EVERYONE ENTERED Zach’s house, carrying food and news of their day. Brooke joined them because Zach had asked, but mostly because she wanted to. She wanted to be with them.

With Zach.

He sat sprawled on the couch, and if it hadn’t been for the cast, the bandages and the slight paleness of his face, she’d never have guessed that he’d nearly died.

Her heart tightened at that, but she’d always licked her wounds in private, so stressing about what could have happened, as she had been doing since the fire, would have to wait.

Sam tossed her a soda.

Dustin handed her a plate.

Aidan kicked a chair her way.

She sat in the chair, holding the soda and plate, staring at the group talking and laughing amongst themselves, a huge lump forming in her throat.

She really was part of them. She belonged. And hadn’t that been what she’d been looking for at the beginning of the summer? A place to belong?

Zach sipped his soda, his eyes hooded as he watched her over his drink.

She watched him back.

Around them, the laughter and noise went up a notch, but Zach didn’t join in. Probably because he was hurting far more than he’d let on. She could see it in the grim set of his mouth and the lines of exhaustion on his face. He eyed the pizza on the coffee table in front of him but didn’t take a piece.

He loved pizza.

“You okay?” Aidan leaned in to ask her quietly.

“Not me I’m worried about.”

They both eyed Zach. “Let’s try this.” Aidan tossed two slices of pieces on a plate, then handed it to Zach. “Hey. The annual picnic is in one week.”

“So?”

“So we need an anchor for the tug-of-war against Firehouse 32.”

“I repeat. So?”

“So no pansy-asses need apply. Eat up.”

“Not hungry.”

“Really? You like being home all day, watching Oprah, eating bonbons?”

Zach opened his mouth, probably to tell Aidan where to go, but the doorbell rang again, and in came Cristina, carrying a tray of cupcakes.

Everyone looked at Dustin. Everyone except Cristina, that is, alerting Brooke to the fact that something was going on. Happy not to be at the center of the gossip mill for once, she watched with fascination as the blonde shuffled around without her usual cockiness.

“The grocery store had a small fire in their bakery.” She set the tray down and grabbed a cupcake in each hand before looking at the gang, carefully avoiding Dustin’s eyes. “So, what’s up?”

“Nothing,” everyone but Dustin said.

Cristina sighed and faced the silent and clearly brooding Dustin. “Okay, fine. I’m sorry.” She offered him a cupcake. “Very sorry.”

Dustin stared down at the double chocolate fudge cupcake, eyes shadowed, mouth unaccustomedly tight. He didn’t take it. “What’s this?”