Chapter Two

The conversation peters out after that, the tension still lingering but softened by Jack’s words. We eat the last bites of our meal in relative quiet, the clatter of forks on plates filling the gaps between unspoken thoughts.

“Alright,” Mom says finally, setting her napkin down. “Let’s get this cleared.”

I push back my chair and stand, grabbing the plates. Josh follows suit, though he’s slower, lingering at the table a moment longer before helping. Even in the mundane act of clearing the dishes, the weight of the day seems to press on us both, though differently—me with longing and guilt, him with that quiet protectiveness he can’t quite shake.

I rinse the salad bowl at the sink while Josh stacks plates and cups by the dishwasher. Mom dries and puts away silverware, while Jack wipes down the table. The routine is comforting, grounding, even if my mind is elsewhere, still hovering over Gavin’s message glowing on my phone in my pocket.

“You’ve both been quiet lately,” Mom says gently, leaning against the counter. “I know summer’s over, and things are changing. But don’t let it sit inside you. Talk—if not to each other, then to us.”

Josh doesn’t look up, but his hands slow slightly on the plates he’s stacking. I nod, murmuring a soft “I know,” even though the words feel small.

The sink fills with suds as I scrub the last of the dinner remnants. Outside, the wind rattles the trees, shaking loose the first golden leaves of autumn. The house smells like garlic, roasted vegetables, and the faint warmth of family—the ordinary smells grounding me, even as my chest feels tight with everything that’s not ordinary.

Jack comes over to hand me a stack of glasses to dry. “You’re doing fine,” he says, voice steady. There’s no judgment, only support, but it carries weight—a reminder that we’re all noticing the shifts, the quiet fractures that summer left behind.

I dry the glasses slowly, stealing a glance at Josh. His jaw is tight, hands busy, eyes focused on anything but me. Protective. Loyal. Silent. And for a moment, I wonder if he knows just how tangled I feel—caught between him, Gavin, and the thread of our Summers past.

The chores keep us moving, a rhythm that almost makes the ache bearable. Plates washed, counters wiped, silverware put away. The kitchen gleams under the warm overhead light, ordinary and perfect in its routine, even as autumn stretches in at the windows, scattering leaves across the lawn.

After the last dish is dried and stacked, the kitchen feels too bright, too clean. Josh doesn’t linger. He mutters something about homework, not quite meeting my eyes, and disappears down the hall. His door shuts with that familiar low thud, the kind that doesn’t mean anger exactly—just distance.

I stay in the kitchen a while longer, wiping the counters a second time even though they don’t need it. My thoughts feel restless, circling the same ache. Finally, I set the towel down and head for the hallway. My feet carry me before I can talk myself out of it.

I stop in front of Josh’s door, hesitating. The faint glow of his lamp seeps through the crack at the bottom, shadows shifting as he moves around. My stomach knots, but I raise my hand and knock.

There’s a pause. Then, a tired, muffled: “Yeah?”

I push the door open just enough to peek in. He’s sitting at his desk, notebook open, pen tapping against the margin like he hasn’t written a single word. His shoulders tense when he sees me.

“Can I—” I step inside, closing the door behind me. “Can I just… talk to you?”

Josh leans back in his chair, arms crossed. He doesn’t say no, which feels like the best invitation I’m going to get.

I sit on the edge of his bed, picking at the hem of my hoodie. The words tumble out before I lose my nerve. “Are you really going to hate Gavin over this? Over me—over how I feel about him?”

His eyes flash, sharp even in the dim light. “It’s not just about you.” His voice is low, clipped. “Do you not remember what he did to Mara? He broke her heart, Ari. Treated her like—like she was just some distraction until something better came along.”

“That’s not—” I start, but he cuts me off with a shake of his head.

“You didn’t see her after. You didn’t see the way she cried to me, the way she couldn’t even say his name without choking on it. And now what—you think you and him are just gonna ride off into some happily ever after? You think that won’t tear this whole thing apart?”

I swallow hard, my chest tightening. “So what—you’re saying I’m supposed to just ignore how I feel? Pretend like it doesn’t matter?”

Josh slams his pen down, the sound making me flinch. “I’m saying it does matter. To all of us. To everything we built together. Our group might not survive if you and Gavin decide to play house while the rest of us are left bleeding from the fallout.”

