THERE'S A WAR IN ME

So he followed. Not storming. Just… moving. Controlled. Precise. Like he was trying not to scare her, but couldn’t sit in that space between them any longer. He stopped a few feet from the table where she wiped at half-dried rings of beer like they might answer for the past. “You think I didn’t try?” His voice was low, not sharp but frayed around the edges. “You think walking away was easy?”

Javi ran a hand over his jaw, the other resting on the back of a chair like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. “I gave you everything I could, Britt. My time. My patience. My effort. I was patient every time you pulled away, and I waited—even when I didn’t know what I was waiting for.” He exhales hard through his nose, gaze catching hers and holding it this time—no bar between them now, no glass to polish, no shield to hide behind. “But I’m human. And yeah, I got angry. It wrecked me to keep being treated like a burden for showing up. Like you were bracing for me to hurt you when all I wanted to do was stick around, feel it out.”

The words settle between them like dust. “You say you were healing? Maybe you were. But I didn’t know that. You didn’t let me know that. You just kept pushing me to the edge of the room, and then got quiet like I was supposed to read your goddamn mind.” He laughs then—but it’s short, brittle. “I didn’t dump you because I stopped caring. I walked away because I couldn’t keep fighting someone who didn’t believe I was on their side.” A pause. His voice softens just a bit—gravel shifting into something almost tender. “You say you didn’t want to lose me?” He tilts his head, eyes scanning hers. “Then why the hell did you act like I was already gone?”

His voice drops into something quiet. Not accusing—just tired. “I didn’t want perfect, Britt. I just wanted real. Even if it was messy. Especially if it was messy. But I can’t keep proving myself to a ghost of who you’re scared I’ll become.”

He leans a little more against the chair now, like the weight of it all is starting to catch up. “So if you’re really trying… if you’re actually healing… then just tell me that.”

Another beat. One last truth, maybe the hardest one. “Because I never stopped giving a damn. I just got tired of being the only one getting dragged for it.”

Words—explanations, feelings, reasoning—landed against the petite woman, and unlike any other time she genuinely listened rather than laying in wait for her chance to reply back. When there was a break between his thoughts, a long spot of silence, Britt filled it with something she'd been curious about. There was no malice or accusation in her tone, just true wonder. ❝ ⸻ Do you know why people go silent? ❞ Hopefully Javier knew she wasn't meaning that childish silent treatment bullshit. This was for real, Britt was speaking of a trauma response. 

❝ I didn't always have the words to say something, or even know how to, or where to begin. I'm sorry, Javier. ❞ It was one thing to spend years studying psychology, and it was a whole other thing to be able to apply it personally. Britt kept her gaze level with him, steady, resolute. ❝ I don't presume to know anything. What you were thinking, what you were feeling—you didn't share that with me. Only your frustration that I couldn't be exactly what you wanted. ❞ Before there could be an interjection and rebuttal she shook her head, an indication that the words weren't cast as blame.

❝ I was confusing, ❞ her hip leaned against the table and her fingers pressed down into the wood, ❝ I moved in close because that was where I wanted to be and then pulled away because I was afraid. To make it worse, when I did pull back, when I did push you away—all I wanted was for you to keep coming forward. To fight for me. ❞ A frown pushed at one side of her mouth and her eyes shifted down, to his hand gripping the chair. She was going to say: you were upset about being pushed away, nothing else.

❝ I know now that our connection was too young, too immature, and not quite there emotionally. ❞ It sucked, and it hurt—these realizations. Britt released a sigh and wet her lips just before she swallowed down everything she hated herself for. This was just more to pile on. She ached for someone to let her growth with them. The capacity to love wasn't built in isolation. ❝ I just hope you know I never intentionally set out to be a scar, something that'll mess you up as you pursue real opportunities in your life, ❞ she'd added, resigned to endings in whichever way they came. 

As she took a bigger, steadying breath, Britt opened up cautiously. ❝ I experienced something horrific when I was eleven. ❞ So much pain and fear rose to the surface that her eyes welled with tears, only because the emotion was that intense, but Britt tried to fight it off and remain as stoic as possible. The soft smile was forced, the same image of someone doing their best to be strong while their heart was breaking.

