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I blow out a breath. “Maybe it’s good for both of us that we’re taking things slow.”

He nods. “Promise me you’ll tell me if I do or say something you don’t like.”

“I promise.”

His lips tip up into a small smile, and he tugs on my arm, pulling me into his lap. “Good. Now are you sure you can’t hang out tonight?” He wraps his arms around me, and I sink into his touch, my eyes fluttering shut.

“I wish.”

He brushes my hair aside and kisses my cheek. “Okay. If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

I’m folding laundry on the couch a few hours later when my phone rings.

“Hey, Dad.”

“Hey, Becca,” Jill says.

I sit up straight, my heart racing. “Is Dad okay? ”

“He’s fine. He’s outside, talking to the couple in the RV next to us. I’m sorry for panicking you. I wanted to call and talk to you, but of course I couldn’t find my phone.”

She chuckles, and I let out a breath, relieved there’s nothing wrong with my dad.

“Did you put it in the fridge again?” I frown, thinking back to the last time she lost her phone. She eventually found it a few hours later in the fridge when she went to put the groceries away. I don’t know how she loses it when they live in a forty-foot RV. But she does.

“I checked in all those places. Even called it with your dad’s phone, and nothing.”

“The storage under the sofa?”

“I’ll have to check there. I was organizing earlier, so maybe I set it down in one of the drawers. Do you have time for a quick chat?”

I get comfortable, leaning back against the cushions, and turn the television off. “Sure.”

She clears her throat. “The real reason I called is because we spoke to Mason again recently. He said he still hasn’t heard back from you.”

My stomach sinks at the mention of my brother.

“I know. I just . . .”

“I know what you said at Christmas about it, and I respect your decision, but—“

“Jill,” I cut her off. “I know you mean well, but I don’t want to talk to him right now. I don’t want to rehash everything.”

“It’s not your fault. Everything that happened. Is. Not. Your. Fault. Please hear him out. For yourself. For me. For your father. He’s still sober. This time is different.”

Different how?

“I’ll think about it.”

We spend the next several minutes catching up before we hang up. I drop my phone onto the cushion next to me, squeezing my eyes shut.

I don’t know what to do.

Part of me wants to talk to him. Hear what he has to say. But part of me doesn’t .

I don’t know if I can go through hearing he’s sober and clean again, only to get another phone call from my dad in a few weeks telling me that Mason has disappeared, and no one can get a hold of him.

I still remember the first time it happened, when he finally resurfaced—hopped up on whatever his drug of choice was at that moment. He called me from a phone at some diner. Told me it was all my fault he was addicted to drugs, that he couldn’t stay sober for more than a few weeks.

Dad and Jill have both tried to reassure me that he only said it because he was high. That he didn’t mean it. But I’ve never been able to believe them.

I suppose I can at least listen to his voicemail. Doesn’t mean I have to call him back. But at least if Jill or Dad ask, I can tell them I listened to it.

Before I can talk myself out of it I grab my phone, click on Mason’s message, and hit the speaker option.

“Hey sis.” He clears throat. “It’s Mason.” He pauses. “Not that you don’t know that. I was calling to talk about . . . well, everything. Please give me a call when you get this. Bye.”

I hit the Play button, needing to hear his message again. He does sound better, good even. But then again, what do I know?

Listening to his message didn’t help me decide whether to call him back or not, the way I hoped it would. I’m pulled out of my thoughts by a knock at my door.

I open it to find Holt, a baby monitor in his hand, on the other side.

“Hey. What’s up?”

“I’m sorry to bother you. I know you’re busy.”

“It’s no bother. Want to come in?” I step out of the way.

“No, Hazel’s asleep next door, and I don’t want to be gone long. I was hoping you could do me a big favor. I wouldn’t ask, but it’s an emergency.”

“Sure. You could have called me.”