His words sting because there’s truth in them, and because I don’t want to admit how scared I am of the same thing. I press my hands together in my lap, my voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t want to lose what we had. Any of it. Not you, not Mara, not him.”

Josh exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. For a moment, he looks less angry and more… tired. “Yeah, well. Sometimes you don’t get to keep everything, Ari. Sometimes something breaks, and it doesn’t come back.”

The silence after that stretches, heavy and suffocating. I wish I knew how to fix it, how to make him understand that my feelings for Gavin don’t erase all of our friendships. But staring at Josh’s guarded expression, I’m not sure he believes that’s even possible.

Josh’s words hang between us, sharp and final. I sit there on the edge of his bed, staring at my hands like maybe they’ll come up with something to say for me. But nothing comes.

Instead, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I glance at the screen—Gemma.

A text. You okay? Been quiet today.

For a second, I want to just pour everything out to her, like I always used to. Gemma was the one who could read me without me even speaking, the one who knew when to push and when to just let me sit in silence. Even now, from hours away, she feels closer than anyone.

But how do I tell her this? That I’m caught between my brother and his best friend, between the boy who once broke Mara’s heart and the boy who doesn’t trust me not to repeat history?

I tuck the phone back into my hoodie pocket without answering. Not yet.

Josh notices. His eyes narrow. “Gemma?”

I nod. “She just… she checks in.”

“She should,” he says, softer this time. “She’s the only one who really sees you, Ari. Always has.” He rubs at his jaw, then shakes his head. “But even she’d tell you—getting tangled up with Gavin? It’s a bad idea. It’ll break more than it’ll fix.”

The thing is, I’m not sure he’s right. Because if anyone has ever made me feel less broken, less invisible, it’s Gavin. And if anyone could understand that kind of pull, it’s Gemma.

I swallow hard, trying not to let my voice shake. “What if it’s not about fixing or breaking? What if it’s just… about choosing? About letting myself feel something real, even if it’s messy?”

Josh doesn’t answer right away. He just stares at me, like he’s seeing both the little sister he swore to protect and someone he doesn’t quite recognize anymore. Finally, he mutters, “Then you’d better be ready for the mess, Ari. Because it won’t just be yours.”

I stand up from the bed, my hands shaking. “You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t see how messy this could get? I do, Josh. I’ve thought about it every single night since summer ended. But you don’t get it—he’s not the same with me as he was with Mara.”

Josh shakes his head, but I don’t let him cut me off.

“He listens. He pays attention in a way that makes me feel like I actually matter. He doesn’t look at me like I’m some placeholder or some game. He looks at me like I’m—” My voice cracks, and I swallow hard. “Like I’m worth protecting. Like I’m worth staying for, even when he’s three hours away.”

Josh’s jaw tightens, but there’s something flickering in his eyes now—doubt, maybe, or just the weight of hearing me say out loud what we’ve both known but never named.

“You think I’m blind?” I whisper. “I saw how much Mara loved him. I saw how badly it ended. But Josh, I’m not her. And he’s not the same with me. You can hate it, you can hate him, but I can’t keep pretending like my feelings don’t exist just because it might ruin the neat little picture we used to have.”

The silence between us stretches, heavy and dangerous, and I know I’ve said too much. But I don’t regret it.

Josh doesn’t answer. For a long moment, the only sound in the room is the faint tick of the clock on his desk. He stands there, arms crossed, eyes fixed on some invisible point on the floor like if he looks at me, he’ll have to admit I’m right.

I can see it in the tight set of his jaw, the way his shoulders rise and fall like he’s holding back words he doesn’t trust himself to say. He doesn’t want to admit it—not yet, maybe not ever—but I know he heard me.

The silence stretches until it’s almost unbearable. My chest aches, but I don’t break it. Not this time.

Finally, Josh scrubs a hand over his face, his voice low, rough. “You should go, Ari. Just… go to bed.”

It’s not anger, not really. It’s retreat. The kind that tells me he’s not ready to talk about this anymore, maybe not ready to face the truth of it at all.

I linger in the doorway, my hand on the knob, wanting to say something—anything—to pull us back to where we used to be. But the words don’t come. So I nod, quietly, and slip out, leaving him in the glow of his desk lamp, swallowed by silence.

The hall feels colder than it should as I make my way to my room. My phone buzzes again—Gemma this time, another message unread—but I can’t bring myself to look. Not yet.

