Chapter ten
Bryan
The sun’s high overhead by the time I finish digging out the last of the overgrown weeds. My shirt’s damp with sweat, dirt streaking my forearms, but I barely notice. My focus is on the small patch of earth in front of me, the forgotten garden, the one Emma used to tend with that soft, devoted care she had for everything that breathed.
It’s been buried for years under weeds and tangled vines, forgotten just like everything else we left behind. But today, something in me refuses to let it stay that way. Maybe it’s guilt.
Maybe it’s the fact that I haven’t seen her properly in days, just glimpses in the morning when she rushes out, exhaustion on her face when she drags herself home late at night. I tell myself I don’t care, and that it’s good she’s keeping her distance.
But the ache in my chest every time I walk past her empty parts of the house says otherwise.
Buddy sprawls under a tree nearby, his snores mixing with the distant crash of the waves below the cliffs. I drop my shovel, running an arm over my forehead, the salt breeze is cool against my overheated skin. And then, the sound of a door creaking open.
I glance up just as Emma steps onto the porch, a coffee mug clutched between her hands. She’s in one of those oversized sweaters she always wears when she’s comfortable, her hair loose, the morning sun catching the golden strands. It reminds me of how she usually preferred to wear my clothes back them.
She stops mid-step when she sees the garden, her eyes widening. For a second, she just stares. Then, in a whisper, she says, “You’re fixing it?”
I shrug, rolling my shoulders. “Figured it was time.”
Her gaze flicks to me, then back to the freshly unearthed flowerbed. She moves slowly, stepping off the porch, the wood creaking beneath her feet. The closer she gets, the more I notice the way her fingers tighten around her mug, knuckles pale like she’s gripping onto something she can’t quite name.
She kneels beside the bed, running a hand lightly over the turned soil. Her lips press together, eyes distant, lost in whatever memory this place pulls out of her.
“Grandma used to sit here,” she murmurs, tracing a finger over a tangled root. “Telling stories.”
I nod, my voice coming rough. “And her terrible jokes.”
Emma glances up, a flicker of something warm in her gaze. “Yeah.” A small smile tugs at her lips. “Like that one about the roses.”
I can’t stop the corner of my mouth from twitching. “She thought she was hilarious.”
Emma’s laugh is soft, the sound like wind through the trees, light, nostalgic. “She was.”
Silence stretches between us, but it isn’t awkward. For the first time in days, it feels... normal. Like the weight of everything between us is momentarily lighter.
Then, before I can stop myself, the words slip out. “I missed you here.”
Emma stills. Her fingers tighten in the soil, her breath catching so faintly that if I weren’t so darned focused on her, I wouldn’t have noticed. She doesn’t look at me right away, but when she does, something in her eyes is different. Raw.
Like she’s trying to hold back something too big to name. I brace myself, expecting her to shut it down, to brush it off. But she doesn’t.
She just nods, so small I almost miss it. And for the first time in years, I feel like I’ve reached a part of her that’s been locked away since the day she left.
Before I can figure out what to do with that, a car rumbles up the driveway. I turn just as my sister Liz swings open her door and steps out, a grin already forming.
Her hands rest on her belly as she waddles toward us, the baby bump stretching her dress. “Well, well,” she calls out, eyes twinkling. “Is that my brother gardening?”
I groan. “Don’t start.”
Liz smirks and barely glances at me before heading straight for Emma. “Come here, you.”
Emma blinks in surprise before Liz pulls her into a warm hug. Emma lets out a breathy laugh, arms wrapping around her. When they pull apart, Liz studies her closely. “How are you?”
Emma hesitates but gives a small smile. “I’m okay. Getting there.”
"I hope my brother hasn't been a pain in the butt?" I roll my eyes as Emma chuckles.
"No, he hasn't. It’s so good to see you again, Liz."
"Same here! We missed you so much around here. Anyways, it’s good you’re back. I'll fill you in on everything,"
"Thanks, and congratulations by the way," Emma says her eyes falling on Liz’s belly.
Liz pats her arm, satisfied. “Thank you.” Then she grins, tilting her head at both of us.
“I was passing by and thought I’d stop in and use the opportunity to invite the both of you for barbecue this Sunday. You’re both coming because I'm not taking no for an answer.”
I groan knowing how serious she is. Emma’s lips part like she’s about to decline, but Liz shakes her head, cutting her off before she can start.
“No excuses. Max needs an aunt around. My brother and Liam have both refused to bring a woman around, leaving me alone to deal with all the men in my life, including Max. Now that I have the chance to share the burden with you, I'm not letting it go.”
