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“Nothing, just mindless scrolling.” A quick glance assures me the screen has timed out so it’s black, and relief courses through me.

We’re one and the same—both hiding something from the other.

I’m not sure why I’m hiding the Portland thing from him. It was a fleeting thought, and I would have heavy guilt if I left him here alone less than two years after Caleb left us for good.

I’d be betraying or disappointing my family and Fowler if I relocated. My sister, Sutton, left to go live in Nashville, and she’s killing it as a high-end wedding planner. We always knew she’d venture out of Echo Lake, but me? For some reason, I feel as though everyone expects me to be a lifer.

My phone rings before Fowler can ask me any more questions, and Collins’s name shines on the screen. Fowler sees it too and arches an eyebrow at me.

I swipe my thumb immediately and raise it to my ear. “Hey, Collins. How are you?”

“Um… good. You?” Her voice has a note of hesitancy, which is to be expected, I guess. Though I’ve told her many times to reach out to me if she needs anything, this is the first time she actually has.

“Just sitting here at the pub having a drink and shooting the shit with Fowler.” I make eye contact with him.

He’s leaning farther over the bar top, intently listening to my end of the conversation.

“Oh sorry. I don’t want to bother you⁠—”

“It’s not a bother. What’s up?”

There’s a pause, and that’s when I hear the distinctive chirp of a fire alarm in the background.

“My smoke alarm needs the battery changed, and I can’t reach it with my kitchen chair. I need a ladder. I’m not sure where ours is.”

I slide off the stool. “I’ll be right over. Do you need me to pick up batteries too?”

“No, I have some. I think Caleb took our ladder on a job or something… I’m really sorry.”

I hate that she sounds as though she thinks she’s putting me out by calling me. This is what the best buddies of her deceased husband should be doing. We should be helping her with everything. I probably should have been doing the monthly and yearly maintenance for her.

“I’ll be right there.” I hang up before she pushes me off.

“Everything okay?” Fowler picks up my glass and places it behind the bar.

“Yeah. One of her smoke alarms needs a battery change, and she can’t reach it. I’m going to grab the ladder from our place and go help her out.”

He nods. “Tell her I said hello.”

“Will do.” I knock on the counter, then turn to leave, grabbing my coat from the bar stool next to me.

I climb into my pickup truck, and the snow crunches under the tires as I make my way a few blocks from the pub off Main Street to Fowler’s and my house.

After grabbing the ladder from the garage, I put it in the cab of my pickup truck and head over to Cal… Collins’s place. It’s weird to think of their house as only Collins’s and not Caleb and Collins’s, but it’s been a year and a half since he passed, so I need to retrain my brain.

She lives just a few minutes’ drive outside of town on one of the country roads. Though she has neighbors, they’re not as close as they are in town.

Light spills out of her windows as I pull into her driveway. I push away all the memories of times I pulled into this driveway when Caleb and Collins used to host game nights and dinners. They’d often invite a bunch of the guys over from the firehouse to watch the Red Sox or Patriots. But those days have been over for a long time.

I get out of the truck and grab the ladder, then climb the stairs to the front door.

I’ve only been here one other time since Caleb died. It was a week after he passed when I came to check on Collins. She pushed me away and told me that she didn’t need anything from me, that she was fine and she’d reach out if and when she did. She never does, though.

The truth is, I’ve been avoiding their house. After that initial visit after Caleb’s death, I started dropping by the massage parlor where she works rather than coming here. Or I’d text her. Anything to avoid having to be here.

All I remember is that yawning pit in my stomach the night I came here, when I had to look her in the eye and tell her that her husband had been injured. I knew how bad his injuries were, and I wanted to warn her, but she wouldn’t hear me, didn’t want me to confirm it. And that was her choice. So I drove her to the hospital only to find out he had died minutes before we got there.

I run my sweaty palms down my jeans, but there’s not much I can do for the tightness in my chest as my finger reaches toward the doorbell.