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“About Seattle?”

“Yes.”

I lean back against the counter. “I think,” I admit carefully, “Lucy feels safer with me now.”

Briggs nods once. “She does.”

“And what if this messes that up?”

His expression shifts immediately. “Laurel, that kid waits by windows for you.”

Emotion catches embarrassingly fast in my throat.

“She trusts you,” he continues. “You know how hard won that is?”

I look down at my hands, because eye contact suddenly feels dangerous again.

One month ago Lucy felt like responsibility. Now the idea of hurting her feels unbearable.

Briggs moves closer then. “You’re doing good.”

The words hit harder than they should.

Maybe because I don’t think anybody’s ever said them to me like that before, with no expectation attached.

Just truth.

The pain in my chest expands.

So naturally, I deflect. “This whole town has emotional boundary issues.”

Briggs grins. It changes his face into something wondrous. “That’s why we have bonfire parties instead of therapy.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.” He pauses. “We still doing the Seattle trip?”

I think about Maggie. About blurry photos of women outside shelters. About hidden notes and frightened eyes and all the years I spent assuming there would always be more time later to fix things between us.

Then I think about Lucy asleep upstairs beneath her dinosaur duvet, Bun guarding her pillow.

“Yes,” I say with some of my old decisiveness.

Briggs nods like he expected nothing else.

Hope settles beneath everything else inside me, fragile enough to break, but real enough to hold onto.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Ashby

The SUV hums steadily down the highway while gray clouds break apart overhead in pale strips, sunlight finally slipping through after what has been weeks of endless rain and gloom hanging over Redwood Run.

Seattle still sits hours ahead.

Nobody’s complained about the drive once. That alone tells me how badly all four of us need this lead to be real.

I glance toward Laurel briefly while traffic thins around us.