Emma’s mouth opens, closes, then she laughs lightly. “I … okay. Okay, I’ll come.”
Liz beams, then turns to me. “And you, try to act like a human, yeah? No sulking in corners.”
I roll my eyes, but there’s no real heat behind it. “I don’t sulk.”
Liz snorts. “Right.” She turns back to Emma. “Good luck with this one.”
Emma lets out a breathy laugh, but there’s something softer in the way she glances at me, something unreadable.
Liz gives a final wink before heading back to her car, waving as she pulls away. As the sound of the engine fades, Emma turns to me. For a second, neither of us speaks.
Then she clears her throat, gesturing toward the flowerbed. “Thanks for this. Really.”
I nod, gripping the handle of the shovel. “Figured you’d like it.”
She hesitates, then, softer, “I do.”
The air between us shifts. Her eyes search mine, like there’s something else she wants to say. Something on the edge of a confession.
Then, before either of us can break whatever this moment is, she tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear and murmurs, “I should get ready for work.” She’s been working in the next town for the veterinarian and it seems to have opened her desire for her own clinic here in town even more.
She turns to head inside. I watch her go, the warmth of her presence lingering even after she disappears.
Then Liz’s words echo in my head. She’d said that teamwork looked good on the two of us. I exhale, gripping the shovel tighter.
I don’t know what’s happening between us. But whatever it is, it started to feel inevitable until that day when she suddenly changed. I wish I knew what happened to …
***
The house is quiet, the kind of stillness that comes late at night when the world outside is asleep. A dim lamp flickers in the corner, casting long shadows over the walls and the scattered remnants of the day’s work. Buddy sprawls on the rug, letting out a soft snore, his paws twitching like he’s chasing something in a dream.
I should be sleeping too. Instead, I’m here, picking through an old box of Grandma Gracie’s things, fingers trailing over worn photographs and trinkets that still smell faintly like her, lavender, cinnamon, a hint of the sea.
I tell myself I’m just restless. That it’s just something to do. That it has nothing to do with her.
Emma had gone to bed hours ago. I’d heard the soft creak of the stairs as she retreated to her room, the sound lingering longer than it should have. I don’t know why I keep noticing things like that. Or maybe I do. For some reason Buddy stayed with me. Maybe in that sweet dog-brain of his he knew I needed him near.
I run a hand through my hair, exhaling sharply, then push aside a stack of old recipe cards, an embroidered handkerchief, a tiny ceramic cat she’d kept on the kitchen windowsill. That’s when I see it. A letter.
The envelope is yellowed at the edges, the ink slightly faded but still strong, still unmistakable.
To Bryan and Emma.
My stomach knots. Grandma Gracie’s handwriting.
I hesitate for a second, my pulse picking up. Then, before I can talk myself out of it, I break the seal, fingers clumsy, heart hammering as I unfold the paper inside. Her words are simple, but they hit like a punch to the ribs.
This house is yours to mend … yourselves too. Love matters most.
The air in the room shifts, heavier now, pressing against my chest. She knew.
She knew before we even stepped back in this house, before the will, before any of it. This wasn’t just about property or old memories.
She planned this. I swallow hard, gripping the letter tighter. The words blur slightly, but I don’t need to read them again. They’re already burned into my mind.
Emma’s laughter flickers in my memory, soft, unguarded, from this morning in the garden. The way her eyes lit up when she saw what I’d done. The way she ran her fingers through the soil, like she was touching something sacred.
The way she still looks at me sometimes, like she wants to say something but stops herself. My hands shake as I fold the letter back up.
She’s still Emma. Still the same girl who used to curl up next to me on this very couch, barefoot and sun-warmed from the beach, talking about nothing and everything all at once. And she’s still the same girl who left me without a word.
A muscle in my jaw tightens. I shove the letter into my pocket, my fingers curling into a fist around it.
I push to my feet, needing something, anything to clear my head. Grabbing a beer from the fridge, I twist the cap off with too much force, taking a long swig. The bitterness does nothing to dull the unease curling in my gut.
The sound of a floorboard creaking upstairs makes me freeze. My grip tightens around the bottle as I glance toward the staircase.
Emma. She’s awake.
I hold my breath, waiting. Listening. Will she come down? Will she find me standing here, with this letter burning a hole in my pocket? For a moment, everything in me wants her to.
But then the house settles again, and I exhale, long and slow, pressing the heel of my hand against my chest like I can push back the ache there.
I take another drink, staring out the window at the dark waves rolling toward shore. Tomorrow, I’ll pretend like I never found it.
Like I’m not standing here, breaking all over again.