❝ I lost my dad and my brother in one night, ❞ she nearly choked out then cleared her throat softly and continued to force emotion back. ❝ Then my mother forced me to help her cover it up, and then keep that secret ever since. So, yeah, I'm trying to heal while something's eating me alive. I've been studying psychology for twelve years and I still don't have an answer on how to get better, how to let it go. It's not that I wanted to push you away or wanted you to leave. Maybe I've felt so fucking horrible and alone for so damn long that I don't know how to accept when someone actually seems to care. ❞ There was a shrug, as though this were some casual, what can you do?, confession.

When her fingers rose to her cheek Britt could feel them shaking. Despite all the years and her mother opening up to select others about what had happened, the blonde had kept the secret so long she didn't know how to free it. Some part of her even believed she were committing an ultimate betrayal by even saying as much as she had.

Everyone around her, mother and brother, those they had told—they all seemed to take it in and move on like it was nothing. Then there she stood—still haunted by the brutal violence, still remembering the cold stiffness of a corpse, still remembering the weight of the secret. Not only that, but the responsibility of it, and the way it had been a tool of manipulation for such a huge chunk of her life. 

❝ I think, subconsciously, I knew that if you knew the truth about me, ❞ her head shook, not finishing that thought aloud. It was easy enough to assume the ending. ❝ If little things and spats about unimportant bullshit would send you running, if you were easy to step away from that, then how the hell would you handle something so much worse? ❞ This wasn't a quest for answers, it was more of Britt opening up the clinical knowledge of what each of those actions had meant. ❝ I wasn't consciously testing you. There was just too much of me that knew I didn't deserve you. ❞

While she didn't believe their downfall was entirely on her, there was just no war within her to fight Javier on it. She'd already lost, there was no such thing as peeling back time and it wouldn't make her feel any better shouting that it wasn't just her. For so long she'd bore the weight and responsibility that this was easier to just stack on top. Britt didn't want to make him feel worse than Javier already had while being with her. 

Wes was halfway up the fence post when the hammer slipped and cracked hard against his thumb. "Shit—" he cursed, dropping the hammer into the dirt as he shook out his hand, muttering a string of other curses under his breath as he stuck his thumb in his mouth like a baby The sun was beating down hard, and he culd already feel sweat trickling down the back of his neck, soaking into his already dusty shirt. He'd been spending the morning trying to fix the busted section of the fence, but between the warped boards and the fact that every damn nail seemed to be bent, he was getting absolutely nowhere. He stepped down off of the fence now, and squinted out across the pasture. One of the calves was halfway through the gap already. Wes let out a long breath, ran a hand through his hair, and bent to pick up the hammer again. "Just perfect," he muttered. "Real smooth operation we got going here." He didn't hear the footsteps 'til they were close, but he could just sense a smartass comment was coming his way if it were one of his siblings or cousins.

With her formidable years spent growing up on the ranch the blonde had taken to all parts of it's operation. Naturally, Britt really only enjoyed the work that had involved her getting atop her horse. Still, thanks to Shane and Wes she could hand over tools and hold something in place as good as the best of them. Her brown eyes took in the calf that was now fully through the gap in fencing and her smirk only magnified, though for Wes' sake, Britt had attempted to snuff it out as best as possible when she turned her eyes back to him.

He looks up at her finally, and there’s a quiet fire in his eyes—anger, sure, but not the cheap kind. It’s the slow-burning ember built from too many long shifts, too many words left unsaid, and too many damn nights spent trying not to remember how she used to fit so damn perfectly beside him. “You really think I’m that bored, Britt?” he questions, voice low but steady, like a match that's just been lit. “You think I’m just standing here drying glasses for a living, minding my own business for three months, just waiting for my chance to pick a fight with you?”

He lets out a dry, humorless laugh before shaking his head, looking down like maybe it’ll keep the rest of his argument from seeping out. It doesn’t.

