Page 46 of Revere

I roll my eyes, redoing my ponytail for the tenth time tonight as I walk into the kitchen. “Are you staying awake until Kole gets back?”

“Probably, I can’t sleep when he’s not here.”

“Coffee, then?”

“Yes, please.”

I flip on the coffee machine and pull out mugs and creamer. “Have you heard from Mila this week?”

“Once in the group chat, I think. Why?”

“She’s been quiet. I hope everything’s okay.” I rest my elbows on the counter as the first cup of coffee starts to brew. “I think the carnival being in town is bringing things up for her. I didn’t realize that’s how she grew up.”

“Me either. Can you imagine being raised by parents who run a carnival?”

“No.” I shake my head. “I should check in with her when I’m back in Bristal this weekend to see how she’s doing.”

“You’re going back?” Violet’s eyebrows pinch, and I realize that with all our studying, I forgot to tell her about my conversation with my mom last night.

“Just for one day.” I grab her coffee and hand it to her. “Sorry, I forgot to tell you. My mom won’t stop texting me about my brother. She’s worried and wants me at family dinner on Sunday. I need to see how he’s doing with my own eyes.”

“He’s still not speaking to anyone, right? Even though he’s out of Montgomery.”

I shake my head. “Not that I’ve heard.”

My heart sinks at that thought. What I wouldn’t give to hear my brother’s voice. His laugh. They might have been few and far between growing up, but they were always comforting.

One of the hardest parts of what happened to my brother isn’t that healmostdied; it’s that a piece of him actually did. He isn’t the same person I grew up with.

My best friend.

The one person I could trust.

Alex walked out the other side of his trial a different man. And when that happened, he wasn’t the only one who lost something. I lost him, making me truly, entirely alone.

It’s selfish, and I hate myself for it. But it’s true.

“How are you feeling about seeing your mom?”

I shrug. “Like I better find something nice to wear or I’m going to hear about it for the next year.”

“She’s that particular?”

“You have no idea.”

People chastise me for being cold and judgmental. That’s only because they haven’t been face-to-face with Ursa Lancaster.

“Well, I’ll send good luck your way.”

“Thanks.” If only that were enough.

Taking a sip of my hot coffee, the steam isn’t enough to warm the chill running through me at the thought of facing my mother this weekend.

Nothing is.

“No. No. No.” Mom rips shirt after shirt from the shopping bag, slicing a knife through them. “This is my fault for letting you shop with your friends.”

“Not the black one.” I hold up my hands as she takes the next shirt from the bag and holds the blade to it.