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She still couldn’t see me or hear me answer. As far as Mama knew, she was sitting alone in my living room talking to a son who had been missing for years… still, she talked.

Sometimes she laughed while telling me something Lakelyn or Kaidence had done… sometimes she cried. Other times, she would sit quietly for a while before finally saying, “I know you wanted her here, baby. I’m trying.”

I heard every word.

That was the fucked-up part.

Mama spent years talking to me like I might’ve somehow still been there, never realizing I was sitting only a few feet away listening to every damn thing she said.

And now Lakelyn’s family needed somewhere to go.

My house was sitting there with locked gates, more bedrooms than anybody needed, and enough space for every person she loved. The same place she had spent years refusing was suddenly the safest place I could think of for all of them.

Maybe she still wouldn’t want it.

Maybe walking through those doors would hurt like hell.

But life had a funny way of bringing people back to places they swore they would never need.

Stop being stubborn, I pleaded silently, staring past the gates toward the smoke-stained darkness over Hallowridge.

I eventually went back inside and made my way upstairs to the master bedroom window overlooking the town. The sirens were finally dying down, but whatever I had felt through Lakelyn and Kaidence still sat heavy inside me.

Take the keys.

Come home to me, Lakelyn.

Chapter seven

Lakelyn

Five days in a hotel with my sweet but stubborn grandmother, my loud, dramatic sister, and my curious, snack-obsessed five-year-old had taught me something I probably already knew: money could buy comfort, but it could not buy enough space to keep family from getting on your last damn nerve.

I loved all three of them more than anything, but apparently love did not make sharing hotel space any less exhausting.

Thankfully, Granny’s homeowners insurance had approved temporary lodging while the damage to the house was being assessed and repaired. They were covering two adjoining rooms at an extended-stay hotel, which had been my one real request. Granny needed her own space. Between her lungs, her early-morning prayers, her Bible reading, and the fact that Willow and Kaidence seemed physically incapable of being quiet for more than seven minutes at a time, I wanted her to have somewhere peaceful to sleep and wake up without the rest of us disturbing her.

So we were stuck in limbo, waiting on insurance payouts, waiting on contractor estimates, waiting on someone to give us a definitive date instead of repeating soon like a hollow promise.

The hotel itself was nice, clean, comfortable, and equipped with a small kitchenette and sitting area. It wasn’t some five-star resort, but considering we had been standing outside a burning house five nights earlier, I wasn’t about to complain.

Still, it was a hotel.

Our clothes and belongings were packed into suitcases lined along the walls and tucked beside the beds. Granny’s nebulizer, pill bottles, and breathing supplies covered most of the dresser in her room. Kaidence had claimed a patch of carpet between the beds for his action figures and Legos, which meant somebody was constantly stepping over toys or threatening to throw away a stray block after nearly breaking a toe. Willow’s skincare products had taken over half the bathroom vanity, along with her bonnets, brushes, and enough hair products to open a small beauty supply store.

I had claimed the little hotel desk near the window as my own, my laptop open in front of me while I tried to create some sense of normalcy in a place that was never supposed to be home.

“Kaidence,” I said without looking up from my screen.

His little hand froze halfway inside the snack basket on the console table.

“Yes, ma’am?”

“You already know what I’m about to say.”

“I didn’t even touch anything.”

“You were about to.”