Chapter 5

ANDREA AGE 16

I close the front door behind me and slip off my tennis shoes, setting them neatly against the wall. Practice ran late, so I'm getting home later than usual. Nobody texted to ask where I was, which is a relief. I hope no one noticed.

The house is quiet as I make my way to the kitchen. A folded note sits on the counter.

Left for a meeting. Back later for dinner.

— Love Mom and Dad ♡

I grab a banana and a bottle of water and head upstairs for a shower. Being home alone doesn't scare me anymore. Most of my PTSD has been worked through, except for the basement. Just thinking about that door makes my chest go tight. Hailey says it'll come with time, and I trust her. I don't know what I'd do without her, honestly.

In my room, I dig through my dresser for my favorite sweatshirt.. white, off-the-shoulder, the one Killian gave me for my sixteenth birthday. Star Girl is written across the front in baby blue. Paired with the matching shorts and socks, it's my definitive comfort outfit.

I've just stepped out of the shower when my phone rings. I wrap myself in a towel and jog to the counter, already smiling when I see Drew's name on the screen.

"Hey," I answer, setting the phone down to start my hair routine.

"Where are you? I didn't see your car when I pulled up."

"Oh, I'm at Logan's," he says. Voices murmur in the background. "Drea, what do you think about a sleepover?"

"A sleepover?" I raise an eyebrow, not entirely surprised. Drew is the only one still living here. When he graduates in May, he'll move out too. The thought sits heavy, but I understand.

"Yeah. Mom called and said they won't be home until late and asked if we'd come stay with you. You know, since you apparently need a babysitter." He snickers.

I roll my eyes. "Fine. But you're getting pizza. Marcus is off today and I'm starving."

"Obviously we're getting—" Drew starts, but Killian's voice cuts in from somewhere in the background.

"No pizza. We talked about your food plan for tennis, Drea." Faint, but serious.

He's not wrong. But pizza is pizza. A thud and a quiet ow follow, and I laugh.

"Don't listen to Mr. Nutrition over there," Drew says, unbothered. "We're getting pizza. Be there in a minute."

He hangs up before I can respond. I shake my head, finish scrunching my hair, pull on my clothes, and head downstairs.

The couch calls to me and I settle in, but my gaze drifts, like it always does — to the basement door in the corner.

Hailey mentioned exposure therapy as a possible next step. My stomach twists at the thought, but maybe she's right. Maybe a small step today.

I stand slowly and move toward it, stopping when I'm directly in front of the door. The gold handle catches the light. I stare at it. Images surface without permission, cold concrete, a thin dirty mattress, chains that dug into my skin. My chest pulls tight. My breathing shallows.

Breathe. Inhale for three, exhale for three.

I repeat it the way Mom taught me. The tightness loosens, fraction by fraction. My hand lifts toward the handle, trembling, and I turn it just slightly. The door creaks open a crack —

The front door swings open. Voices pour in. I stumble back, heart slamming.

"What were you doing?"

Logan. Arms crossed, leaning against the wall, dark eyes already narrowed at me.

"Nothing," I say, defensive. "I was just trying to open the door. I couldn't."

The disappointment settles heavy in my chest. Why can't I just get past this?

"You know you're not supposed to try that alone," he says, his tone sharp. "Remember what happened last time?"

I wince. Last year I panicked so badly I blacked out. They found me on the floor, unconscious. Mom and Dad made me promise not to try it alone after that.

I cross my arms and meet his eyes. "I'm sixteen, Logan. I can handle it."

Something shifts in his expression, amusement, maybe, or something close to it. "Are you?"

I nod and hold his gaze.

"Then go ahead." He gestures toward the door. "Show me."

My heart stumbles, but I keep my face steady. I won't let him see it. I walk back to the door, hand hovering over the knob. It's just a door. I can do this.

The knob turns. The door creaks open a crack.

A hand reaches past me and pushes it shut.

I spin around to argue, but Logan speaks first.

"See?" His voice is quieter now. He reaches up and wipes tears from my face that I didn't realize were falling. "You're not ready yet. That's okay. Stop pushing so hard, Andrea, you'll only hurt yourself."

It's firm but not cruel, and something in the tone makes my chest ache in a different way. He steps back and settles onto the couch. I stand there, fingers still trembling, staring at the closed door.

Everyone else starts filtering in. Mom and Dad come through last, which surprises me, I thought they'd be gone until later. I open my mouth to ask, but Mom is already crossing the room, her expression worried.

"Why are you crying, little love?" She pulls me close and kisses my forehead.

I sniffle. "Nothing. I'm just tired of being scared of a door."

She smooths my hair. "Don't be so hard on yourself. You'll get there."

Dad places a steady hand on my shoulder. "She's right. When you're ready, it'll happen."

I manage a small smile. "What are you both doing home so early?"

The warmth in the room shifts. Something tightens in the air. Mom and Dad exchange a look... brief, unreadable. I glance around at the boys. Reid is unusually quiet, his easy calm feeling more like a mask. Drew isn't cracking jokes. Killian won't look at me. Logan and Austin are stone-faced, which isn't unusual, but something about it feels different today.

"Is something wrong?" My voice comes out smaller than I intend.

"Come sit with me, Andrea," Mom says, taking both my hands and guiding me to the couch.

