Page 20

TWENTY

FARRON

NOT LESS, JUST DIFFERENT

Day 474

I hear a knock on my front door as I finish slathering my hair in product, my fingers working through the thick curls in a mechanical, thoughtless rhythm. I’ve been on autopilot for the past few hours, letting the routine of self-care act as a shield from the emotions swirling inside me. I wrap my hair up in an old t-shirt and catch my reflection in the mirror. My eyes look hollow again like the person staring back is someone else entirely. They look the way they did months ago before the guys ever showed up at Rolling Hills.

I sigh, dragging my hand down my face.

Today, I needed to be alone, to have a moment where I could sit with the grief without anyone trying to distract me from it. I asked the guys for space. No checking in, no hovering—just me, myself, and my thoughts. They promised they’d leave me alone, and while I half expected one of them to break that promise and show up anyway, they’ve long since lost the decency to knock on my door. Mannerless heathens.

Either way, this knock is different—gentler. Hesitant.

I pause, my heart giving a strange flutter as I make my way to the front and pull the door open. I’m not sure who I expected to see, but it sure as hell isn’t Daisy standing on my porch, pregnant belly visible under her oversized sweater, offering me a soft, unsure smile. Her cheeks are flushed from the evening chill, strands of her red hair escaping from her messy bun, but it’s her eyes that catch me. Despite the shadows that surround them, they're full of understanding, full of... kindness.

Kindness I don’t deserve.

My stomach twists as guilt floods me.

She’s here, checking in on me, even though it should be the other way around. I lost my grandma, yes. But Daisy lost her husband—the father of her child—on the very same day. She only even lost him because he was trying to take care of Ma. The truth hits me like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, I feel like I can’t breathe. What kind of person am I that Daisy, of all people, is here to offer me comfort?

I should be the one making sure she’s okay. I should be asking how she’s holding up, how the pregnancy is going and if there’s anything she needs. I should have gone to check on her and done my fucking job as the doctor here. Instead, I’ve been wallowing, consumed by my own grief while hers has quietly settled into the background, unnoticed.

“Hey,” Daisy says softly, breaking through my spiral of guilt. Her voice is tender, as if she knows exactly what I’m thinking, as if she’s trying to tell me it’s okay. But it’s not. It’s not okay. I feel the weight of every selfish thought pressing down on me, but I force myself to meet her gaze.

“Daisy… I—” My voice falters, and I swallow hard, blinking back the tears that suddenly blur my vision. I should say something, but what? How do you apologize for being so wrapped up in your own pain that you forget someone else’s? Someone who lost so much more?

“I just wanted to check on you,” she says, stepping closer, her smile wavering but genuine. “I know it’s been… hard. But I’ve been thinking about you.”

I shake my head, stepping back from the door, motioning for her to come inside even though I don’t feel worthy of her presence. “You shouldn’t have come. You should be resting. You—” I stop myself, trying to keep the words from spilling out, trying not to let the guilt tear me apart right in front of her.

But Daisy doesn’t seem bothered by my awkwardness. She steps inside, shrugging off her jacket, and when she turns towards me, I watch the tears well up in her eyes. We must look a little wild, unmoving, and looking into each other's eyes as we cry. Finally, she caves, and she jumps towards me, wrapping me up in her arms. Her belly should make the embrace awkward, but it doesn’t. We fall apart in each other’s arms, crying as we hold each other. I try to awkwardly reach up towards my face with one of my hands to wipe the snot from under my nose, and when I do, Daisy pulls back.

I grab her hand and help her over to my couch to get her off her poor, probably swollen, feet already. I try to help her get comfortable, and she gives me another one of her soft, sweet smiles despite the pain I see in her eyes. I take a seat on the same couch but make sure to give her some space. My legs come up to my chest, and I wrap my arms around them as I watch her, trying to figure out how to say what I know I need to.

Before I can, though, another thought crosses my mind.

“Wait, did you come out here all on your own?” I ask her with a scowl on my face, the worry seeping into my tone.

“Of course not, Farron. Jasper walked me here—he’s going over to the Alden farm with your guys.” She rolls her eyes before continuing, “Plus, you said no one should be out on their own, and I always listen to you. Even when you don’t realize I am.” I watch as she sinks into the cushions, hands still on her belly. She throws her head back for a moment and lets out an awkward, slightly bitter chuckle.

“I always imagined being in your home with you,” she admits, eyes still focused on the ceiling above her. “I imagined the two of us as friends, having a girl’s night on your couch. Isn’t it funny that it took death to make something like this a reality?”

I frown as her words settle over me. “Daisy…”

She doesn’t move her head, but one of her hands comes up to swat at the air. “It’s fine, Farron. I’m not trying to guilt you or anything. I just always wanted to be your friend, is all I mean.”

“I don’t think I was ready for friends,” I admit, my eyes drifting over toward the kitchen, focusing on nothing in particular. “Holden had to constantly try to drag me up and out of my self-imposed suffocation when he was here. If the guys hadn’t been so insistent on being around me and getting to know me, I don’t think I would have been willing to let them in.”

“I’m happy they were persistent,” Daisy says with a soft laugh as her head comes down, her gaze meeting mine. “Anyone who’s known you even a little bit can see the change that being around them has brought. You seem lighter now, less like you’re constantly on a ledge. You deserve to be happy, Farron,” she tells me, reaching over to squeeze my hand in hers. I squeeze back immediately and then hold on to her.

