She smiles so easily. It just rolls off her like she doesn’t even think about it. It’s incredible. “No. Not at all. I actually manage my brother’s business. It’s this old theater that he turned into a live music venue downtown. Cleared out the seats. Spring loaded the dance floor. And we book in all sorts of awesome bands. If there’s no show, it’s just a regular bar—a quiet night for the regulars.”

I can one hundred percent see Willa in a setting like that. “And why aren’t you working there now?”

She rolls her eyes. “Brother blew up. He started a record label and picked some good nobodies. Turned them into somebodies. So he decided to renovate the venue even though he’s never there anymore.”

“That doesn’t mean he gets to stop paying you.”

She waves a hand and takes another sip. “Oh, nah. He didn’t. I’d pull his pretty-boy hair if he did. But that place is also basically my social life. Truthfully, I was lonely in the city. It’s nice to be around people—your family.”

It’s fascinating to me, listening to someone so uninhibited talk. Someone who says what’s on her mind without concern, who laughs so freely.

It’s addictive having her attention on me. I wonder if Luke feels like this too?

“Yeah. They’re alright.” I look over at my brothers, watching Beau and Rhett and Jasper joke together, like they have since they were teenagers. I’m always sad when Beau leaves on tour, even though I don’t tell him. He always says it will be his mission—that he’ll leave the military when he he’s back.

And then he goes again.

I think that’s his addiction.

“I’m close with my family,” Willa says. “Closer than lots of people. But we all live parallel lives now that my brother and I are adults, whereas you guys are all up in each other’s business. It’s charming. I can see why Summer loves it out here.”

“Yeah. She fits in. That’s for sure.” We both glance over. Summer is in Rhett’s lap, and everyone is listening to Beau tell a story, his hands moving animatedly as he does. Everyone except Jasper, who to the average onlooker might seem like he’s listening, but I know better.

He’s slipped into the past. Eyes and head somewhere else entirely. Sometimes he still looks like the devastated little boy we took in. I wonder if he relives that day as often as I relive our mother’s death?

My head steers in Luke’s direction, and I wonder what he’s doing. If he’s happy. If he’s warm. I know he’s with my dad, but the anxiety around keeping him safe is real for me. I often ponder whether he worries I’ll abandon him like his mom did.