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“I'll check on you between appointments.”
“Fine.”
“And, Livia...”
“What?”
“I love you, okay?”
There's a beat of silence on the other end. “Sure, whatever,” she mutters, hanging up before I can say anything else.
I lower my phone with a sigh. My sister didn't say it back, but she hadn't pushed me away either. For now, that's enough. Tonight I’ll talk to her more. I could help her find a place nearby, maybe even see if there’s a studio apartment in the building we could renovate. It’d be close enough that she’s still part of Tilly’s life but not living directly in the middle of ours. That would give everyone room to breathe.
Then I'll pick up Peyton from Jax and Soph’s tomorrow or whenever she feels ready, and everything will be okay again.
Two hours later, my phone rings and I grab it from the bench. Seeing Chase’s name on the screen makes the hair at the back of my neck stand up. He never calls me unless something's wrong. We usually text. My stomach drops before I even answer.
“Chase, everything okay?” I’ve barely managed to ask when I hear it. A loud, unmistakable crying in the background. Tilly. Every muscle in my body locks. I know that cry. Hungry cries sound different. So do tired ones. This is pure distress.
“Ollie, I’m so damn sorry. I fucked up,” my brother says between his own sobs.
“Chase, talk to me. Are you okay? Is Tilly okay?”
My pulse spikes so hard it drowns out the sounds of the shop around me. Every possible disaster crashes through my head at once. Accident when they were outside. Tilly fell. Someone got hurt. My grip tightens around the phone so hard my knuckles ache.
“We—we are.” He drags in a deep breath, trying to steady himself. “Please come here. I need you.”
“I will. Where’s Livia?”
Dread fills me because a voice in the back of my head whispers, you already know the answer.
“She’s—fuck, Ollie. She’s not here.”
The muttered words don't register at first. My brain rejects them before they can become the reality. Not here? Oh yeah, she went for a walk or to the pharmacy. There has to be an explanation that will make us laugh about it later. There has to be.
I take the stairs two at a time. By the time I reach our floor, Tilly’s crying has turned into a full-on screaming. I fumble with the keys, my hands suddenly clumsy, and shove the door open.
Why is Tilly crying like that? Why isn’t Chase doing anything? What the fuck is happening?
The apartment feels wrong the second I step inside. Apart from Tilly's screams, it's too quiet and still. I follow her cries to the nursery. She lays in the crib in a soiled diaper and cries so hard her entire body is shaking. Chase is next to her. My brother stands frozen in place, whispering the same apology over and over.
The second Tilly sees me she lets out another desperate wail, like she’s been waiting for someone to help for far too long.
“Hey, hey, I’ve got you, baby girl,” I murmur, scooping her up. The moment she melts against me, guilt punches the air from my lungs. I wasn't here. She needed me and I wasn't here!
I take her to the bathroom, and get her washed and both of us changed. She latches onto my fresh shirt with both hands, her breath hitching between sobs as I pull her against my chest. I start rocking, pacing the small room while her cries slowly break into hiccups.
“I’m here,” I whisper, pressing my cheek to the top of her head. “I’m here, Tills. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”
Her distress fades, but she clings to me like she’s afraid I might disappear again. Her tiny fingers fist the front of my top, refusing to let go. I rub circles over her back until her breathing steadies.
When she’s calm enough, I leave the bathroom to find Chase. “Let’s sit down,” I say to my brother, pointing toward the living room.
He only nods, wiping at his face with the sleeve of his hoodie before trailing after me. For now, there's only one thing I need to figure out: where the fuck is Livia?
The living room looks the same at a first glance, but the longer I stand there, the more my brain starts catching the details that aren’t right. My eyes land on the TV stand—it’s empty. My guitars are no longer in their stands and my record collection has disappeared with them. Even the tablet from the coffee table, the one I left there this morning, has disappeared. It’s like someone came and…holy fuck.
Livia, what the fuck did you do?