“You’re the one who ran away when shit got too real. Sabotaged it. Bit by bit. Like we were some damn game of Jenga, you just couldn’t wait to see how fast it'd fall.” His tone isn’t raised—if anything, it’s quieter now, rougher. “I didn’t forget, Britt. I remember all of it. You pulling away. You shutting down. You making it so hard for anyone to stay, then acting shocked when they leave.”

He steps out from behind the bar now, closing the distance between them just enough to lower his voice, to make sure this part is only heard between them.

“And yeah… maybe you were too fucked up for me to deal with. But that never stopped me from trying, did it?” His brows pull together for a second, something softer flickering beneath them before it gets snuffed out by more frustration. “It never stopped me from giving a damn about you.”

A pause stretches between them then. “So, don't rewrite the story now like I’m the one playing games. You got what you wanted. Me finally walking away.”

Not that she had expected the fight that had risen in Javier to die down, when he continued on, making sure to harp on how everything was her fault, Britt, in exasperation, rubbed the top of her head as she blinked in disbelief and shook her head. Eventually her hand went flying off and landed against her thigh with a bit of a smack. 

❝ Oh, I wasn't shocked when you left. ❞ Brown eyes watched and followed his movements, the way his hands gripped a glass or his arm flexed as he moved a bottle and wiped down the bar, and Britt remembered easily the way those same hands had gripped her. The way those arms had pulled her close. Most of all, the way neither of them held onto her. 

A nervous, anxious sigh breathed out through parted lips and the blonde looked over her shoulder. No one seemed to be picking up on what was becoming a heated exchange between their bartenders, and for that, Britt was grateful. ❝ I remember all of it, too. I know I'm difficult, I know I'm a pain in the ass. I push people away when I get scared. ❞ She paused, it was brief, yet she held onto him visually for just a moment. ❝ But what did you do Javier when I needed reassurance and patience? You got mad at me. Like now, your response is to throw how fucked up I am in my face. I'm damaged, yeah, but I really am trying to work on myself. Don't stand there and act valiant like you haven't used my trauma as a crutch—as your get out of jail free card. ❞

When he came out from behind the bar and approached her, Britt was cautious. While he'd never once showed any signs of it, in the past this is where some had gotten aggressive. It was a reflex of a woman that had been through things. In trusting him, the blonde didn't move. ❝ You dumped me, Jav. How is that trying? How is that giving a damn? You called it quits rather easily, especially for someone so upset right now. ❞ In the closer proximity she searched his eyes for something that told her that this frustration was actually about her.

❝ I never played any games with you, oh my god, ❞ Britt practically groaned. For a moment she pinched her fingers around her forehead, then eventually looked up at—well, how nice, his back. ❝ The last thing I ever wanted was for you to walk away. I didn't want to lose you. I've been through some shit, okay? I'm sorry it was messy, so messy, and not at all perfect. But—maybe, just fucking maybe, I felt so good with you that I was going through the processes of healing? ❞

location— the anchor

The idea of a "girls night" between them sounded crazy in theory. Sonny could hardly wrap her head around it, if she's being honest. Were it not for Holly reaching out and inviting her, it probably wouldn't have happened to begin with. From what Sonny could recall, it had started out with a text. Something along the lines of Holly needing a drink, something with a lime and no emotional landmines. Sonny responded back quickly, with something supportive and simple. And then here they were.

Somehow, someway—maybe by fate, maybe by algorithm, maybe just by the magnetic pull of unfinished business strewn by the universe?—Britt showed up too. A quick glance across the bar. A quick blink of surprise. A quick flash of something unreadable in those sharp blue eyes of hers, and Britt didn’t leave. She stayed. Because maybe it was time to face it all.

Now the three of them were sitting across from each other, around a high-top table in the back corner of the bar—where it's a little less crowded and more forgiving. An empty glass in front of Britt, something dark and stirred in front of Sonny, and Holly nursing what could be a mojito, maybe? Who the hell knows? The weight in the air isn’t tension, exactly. It’s more like... awareness. The way you feel when you’re standing too close to the edge of something real and you're still deciding whether to jump or take a step back.