He runs a hand through his hair. “I didn’t even think about it.” He grimaces. “Can you stay with Hazel? She’s asleep and should be for the next few hours. I wouldn’t ask you except— “

I put a hand on his arm to stop his rambling. “Of course. What’s going on?”

“Hadley drove my truck tonight even though I told her to take the G-Wagon, and now the truck won’t start. She’s stuck in Ocala.”

My chest tightens.

I wish I could count on my brother the way Hadley can count on hers.

“That sucks. Did she call a tow truck?”

“It’s on the way. She said she could get a rideshare home, but I’d hate for her to drive all the way back here with a stranger.”

“Understood. Let me grab my stuff, and I’ll be right over.”

“Thank you.” He turns on his heel and hurries back over to his apartment.

He greets me at his door a few minutes later when I knock. Ushering me inside, he gives me a hurried set of instructions about how to make a bottle for Hazel if she wakes up, tells me where the emergency numbers are in case I need them, and then he’s off.

A few hours later, I’m almost through the movie I’m watching when Hazel cries out. I pause it and head into Holt’s room, and over to the crib.

“Hey, Hazel girl.” I reach down and pick her up, but as I lift her out of the crib, she cries harder.

“Shhhh. It’s okay. Let’s get your diaper changed.” I make quick work of changing her, hoping it will help, but she just cries more, her face turning red.

“Oh, my sweet girl. It’s okay. Are you hungry?” I cuddle her closer to me, rocking her gently as I walk out of the bedroom and into the kitchen. She continues to sob.

Now I know how Holt felt all those months ago, when she would cry late at night.

Somehow, I manage to make her a bottle one handed, but it’s all for naught because she refuses it, and cries even more.

“Daddy will be home soon, baby girl.”

I lift her up and put her over my shoulder, wondering if maybe she has gas stuck. I pat her gently on the back, and the crying stops for a second. I breathe out a sigh of relief but then feel something warm running down my back.

“Oh no. Oh no.” I reach for the burp cloth that’s lying on the arm of the couch, and she starts crying again.

Holt trusted me with his daughter for a few hours, and now she’s throwing up. This is all my fault. He’s going to hate me. Blame me for Hazel getting so worked up she got sick.

Before I can so much as move, I hear the front door open, and tears well in my eyes as Hazel continues to cry.

“What happened?” Holt asks, rushing to my side.

He takes Hazel from me, rocking her the same way I was, except when he does it, it has the expected effect, and she starts to calm down.

I shake my head. “I’m sorry. I don’t know.” The tears fall harder now. “She woke up a little bit ago. I tried everything. Changed her diaper. Offered her a bottle. I thought maybe she had a burp stuck. And then this.”

“I got her. I’ll clean her up.” Hadley takes Hazel and walks out of the living room.

“Come on. Let’s get you a clean shirt.” Holt takes my hand and leads me into the bathroom. “Be right back.”

I sink down onto the closed toilet seat and drop my head into my hands. I don’t move until Holt comes back into the bathroom. He shuts the door and hands me a shirt, one of his.

“I’m sorry.” I take my vomit covered shirt off and put on his, all the while avoiding his gaze.

“For what?”

“All of this. You trusted me to take care of Hazel, and she got sick while I was taking care of her.”

“It’s not your fault, Becca. She’s fine.

It happens to me too. She works herself up for whatever reason and is inconsolable.

Hadley just took her temperature, and she doesn’t have a fever.

” He wraps his arms around me, and I sink into his embrace.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he repeats, rubbing a hand down my back. “Talk to me. What’s really going on?”

“Bad things happen to the people I care about . . . ”

He sucks in a breath. “What do you mean?”

“My brother is an addict, and it’s all my fault. My father got hit by a drunk driver—my mother—when I was in high school. And it was all my fault. Everyone I care about gets hurt. Just like Hazel did tonight.”

“I’m sorry you went through all of that, but I find it hard to believe that any of it was your fault.”

I scoff, pulling out of his embrace.