I try to sound chill, very friendly and not frantic because—what the fuck? This is more than just ‘coming check on my mom.’ It’s a medical issue that has to be addressed immediately.

“We’ve seen doctors in Boston. They ran every test, and everything came back clear. Clean bill of health, but Mom’s convinced he’s still around.” Her voice drops, raw with something that might be fear or guilt—or both. “She’s mad at me. Said I should believe her when she tells me she’s seen him. He stood in the doorway, watching her sleep or spying on us outside The Honey Drop.”

Which sounds impossible when the man died when she was a baby, she doesn’t say out loud. A chill needle down my spine, but I try to lighten it. “Have you tried a psychic?”

She glares.

I hold up my hands. “Just offering alternatives. Some of them claim they can talk to the dead.”

“Cute joke, like how you try to detour the conversation,” she deadpans. “But you still haven’t told me why you left. And don’t say it was a coincidence, because something tells me it has everything to do with Keir Timberbridge.”

There’s a burst of laughter from somewhere behind us, a kid’s shriek slicing through the summer air. At first, it sounds playful—tag or hide-and-seek—but my body tenses anyway. There’s always a moment, right before the fun turns into tears. Right before everything tilts.

It takes me back.

I was eight the first time he defended me. Keir Timberbridge. I hated how much I relied on him after that—hated that I kept looking over my shoulder for him like some sort of human security blanket.

The Montgomery boys had cornered me near the swings. I didn’t understand their words at the time—just that they were smirking, mimicking things they’d overheard at home. Things about my mom. About how they wanted to play the way their dad did with her. I had no idea they were friends or that adults played but I was scared.

Then Keir showed up. No warning, no hesitation. He threw a rock, then his fist, and told them to back off. Said I was under Timberbridge protection.

He was only ten and Malerick was twelve, but people feared them. The Timberbridge name had power—ugly power inherited from their violent father. I didn’t believe it at the time because their mother was kind. She went to church every Sunday and brought the five boys with her. Back then, my grandparents said that those people were good people, so I believed them.

After that, I followed him everywhere. Because I thought being close to Keir meant nothing bad could touch me.

I was wrong.

So wrong.

Being close to Keir Timberbridge destroyed me.