Sonny breaks the silence first—unsurprisingly—with a dry grin and a tilt of her glass. “So, this is nice. Three women walk into a bar. One’s the ghost, one’s holding a grudge, and the other's still trying to pretend she doesn’t know how to dance when her favorite country song comes on.”

Her tone is light, teasing, but her eyes flick from Britt's to Holly's and then back again, searching for permission—is it okay to joke yet?—before she continues, more earnestly. “I know this wasn’t exactly planned. And I know things still feel a little... raw, for all of us. But sitting here right now? Feels like the first non-terrifying thing I've had to face in a while.”

She shrugs, runs a hand through her hair—always fidgeting when it’s personal—then adds, “You don’t have to say anything too deep, if you're not ready. We don’t have to unpack the last seven years of trauma over cheap cocktails, if you'd rather not. I’d settle for a few bad jokes and someone mocking my taste in music. But, I meant what I said before. To both of you. I'm here if either of you ever need me or just want someone to talk to who doesn't share the last name Parker.”

She looks at Britt first, her expression open but careful. “You came. So, that alone means something and I'm grateful for that.”

Then to Holly, her voice softening without losing its thread. “And you inviting me.... means more than I know how to say, Holls. So, thanks.”

Sonny lifts her glass again. “To showing up? Even when it’s awkward. And, even when it hurts a little.” There's a beat, the edges of her mouth quirking into a sideways grin now. “Also, just putting it out there but if anyone plays Shania Twain tonight, we are getting up to dance. No exceptions and no excuses.”

As she sat at the hight table, drink already washed down, she felt like an outsider. A third wheel to two girlfriends out together. It's in the looks, the tones, and the silent language between her cousin and her cousin's ex. That alone soured her mood and put her back a bit against the wall. ❝ ⸻ I guess that makes me the one with the grudge? ❞ A brow lifted at Sonny, her brown eyes found her without a fight in them. ❝ As if it's out of line? ❞ The challenge came without any harshness behind it, more of a question and why Britt was being cast as the asshole here.

Maybe a public venue for this was strategic. How were they suppose to delve into serious and emotional topics, some that could get heated, with all these people around? Again, Britt was getting the feeling that maybe she hadn't been meant to be here. Her brow flinched as she thought and pretended that the favoritism wasn't so obvious. Since her glass was empty and she couldn't quite understand why they were toasting, Britt didn't raise her glass. ❝ You told me at the fling that you'd explain. You spoke of danger and hinted at bad things—where the hell were you, Sonny? ❞ Her voice didn't raise, she just spoke directly. 

At her pretend offer of help, Shane chuckled. “Yeah, because you wouldn’t just   be helping out to see how many of my men you can get to drool all over you?” He nudged her shoulder with his elbow playfully, as that was where the pipsqueak reached. Britt was tiny, but like a hurricane, she managed to leave a lot of upheaval in her wake wherever she went. 

But his teasing demeanor disappeared at her explanation about the new ranch hand. Welp, there went his extra pair of hands for calving season. He’d have to get Travis to look into hiring someone else. “If that’s not a red flag, I don’t know what is, Britt. You stay away from him, okay? He’ll be gone by the end of the day, but till then… steer clear of him.” He knew telling Britt to do anything never went the way he hoped it would, but he could hope that she’d listen to his advice this time around at least. 

Shaking his head in disgust, he had a hard time switching gears, and his mood only soured as he handed the soda back to his cousin, leaning his elbows against the railing of the fence before him. Keeping his gaze fixed on movement going on in the corral, it wasn’t apparent at first if he was going to answer her or not. Just as it seemed he wasn’t going to, he finally murmured. “Sonny’s back in town.” Britt, of all people, would pick up on the weight of that fact. 

Even with the little flare, she knew Shane was on her side, and was likely more frustrated with the situation rather than her specifically. Sometimes she got defensive out of nowhere. Mostly due to the knowledge that she beared the responsibility to fix what was broken and unhealed inside of her. ❝ I would genuinely help you, it's just—not my fault that I'm hot in the process. Are you trying to tell me cowboys aren't the right type I should be going for? ❞ A little smile formed when he'd nudged her. Being an older brother had to be frustrating; he knew how men thought and behaved, and he had both Holly and herself to keep an eye on.

