you. Not sorry I'm late. Just that — blunt, clean, matter-of-fact — as if showing up was never in question even though every part of me spent the last forty-eight hours convinced he wouldn't."Yeah," I manage. "Welcome to the cast."Rehearsal begins
I walk through the front door dripping, shoes squelching, hair plastered to my neck, and Elizabeth Hart takes one look at me and says absolutely nothing for a full three seconds.Liam is on the couch beside her. His gaze travels from my face to my soaked shirt to the small puddle forming around my feet, and something in his expression moves — caught somewhere between concern and the very specific, private amusement of a man who is absolutely not going to say what he's thinking."Oscar," I explain, before either of them can ask."Of course," Elizabeth says, like this is a reasonable explanation for the state I'm in."I was helping with the bath. He shook." I gesture vaguely at myself. "This happened.""Go change," Liam says. Quiet. Easy. The tone of a man who is not worried about me but would like me to be dry.I head for the stairs.I'm halfway up when the front door opens again behind me. I turn.Adam walks
Robert Hart is "discharged" the next morning.He walks out of Mercy General in his own clothes, carrying his own coat, waving off the nurse who offers a wheelchair with the particular impatience of a man who has decided the performance is over and would like his dignity back. I watch from the car and think about what Liam told me on the drive home — they do some version of this every year — and feel the complicated mixture of exasperation and genuine tenderness that Robert Hart always manages to produce in me.He staged a cardiac episode to get his grandson home.And it worked.We're back at Hart Manor, and we're staying.Dinner that night is the first time I've seen Adam since Director Harmon's office.He's already at the table when I come down — jacket off, sleeves rolled, the version of him that exists inside this house that is somehow more dangerous than the campus version, because it's quieter. Less arm
The office door closes behind me and the noise of the floor disappears like someone cut a wire.Just us. Just the hum of the building and the last gold light pressing through the windows and Liam, already moving toward his desk with that unhurried ease that makes even the most chaotic situations feel like they were always under control.I stay by the door."That wasn't right," I say.He glances back. "Which part?""Firing Ava." I push off the door and cross toward him, because if I'm going to say this I'm going to say it to his face. "She was provocative and she staged the whole thing, and I'm not saying she didn't deserve consequences — but firing her on the spot? The moment I showed up? Liam, her family has connections all over this city. That's going to land on you."Liam looks at me for a long moment.Then he asks — completely calm, like it's a genuine inquiry and not a trap — "Was it satisfying? When I did it?"
The ride home was suffocatingly quiet.Allie Brooks stole glances at Liam Hart from the passenger’s seat, her reflection flickering in the rearview mirror. His jaw was clenched, his eyes fixed on the road, every muscle in his face a portrait of restrained anger. The tension in the car was so thick
David Brooks set down his coffee cup with a sharp clink, his piercing gaze fixed on Vivian. “You auditioned? And you didn’t think to tell me? This production is a collaboration between Cherry Scoop and Time Entertainment. I should’ve known about it beforehand.”Vivian Brooks, her voice laced with d
Every room here had a terrace, and the terraces were close enough that you could almost hear a neighbor’s whispered words.Allie stepped out onto her terrace, breathing in the crisp night air. But as her gaze wandered to the neighboring balcony, her breath caught. The figure standing there, illumin
Allison Brooks didn’t think it would be easy to bring herself to utter the words, even though they’d been burning inside her for days.“Let’s get a divorce,” she finally said, her voice steady despite the whirlwind in her chest.The moment those words left her lips, the air in the car shifted. It w