“Daisy…” I start, my voice quiet in the room as I trail off almost immediately. “I can’t believe you’re here to check on me. I should be the one checking on you. I’m such a piece of shit, you know that? I may have lost Ma, but you lost your husband. My loss is?—”

“Different,” she interrupts softly. “Not less. Just... different.” She rubs her hand in circles over her belly, a movement that makes my heart squeeze with more guilt. I remember seeing Eric rubbing her just the same way. “We’re both grieving, Farron. It doesn’t have to be a competition over whose loss hurts more. Grief is… messy. And lonely. And sometimes, it’s easier when you don’t have to carry it all by yourself.”

“I know,” I whisper, my voice barely audible. “I know it’s obviously not a competition. But still… I should be the one checking on you. You’re the one who…” I trail off, unsure how to finish that sentence. Lost more? Is that even fair to say?

Daisy’s eyes soften, her lips pulling into a sad, understanding smile. “Farron,” she says gently, her hand pausing on her belly, “I’m just trying to stay distracted. To keep moving forward because…because I have to. For the baby. For him .” Her voice falters, and she looks away, her gaze fixing on something distant as if she’s trying to hold herself together. But I can see the cracks. She’s crumbling inside, just like I am.

Her breath shudders as she continues, “But inside…inside I feel like I’m falling apart. I don’t know how to do this without him, Farron. I don’t know how to be okay when everything feels so wrong.” Her hand trembles as she wipes a tear from her cheek. “Eric was supposed to be here. He was supposed to help me with all of this, and now… I’m alone. And I don’t know what to do.”

Hearing her say that makes my chest ache. It’s not just grief she’s carrying; it’s fear and uncertainty. The future without him is a gaping hole, and she’s trying to navigate it while keeping it together for her baby. My heart breaks for her, and for a moment, I’m not sure how to respond. What could I possibly say that would make this better?

I hesitate, my fingers tightening around my knees, digging into the fabric of my leggings. Then, with a deep breath, I decide to be honest, to open up in a way I haven’t before. Not with anyone but the guys. “I know it’s not the same,” I start, my voice shaky, “but I’ve felt that too. That feeling of…not knowing how to move forward. After I lost my parents, I was completely lost. And when Holden disappeared…and now Ma…” My voice cracks, and I swallow hard, pushing through the pain that rises in my throat. “I don’t know how to describe it. It’s like you’re stuck in this fog, and no matter how hard you try, you can’t see a way out.”

Daisy’s eyes flicker with understanding as she listens, and I feel like I’m not just talking about my grief. I’m sharing it with someone who truly gets it, who knows what it’s like to feel like the world’s been ripped out from under you.

“It’s hard to keep going,” I admit, my knees pulling tighter to my chest. “It feels impossible some days. And I know it’s different—what we’ve both been through. And I know it’s different for me now that I have the guys, but I get it, Daisy. I get what it’s like to feel like you’re crumbling inside. And I need you to know that you’re not on your own. Not now. Not ever.”

Her lips tremble as she presses them together, and for a moment, I think she’s going to break down again. But then she nods, her fingers brushing away another tear that slips down her cheek. “Thank you,” she whispers, her voice thick with emotion. “I didn’t realize how much I needed to hear that.”

I shift on the couch, scooting a little closer, and gently reach for her hand again. “I mean it,” I tell her firmly. “You’re not alone. I’ll be here for you, every step of the way. And when things get tough, we’ll face them together. You don’t have to carry this on your own, Daisy. You don’t.”

“I’m so scared,” she admits, her voice almost a whisper. “I’m scared of everything. Of the baby, of being a mom without him. Of how I’m going to do this. And I know I try to act strong, but sometimes… sometimes I feel like I can’t keep it up.”

“You don’t have to be strong all the time,” I tell her softly. “It’s okay to fall apart. It’s okay to cry and scream and feel like everything’s too much. You’re allowed that, Daisy. You don’t always have to be the one holding it together.”

Her shoulders sag, like the weight she’s been carrying is finally allowed to be set down, if only for a moment. “I just… I don’t want to let the baby down,” she whispers, her hand resting protectively over her belly. “I want to be everything for them, but I don’t know if I can do it without him. It feels selfish to even say, but I don’t know that I even want to do it without him.”

“You will,” I assure her. “You’re already doing it. You’re stronger than you know. And when it feels like you’re not, I’ll be here to remind you.” I make a move that the Farron of a year ago would have never done, and I pull away from her hands for a moment to pull her into my arms again, hugging her tightly.

“Maybe it’s time we try to do that friend thing you mentioned, hm?” I ask her, and I hear her light laugh near my ear. “That is, if you’re willing to give me a chance.”

Daisy pulls back from the hug, and her eyes shimmer with fresh tears, but this time, they’re tears of gratitude, of relief. She reaches for my hand again, holding it tight as she leans her head back against the couch. “Thank you, Farron,” she whispers again.

I squeeze her hand, feeling a quiet sense of resolve settle inside me. “Don’t thank me. I’m not going anywhere,” I promise her, my voice steady and sure. “I’m not going to let you feel like you’re on your own.”

I lean back, too, staring up at the ceiling. At that moment, sitting together in the quiet of my living room, I realize that maybe this is how we heal—by holding each other up when the weight of the world feels too heavy to carry alone. Grief may be messy and lonely, but we don’t have to walk through it by ourselves.