A sigh expelled from her lungs. Not one borne from defiance, though it could be perceived that way—Britt felt bad that the ranch would lose a useful hand. Something she was aware they truly needed. Despite not having meant for things to go as they had, trouble seemed to be an obsessive lover and followed her around. ❝ You don't have to worry about me, ❞ that might make Shane laugh, ❝ you just worry that he stays away from me or someone's gonna learn that I can kick like a mule. ❞

Holly leaned into Britt with a grin, bumping the other woman gently with her shoulder. “Okay first of all, I was a creative kid, not a feral one. There’s a difference,” she shot back. “And second, I don’t think the soap worked. I just got sneakier about when and where I cussed.”

At Britt’s next question, Holly tilted her head, clearly amused, though something a little more pensive flickered behind her eyes. “I mean… I’m not not in the market. I wouldn’t exactly say I’ve got my hands full either. More like… An ex who recently re-surfaced and a fling who demoted me," she admitted with a laugh.

“You, on the other hand, are giving strong ‘peace and leave me the fuck alone’ energy, and I love that for you. Want me to find you the anti-love colour? We can build a protective circle. Ward off men like mosquitoes. Unless… you've got someone you haven’t told me about?” Holly added with a playful smirk and a sidelong glance.

❝ Demoted, ❞ Britt parroted, incredulous. The expression on her face was near biting into something sour. ❝ Which one did that to you? I will demote his ass off the island with my booted foot. ❞ Then, a flicker of something more mischievious took root. ❝ Unless—wait, why aren't you on the market? ❞ Her cousin could've easily entered a man free zone like herself if she was in recovery mode like Britt.

location— firefly brewery

The clink of glass and hum of conversation fill Firefly, the soft amber glow from the string lights overhead casting long shadows across the worn bar top. It’s just past nine, midweek slow, with only a couple tables still nursing beer flights and one guy who’s clearly pretending to write a screenplay.

Javi’s drying a pint glass with the kind of focus that says he doesn’t need to be, he just wants something for his hands to do. His gaze flicks toward Britt every so often—like it has for months now—but quickly shifts back before it lingers too long. He’s gotten good at pretending. Pretending it doesn’t still sting. Pretending he doesn’t remember exactly how she used to say his name when no one else was around.

She’s stacking menus at the host stand, close enough to hear if he raises his voice, far enough to ignore him if she wants to.

"Pretty sure that guy's been on his third ‘final scene’ for an hour now,” Javi mutters finally, nodding toward the faux-screenwriter with a flick of his chin. His tone’s dry, but it’s a peace offering, sort of. A thread he’s not sure he wants to pull, but can’t stop himself from throwing out there anyway.

A beat passes before he adds, quieter this time, “Bar’s clean. You want me to close or… you still doin’ that thing where you pretend I don’t exist until the shift’s over?” He doesn’t look at her when he says it. But the words sit heavy between them regardless—because they both know it isn’t just about the shift.

The tidying was an opportunity to get away from the bar where Javi seemed to focus. Hearing people flirt with him and the way he'd respond made Britt's skin feel hot. It'd been fleeting with him, like always for her, yet she'd still wanted to make a claim known. Mainly because it was too close to the particular way he used to speak to her, the way he used to flirt with her, and a bitterness coated her tongue as her lips practically snarled at the ease in which he carried on.

When he spoke to her and it wasn't something about work and work alone Britt stopped what she was doing and looked over at Javi. A response was ready to fly, but that little hitch, that few seconds pause, had demolished the moment. Her question on if he'd heard the plot died before it could ever be released due to the verbal haymaker he threw next.

