One of the worst things about being so fucked up is the guilt. The guilt of wanting to crawl out of my skin when I spend time with the people I love. The guilt of so desperately wanting to be free of their questions and concerned glances, and wishing I could be anywhere else. Before this summer, I’d never missed Jackson Sunday brunch without a damn good reason, but since the warehouse fire, I’ve come up with more excuses to skip than I want to admit. I used to relish our jibing and poking at each other. After Max died, it became something I had to endure. Even small talk was painful. Somedays it still is.

The back door clicks, and I know my moment of solitude has come to an end. Pushing away the instinct to bolt, I make myself stay still.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

My eyes fly open, and I see Jake standing in front of me, hands tucked into his pockets, his head cocked to the side like I’m some puzzle he’s trying to figure out. For a moment, I can’t breathe. They all know. They can see right through me into the mess I’ve become.

My palms are sweaty against my thighs, and I have to look away from my brother’s too-perceptive gaze because, no, I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t even want to admit there’s an it to talk about.

“You know we don’t mean to upset you,” Jake says. “It’s just fun to tease you about Teagan.”

Oh, hell. My breath whooshes out in a rush. He’s not talking about the warehouse. He’s not talking about Max or my nightmares, or me avoiding my family. He’s talking about Teagan. About last night.

My relief is like the cool breeze that brushes the leaves off the trees and lets them start over. I’d love that—to have everything wiped away so I could start fresh, so I could feel like the person I was before I lost my best friend.

“What happened between you two last night?” Jake asks.

I shrug. “It really wasn’t anything.”

“You like her,” he says. “You’ve always liked her.”

Yeah. And if I’d heard her moans in my ear and had my hand between her legs before my life burned to ash in the warehouse fire, I’d have fought like hell to turn the chemistry between us into something more than I’m equipped to offer now. I shake my head. “We’re friends. I’m happy with that.”

Jake sinks into the chair beside me and stares out at the trees lining the back of the property. “I walked by the office while you two were”—he clears his throat—“in there.”

I hear the apology in his voice. I know my brother. He didn’t mean to spy, and he’s not totally comfortable nosing into my business, but he feels weird knowing there was more to last night than we’re letting on.

“So, I can pretend I didn’t see anything. That’s not a problem, and I won’t tell anyone.” He winces. “I mean, Ava already knows, but . . . if you want advice or to talk or something, I’m here.”