Because tonight, all I can hear is the silence Josh left me with, and the echo of Gavin’s words still burning in my pocket.

I slip out of Josh’s room and retreat to mine, shutting the door softly behind me. My chest feels tight, my head buzzing with all the words we threw at each other—and the ones we didn’t.

I collapse onto my bed, pulling my hoodie tighter, when my phone buzzes again. Gemma.

Hey. You’ve been weird all day. Want to tell me why? Or should I guess?

I stare at the screen for a long time, my thumbs hovering. A dozen words burn on the tip of my tongue, but only two make it out.

It’s Josh.

The little dots appear almost instantly, like she’s been waiting.

Of course it is.

I swallow hard, curling onto my side. Another bubble pops up.

He’s not mad because it’s Gavin. He’s mad because it’s you. Because he doesn’t know how to protect you from something he can’t control. And because for once, you’re choosing something he can’t stop.

More tears blur my vision, because she’s right. She’s always right.

And Ari… don’t twist yourself in knots trying to fix him. You don’t need to. He’ll come around. He always does. But you can’t keep pretending you don’t feel what you feel just because your brother is scared of losing his little sister to his best friend.

Another pause, then the one message that undoes me completely:

And for the record? Gavin isn’t Mara’s story anymore. He’s yours. He’s always been.

I clutch the phone to my chest, tears spilling into my pillow.

I’m still clutching the phone when the screen lights up again—this time with Gavin’s name.

 For a second, my breath catches. It’s like the universe is listening, cruel or kind, I can’t tell.

I swipe to answer, pressing it to my ear.

 “Hey,” I manage, steady as I can.

But my voice betrays me, thin and frayed.

“You’ve been crying.” His words aren’t a question.

“I’m fine,” I lie automatically, because what else am I supposed to say? That I feel like the whole world’s unraveling without him here to hold it together?

“Ari.” His voice softens, low and certain in a way that makes my chest ache. “You don’t have to do that with me. You never did.”

Tears sting hot in my eyes again. I roll onto my back, staring at the ceiling like it might steady me.

 “I just…” My throat tightens. “I miss you. I hate that you’re not here. I hate that everything feels different now.”

There’s silence on the line, but not empty—just Gavin breathing, like he’s gathering the words that matter.

“I miss you too. More than you think. Every second of this place feels wrong without you.” He exhales, and I can picture him, running a hand through his hair, eyes narrowed in that way that means he’s fighting something back. “But this—us—it’s not going to break just because we’re three hours apart. We’re stronger than that, Ari.”

I press the heel of my hand to my eyes, trying to quiet the sob caught in my throat. “It just hurts. Not seeing you every day after… after this summer.”

“I know,” he whispers. “I feel it too. But listen to me—summer wasn’t the end. It was the start. And I don’t care if I have to count down the days until graduation or the hours until I see you again, I’m not letting this go. Not you.”

Something loosens in my chest, not gone, but lighter—like his words stitched me together where I’d started to fray.

“I love you,” I breathe, voice breaking in the middle.

“I love you too,” Gavin says, steady as anything. “More than you’ll ever know.”

And for a moment, with his voice in my ear, the distance doesn’t feel quite so impossible.

“I love you too,” Gavin says, steady as anything. “More than you’ll ever know.”

There’s a beat of silence, just his breathing in my ear, before he adds, “Hey… maybe I can come down for Halloween. It wouldn’t be for long, just the weekend. I can talk to my mom, see if I can make it work.”

My heart skips. “Really?”

“Yeah. I’ll try not to make it obvious, though. You know how my mom is—she’ll start asking questions I can’t exactly answer yet.”

“Marianne notices everything,” I murmur, half-smiling through the tears.

“She does,” he agrees, with a soft laugh that makes my chest ache with how much I miss him. “But I’ll figure it out. Just… keep it between us for now, okay?”

I nod even though he can’t see me, hugging the phone tighter. “Okay. I’ll keep it quiet.”

“Good.” His voice drops, gentler. “Because I don’t want anyone messing this up before it’s even had a chance. Not Josh, not my mom, not anyone.”

I close my eyes, letting his words sink into the hollow spaces inside me. “I’ll wait,” I whisper. “No matter how long it tak

es.”

“You won’t have to wait forever, Ari. Just until Halloween. Then you’ll see—I’ll be there.”