Benny's brows knitted tightly together, his expression twisting with confusion and concern as he wrestled with his immediate reaction to her words. A heavy weight settled in his chest, making it hard to breathe as he tried to comprehend the gravity of her situation. He had encountered variations of this same haunting sentiment before—echoed by friends, highlighted in novels, depicted on screen, and now, chillingly, conveyed by Britt. The mere thought of the worst sent a shiver down his spine, leaving him feeling sick to his stomach.

Caught in an emotional tug-of-war, he oscillated between an unfathomable anger that simmered just below the surface and a sorrow that threatened to consume him. Desperately seeking guidance, Benny lifted his gaze, hoping to find reassurance or clarity in her eyes. Instead, he was alarmed by her restless pacing, a physical manifestation of her distress. He straightened up, focusing solely on her as she continued to move.

Despite her pacing, Benny felt his brows relax when she mentioned her being in school. The warmth in his gaze and the slight grin that formed on his lips filled him with a profound sense of pride. Britt is the only person in their family who has gone to college. She had carved out her own path, making sacrifices that Benny had never fully grasped until now. The thought of her resilience tugged at him. If only he had been present in her life sooner, he mused, perhaps Britt could have reclaimed more of what she had lost. Instead, she found herself needing to defend her reality, insisting, "It wasn't always like this," as if it were happening on a more frequent occasion, it'd warrant more concern.

He paused, collecting his thoughts, as an overwhelming tide of emotions washed over him in a mere minute. It was a struggle to navigate through the mixture of pride and regret swirling in his chest. How could he articulate everything he felt? He couldn’t help but feel a swell of admiration for her educational accomplishments. Yet, that pride was overshadowed by deep remorse for leaving her to shoulder the burden of caring for their mother alone. The thought lingered painfully in his mind, and he was heartbroken as he wondered whether Britt ever felt safe, even once, after that fateful night he left.

Then he mentioned pride and wishes of having been there, and again, the blonde felt a hallowness to it all. Why was she the only one that had thought things could've been so different? As the youngest and therefore put upon Britt had been powerless and had been forced to move with things out of her control and without her say in motion. There was zero shadow of doubt, she'd wished Benny had been around as well. Not for help with bills or their mother's care as she fell in and continued to get worse rather than better through treatment. It wasn't a transfer of burden she wanted. What she'd missed out on was her older brother, her closest companion through childhood. Memories of him, of them, had suddenly stopped and shutdown—a ghost town in her own life.

On edge, twitchy fingers reached for her pack of cigarettes that had to be rummaged from the bottom of her bag. Britt was only an occasional smoker, typically when she'd needed to burn off stress. A cheap Bic lighter was stuffed into the pack and she fumbled with both for a second until one was lit off between her lips. There was a moment of hesitation, then Britt offered the pack and lighter to Benny. She didn't offer a response right away, there wasn't a rush to words or to fill in the silence. Instead she enjoyed a few pulls off of the cigarette before the thing dropped to dangle between her fingers at her side. 

❝ ⸻ Why did you stay gone so long? ❞ There were the obvious blanket answers. Words that felt in the same realm of asking how someone was doing and they gave the easy, generic answer. The question came from a sure voice but the woman behind it felt timid. Not only curious of Benny's life away, she was fascinated by how he'd managed to live and make it alone for so long. So young and cut off from the world and life he'd known. ❝ How come you never contacted us? ❞ Another drag from her cigarette while her eyes stared her brother down. What had his life been like during this huge chunk of time that he'd been missing from hers? Who was he, really? Was he still dangerous?

Benny had no idea what his mother was thinking. She stood there, her gaze lowered and tired, her hands rubbing together. Aside from when it was literal, this was the first time Benny was made consciously aware of how much distance had been built between the remaining Hellströms. His mother had grown to be a lot different from what he had anticipated, and he strangely found himself in a state of frustration with acceptance. He didn't exactly agree with her delivery, but perhaps Ulla believed that time would heal the damage, whatever it was. But at the same time, Benny feared that his mother put too much trust in Britt's return. He wondered then just how many times their mother had hung something over Britt's head to get her to agree with what she wanted.

The thought made him feel sick, as it represented the things he couldn’t control, involving the two most important people in his life. However, Benny couldn't deny that wishing for things to be different was a waste of time. After all, he was the reason they ended up this way.