She used my full name. This is serious.

"Your father and I have to leave for a while," she begins, glancing at Dad before coming back to me. "Something urgent has come up, and we don't know how long we'll be gone."

I start to ask, but Dad raises a hand gently.

"I know you want to ask," he says. "But it's safer if you don't know the details. The boys will stay here with you. We're hoping to be back before the month is out, but—" He doesn't finish the sentence. He doesn't need to.

I swallow everything I want to say. If they don't think I need to know, then I don't. But the not-knowing burns.

"Okay," I say quietly. "I understand."

Mom pulls me into a long hug. "Thank you, little love," she whispers, and her voice is thick.

Dad squeezes my shoulder. "We'll call as often as we can."

Their goodbyes are warm and lingering. I sit still after the door closes and their car disappears down the drive.

Killian's voice finds me through the quiet. "On the bright side, it'll be like old times. All of us under the same roof."

That lands. I smile, and the tightness in my chest eases just a little. I've missed this. They're all so busy now, and even with Drew still here, it hasn't felt the same.

"All in favor of throwing a proper party, raise your hand," Drew announces, shooting his own hand up dramatically.

Killian sighs. "We're not throwing a party."

He picks up the remote and looks at me. "What do you want to watch?"

I glance around the room. Everyone spread out across the sectional, each in their own world. I know they'd hate anything I actually want to watch, I'm purely a romance-and-drama person and I've made my peace with that.

"You pick," I mumble, pulling a blanket over me and Drew.

He immediately tries to steal it. I glare. He laughs and drapes it back over both of us.

"I didn't ask them," Killian says. "I asked you."

He always sees through me. I drop my head back against the couch and think for a moment.

"Harry Potter," I say. "Nobody hates Harry Potter."

He doesn't argue. The opening music fills the room and I settle in. Logan and Austin murmur to each other occasionally throughout, but it's low enough not to bother me. When the credits roll, Drew makes a show of snoring loudly and dramatically.

I lean over Reid, grab a decorative pillow, and smack Drew with it. He yelps. And just like that, chaos.

He snatches a pillow and retaliates. I scramble for cover beside Austin, hoping for an ally. He watches the whole thing with the mild amusement of someone watching a nature documentary. No help whatsoever. I'm convinced he enjoys watching me suffer.

Logan looks like he's reconsidering all his life choices.

Reid and Drew join forces against me. Killian, bless him, takes my side. I'm not totally outnumbered. A pillow catches me square in the face. I squeal and hurl one back, it hits Drew directly in the eye. He growls dramatically, vaults over the couch, and scoops me up like a bag of laundry.

"You're so annoying," I laugh, squirming as he tickles my sides. "Put me down! Someone — anyone — help!"

Nobody helps. Predictably.

Drew drops me back onto the cushions with a thud. I snort and throw my feet into Austin's lap. He doesn't move them. I take that as acceptance.

"You're insufferable," I mumble, closing my eyes.

"Probably," Drew says, dropping down beside me and tucking my head into his lap. His fingers move through my hair in slow, easy strokes. "But you still love me."

"Regrettably," I say, peeking up at him with a grin. The rhythmic motion settles me, my laughter fading into something quieter.

"A win's a win, Drea," he declares.

"When are you going to tell me what's actually going on?" I ask, yawning into the blanket.

I understand why they keep things from me. I do. But the feeling that I'm missing something that directly involves me won't go away.

Reid leans forward from the armchair across from us, elbows on his knees, eyes finding mine. "I'd keep every secret in the world from you if it meant keeping you safe. When you truly need to know something, I promise, you'll know."

There's no room for argument in his voice. I nod. With Reid, when he says something, he means it. He's always been the most reckless of them, someone who leans into danger rather than away from it, but his word has never been empty.

I'm nearly asleep when Logan's voice cuts through everything, sharp and low.

"Killian. Turn on the TV. Channel 18. Now."

My eyes open. My heart picks up at his tone alone. Killian doesn't hesitate, he grabs the remote and flips the channel.

A blonde news anchor fills the screen, her expression composed and professional. Her words are anything but.

"Breaking news. A government-operated aircraft has been recovered in the Gulf of Mexico. The plane was found engulfed in flames. The cause of the crash is currently unknown, though early evidence suggests a possible terrorist attack. The FBI has launched a full investigation and is on scene."

The sound seems to hollow out around me. My pulse thuds louder than anything else in the room.

Please. Please don't let it be them.

"There were two known passengers aboard at the time of the crash," the reporter continues. "Two senior government agents. Cade and Dorathy Storm."

The room stops.

My breath catches and doesn't come back. I stare at the screen and wait for something to correct itself, a retraction, a mistake, anything. But the weight in my stomach doesn't lift. It drops further.

"No," I whisper. The word barely makes it out.

I look at the others. Killian's hand shakes where it holds the remote, knuckles pale. Reid is hunched forward, jaw locked, staring at the floor. Austin's face is unreadable, but his fingers press hard against his thigh. Drew, who always finds the words, has none. His eyes are fixed on the screen, wide and still.

And Logan... Logan isn't moving at all. His eyes are on the TV with an intensity that frightens me more than anything else in the room.

The walls feel like they're closing in.

This can't be real. Not them. Not us.