***
Sunday arrives. The smell of grilled burgers and smoked ribs thickens the warm Ocean Bay air as laughter rings through Nate and Liz’s backyard. The late afternoon sun slants low, golden light filtering through the trees, casting long shadows over the picnic tables and the kids darting around the yard.
Max shrieks with delight, dodging between Buddy and Nate’s dog Scout, a football clutched tight in his arms. Pip, the tiny terrier, yaps furiously, his little legs barely keeping up.
I tighten my grip on the six-pack in my hand as Emma and I step through the open gate. I shouldn’t be here. Shouldn’t have come.
But Liz had insisted. And Nate? That smug bastard had just smirked and said, “BBQs are family tradition, man. No excuses.”
Family. The word has sat wrong in my gut since the moment it left Nate’s mouth.
Because this? This is the closest thing to a family I’ve ever had. And she’s here.
Emma shifts beside me, shoulders tense, before Liz turns and beams, arms already outstretched. “Emma!”
Emma barely has time to react before Liz pulls her into a tight hug, belly pressing between them. Emma laughs softly, hugging back. “Wow, you’re really showing now.”
“Six months of eating every carb in sight.” Liz grins, pulling back. “And you, look at you, you’re glowing.”
I glance at Emma out of the corner of my eye. I wouldn’t call it glowing. But there’s something different. Something about the way her shoulders have loosened in the past couple of weeks, the way the crease between her brows isn’t as deep as it was when we first moved into the house.
The way she laughs more now. I look away, jaw clenching. Not my business.
Nate claps a hand against my shoulder, grinning. “Glad you made it, man.”
I grunt in response, and Nate chuckles. “C’mon, let’s grab a beer.”
We move toward the cooler, the ice shifting as Nate pulls out two bottles and pops the caps with ease. I take mine, nodding toward Max. “Kid’s getting faster.”
“Yeah, he is. But don’t think I didn’t notice you watching someone else.”
I stiffen. “What on earth are you talking about?”
Nate smirks, taking a long swig of his beer before tilting his head toward the yard.
Emma stands near the fire pit, tossing a ball with Max, her hair loose and catching the sunlight, laughter spilling from her lips. She’s light. Carefree in a way I haven’t seen in years. My chest tightens.
“You’ve been staring at her since we got here,” Nate murmurs.
I scowl. “You’re imagining things.”
Nate just raises an eyebrow. “Am I?”
“She’s just…” I stop, lips pressing into a firm line.
“She’s just what?”
I exhale sharply, taking a long sip of my beer. “She’s Emma. That’s all.”
“That’s all?” Nate leans against the porch railing, crossing his arms. “Because the way you’re looking at her right now says otherwise.”
I bristle. “Nothing’s happening. Nothing’s going to happen. I made a mistake with her once, and I won’t repeat it. She is always going to be a disaster waiting to happen.”
Nate smirks, clearly enjoying this too much. “Sure, man. Whatever you say.”
My grip tightens around the beer bottle. Because Nate doesn’t get it. He doesn’t understand what it was like to wake up one day and find out the person you love, the person you thought you had a future with, vanished.
No warning. No goodbye. Nothing. Emma left me once, and I’m not about to let her do it again .
Even if it means keeping myself at a distance. Even if it means ignoring the way my gut twists every time she laughs.
Every time she looks at me like she still sees something in me worth holding on to. I run a hand down my face. This is ridiculous. I’m not some lovesick fool. Not anymore.
A sudden gasp from behind us makes us turn toward the house. I frown, scanning the porch, the back door, but see nothing.
Nate shrugs. “Maybe Liz dropped something.”
I nod but don’t shake the uneasy feeling curling at the back of my neck. Something feels off.
But I push it aside, turning back toward the yard just in time to see Emma brush a strand of hair behind her ear, her smile soft as she listens to Max chatter about his latest school project.
My chest tightens. Nate nudges me with his elbow, voice low. “You keep saying it’s nothing. But you and I both know it’s not.”
I exhale sharply, dragging a hand through my hair. “Doesn’t matter.”
Nate huffs out a laugh. “You sure about that? Because the way you’re clenching that beer bottle says otherwise.”
I force my grip to loosen, but my pulse thrums in my ears and I don’t want this to be something.
I throw back the last of my beer, avoiding Nate’s knowing stare.
“Drop it,” I mutter, turning toward the grill. “I’m here for the food, not the speculation.”
Nate smirks but lets it go. But as I watch Emma from the corner of my eye, the way she tosses her head back in laughter, the way the wind plays with the strands of her hair…
Nate might be right. And worse, I know I’m lying to myself.