As Britt busied herself with a drink, Benny seized the opportunity to talk to his mother privately. He moved in close, lowered his voice, and looked at her with furrowed brows. "What are you doing?" he asked quietly, his tone tinged with hurt, as if he felt betrayed. "You know there are better ways to say things, right?" He hadn't meant to sound so annoyed, but he could already sense Britt slipping away from him.

Ulla shook her head, raising her hand with a sigh. "She's a tough girl..." Although Ulla didn’t sound very convincing, Benny's expression twisted in refusal, confused by what he was hearing. Slowly, the veil of understanding was lifting, and it was almost overwhelming to realize how much he had overlooked.

Finally she snapped out of the lockdown her psyche had enforced and she sucked in a sharp breath, as though her lungs had forgotten to expand in the midst of a situation where alarm bells were ringing in her ears. Britt didn't just sip the alcohol, she took gulps of it down her throat. Her broken heart was desperate for the poison to enter her blood stream as quickly as possible. Something had to soften the enduring saga of being a Hellström.

Holly couldn't help but laugh at Britt’s question, though there was a logical answer. “Oh my god, no. You make it sound like I was one of those kindergarteners who ate glue,” she said between fits of laughter. “But one time, when I was about ten, grandma caught me swearing and made me wash my mouth out with soap as punishment.”

Eyeing the vats of colourful powder, Holly ran through each one in her head. It was truly fascinating to learn about different cultures and their religious traditions. “Okay, so from what I remember, red is for love and fertility, blue represents the Hindu god, green is for new beginnings, and yellow is... I want to say health? Joy?” She scrunched her nose, trying to remember the Instagram infographic she’d skimmed over earlier. “Basically, I think you just manifested a spicy situationship for me. So, thanks for that. I'd be lying if I said I remembered what any of the other colours were, but I think there was a sign near the entrance.”

A light chuckle escaped him at the mention of feeling like a real adult at thirty. He'd nodded at her reply on her graduation coming up real soon, and found himself fallen into contemplation over it all. "Congratulations," Kol finally said, locking his blue eyes with hers so that she was assured he genuinely meant that. "That's a huge accomplishment and something to be proud of. But you're psychology right? That next step depends on which direction you wanna go with that." He thought for a moment then added, "there's a comfort in the structure and stability school offers, isn't there?" Kol had been one of those that had loved it. University had been a great time in his life. "I didn't really stop to think about it. I was already on for graduate courses and trying to make connections with players in the field I was looking at." Of course, Kol had been fortunate that he was following his father's footsteps and had a leg up when it came to who he knew.

With his hand laid out before him, throbbing and bruised, Benny watched as his younger sister tended to him. A deep sigh escaped his lips, his brow furrowed in discomfort and reflection. He couldn't quite recall the last time he had struck someone like this; it felt like a distant memory. His teenage self seemed to get caught up in a whirlwind of fights, driven by a compulsive need to unleash pent-up aggression. Back then, it had been a constant gamble—sometimes the violence found him, and other times, he sought it out like an old friend. Now, as he looked at his battered hand, it seemed like a lifetime had passed. He was still young, yet the weight of his experiences made him feel as if he had aged significantly, each moment etching lines of weariness across his face.

When she asked him if his hand hurt, Benny lifted his gaze, and the fleeting connection between their eyes held him. He barely knew her, and every time he looked at her, Benny couldn't shake the undeniable pull to know her even more. "Yeah," he replied with a soft chuckle, his fingers fidgeting as he tried to encourage the healing within. "It always hurts." Every punch Benny had ever thrown seemed to linger, a painful reminder that settled deeper than most people could understand, always leading his thoughts back to memories of his father.

Unsteady, her brain processing not only what was being said verbally but also through body language and actions, Britt shifted her stance. She remained firm, she'd known darkness, had the blood on her hands to keep her still and rooted to this very moment. One that Sonny seemed inclined to turn into a showdown. ❝ Again, how am I to know what you're thinking? How can anything you say be trusted? ❞ The problem was that Britt knew too well about keeping up a lie, at the way secrets twisted you from the inside out and shaped you into something you might no longer recognize as yourself. A life lived looking over your shoulder and having to calculate what to say would do that to a person. While she had zero clue or inclination to anything Sonny was alluding to, Britt wasn't brand new to the play.

Because the people I trusted with my life turned out to be monsters.

That landed with Britt more than anything else and her expression and rigid shoulders relaxed some. ❝ I'm really not trying to an asshole here, I swear it, but you're speaking so cryptically, and I know that's the point, it's just—fuck, there's always a choice, Sonny. ❞ Perhaps she had been looking into herself while she'd held the woman's gaze in saying that. After she blew out a stream of air her momentarily puffed cheeks flattened and her fingertips pressed into the center of her forehead. Her mind was spinning, processing. Before she regained Sonny's contact Britt combed her fingers back through her wavy hair. ❝ Sure, the options might be terrible, but there's choices. I've seen how much the Parkers love you and accepted you as one of their own—whatever it was that forced you to cut and run, ❞ her head shook, maybe she shouldn't have been doing this—who was she to speak for them? ❝ You don't think they would've done absolutely anything to help you? ❞

She just stands there, soaking in Britt’s words like a storm she knew was coming her way but she hadn’t properly braced herself for. Her throat works around a swallow that doesn’t quite go down, and for a second, her eyes glint like she was going to say something sharp edged—something she might end up regretting later. But the fire flickers out before it catches. Not because Britt was wrong, but because Sonny couldn’t handle carrying both the truth and the shame of it being misunderstood anymore.

Her jaw unclenches. Her voice, when it comes, is tired—but sincere. “I know you’re not trying to be an asshole, Britt. You’re just doing what everyone else should’ve done years ago—asking the hard questions.” A small, rueful smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. “And you’re right. That’s the part that kills me the most. Shane, Wes, Holly… hell, probably even you… would’ve done everything in your power to protect me. But that’s exactly why I couldn’t tell any of you what was going on. Because had you tried. You only would've put yourselves in the line of fire for me and I wouldn't have allowed that.”

She shakes her head slowly, like she’s trying to shake off a memory that refuses to loosen its grip on her. “You don’t know the people I got involved with. They don’t make threats just to rattle chains—they follow through. They don’t care about love. They see it as leverage. They would’ve used Shane against me until there was nothing left of him to save. And, Elijah? He would've been a bargaining chip. You think I could live with that? With knowing I handed them both over simply by asking for help?”

Her fingers tighten slightly around her arms now, like she’s trying really hard to physically hold herself together. “I didn’t want to be saved, Britt. I wanted them to be safe. Because they matter the most to me. And whether you believe it or not, so do you.”

The next words come out quieter. More exposed. “And maybe that was a choice. But it wasn’t one anyone should’ve had to make.”

She pauses then, her eyes flickering toward the distance. Toward the parts of her past she still can’t bring fully into the light yet. Then back to Britt. “I know I’m asking a lot without giving much. I know how that looks. How it must feel. But I swear to you, there are things I can’t say yet—not because I don’t want to, but because the more people who know, the more risk I put on everyone I love and tell. And whatever your opinion is of me right now… I still love all of you. Enough to ruin my life to keep yours intact.”

A beat.

Then a gentler breath leaves her chest. “But what you said… about choices, about running? That hits more than you think. So, thank you.... for being honest. For not letting me off easy.” Sonny hesitates, her gaze softening. “You might not believe this, but those are some of the most earnest words anyone’s ever said to me in years. Only Shane has ever been able to see through me like that.”

She starts to turn away, then stops, glancing back over her shoulder. “If you ever want to talk—like, really talk—I meant what I said.... I’ll be around. I'm here, Britt. I know that sounds like a cop-out, but I mean it. I don’t want to keep hiding. Not anymore.”

Then, softer still, almost like a confession: she goes on to add, “Even if the truth never sets me free… I still want to be the one who tells it when you're all ready to hear it.”