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SARIAH: Tell me to postpone the wedding and come up there, and I’ll do it.

It’s okay. I need something to look forward to right now.

SARIAH: Don’t try to carry this alone, Rhodes. We’re all right here.

I need to find Jude. He’s taking it hard.

SARIAH: Take care of you too, please, or I will show up on your doorstep and do it for you.

In the back corner of my parents’ backyard was the tallest tree in the neighborhood. It was the only one to survive any landscaping because of the treehouse built high in it. The thing hadn’t changed in years, and the sight of it made my chest tighten. A roll-up ladder hung inches off the ground, and I climbed the old thing, hoping it wouldn’t break under my weight.

Once upon a time, Jude had been obsessed with anything that had teeth and roared—dinosaurs in particular. The obsession had been all-consuming. It came with books, figurines, art, games, and anything Jurassic Park related, including a VHS tape he watched until it broke.

That obsession bled into the treehouse from top to bottom, starting with the worn-down Jurassic HQ sign hanging lopsided over the door. A few letters were backward, done with determination by a kid still learning to write. The wood was painted green, and dinosaur footprints were everywhere. A loud thump, thump, thump came from inside, and I pushed open the door to find Jude sitting against the far wall, tossing a ball off the opposite one. Streaks of sunlight enhanced the severity in his expression.

He didn’t look my way as I let myself in, and he said nothing as I sat on the floor next to him. I watched the ball—toss, bounce, hit, bounce, catch. Over and over. The endless rhythm was as maddening as it was mesmerizing.

“You know, we only have this place because of you,” I began quietly. Jude made a sound, but that was it. “You were a crazy toddler. You climbed on everything. It didn’t matter if it couldn’t be climbed; you still tried. Everything in the house is bolted down because of it. Mom used to throw you at me and ask me to hold onto you so she could do things like cook or shower. I swear, I’d rather wrestle a fucking bear than hold toddler you again.”

That earned me a huff of laughter. It wasn’t much, but I’d take it.

“Mom got fed up with it and insisted we build you somewhere to climb. Dad hated the idea.”

“Of course he did,” Jude muttered.

“She ended up hiring some contractor to build you this, and she made me help,” I said. “Told me it’d be good for me. I painted that door.”

“You did a crappy job,” he replied.

“Yeah, I know.” I sighed. I ran a hand through my hair as silence settled between us once more. Leaves rustled overhead, and I could hear the neighbor’s dog yapping incessantly at something. I kept watching that stupid ball, sifting through over a dozen different things to say to him. Every one of them felt wrong. It’ll be okay felt like a lie. We’ll get through this felt like an impossible statement. I’m here for you seemed painfully inadequate when neither of us had any idea what this would look like as it unfolded.

The truth was, I didn’t know how to do this—being there for Jude. Coaching him to be a better quarterback was easy. It was all exercises, techniques, and repetition. I knew what to say and how to say it. I knew the right approach that made him listen. But this wasn’t football, and I wasn’t his coach. This wasn’t something I could fix with a plan or a routine.

This was my baby brother hurting as his world crumbled around him. Somewhere over the last year, we’d managed to heal the twelve-year age-gap rift that separated us. I had always loved Jude, but for most of our lives, we were just two people who shared the same parents. That blame fell on my shoulders. Maybe it mattered that I was here now and trying, but it also mattered that I had no clue how to connect with him or comfort him.

“I don’t know how to do this,” Jude whispered. I remained silent, letting him get out whatever he needed to say. Maybe I just needed to know that he’d open up to me when the shit got bad. Someone had to take care of him. Our father sure as hell wouldn’t. “I just keep trying… not to think about it.”

“And then you just keep thinking about it,” I finished for him.

“Yeah.” The ball stopped, and he rolled it between his palms. “I just keep hoping this is a bad dream, and I’ll wake up soon. I just want to go back to before all this shit started.”

“Life fucking sucks sometimes,” I said.

“Understatement of the year.”

“You know what I dread?”

“What?” He glanced at me. I reached over and swiped the ball from him. I bounced it against the wall and angled it toward him. We fell into a simple back-and-forth, the ball becoming a lifeline between us.

“The memory-making,” I told him. “She’s going to want to make all these memories, and a part of me wants them, but the other part…. I hate the idea because I know every single one of them is a stepping stone to what’s coming, and I don’t want to walk that path. I want to hole up and pretend it’s not happening because then maybe it won’t happen.”

“Maybe if you go to Florida, and life goes back to normal, nothing will change,” he replied.

“If it helped, I’d do it.” Everdale had grown on me in some ways, but if it meant keeping Mom, I’d go anywhere. Another bout of silence stretched between us. We were both so far in our heads, and it showed. The steady thump, thump, thump of the ball seemed to grow louder in the small space as I struggled to hold it together. Falling apart wouldn’t help.

When it was his turn to toss the ball, he didn’t. He let it slip to the floor, and it rolled out of sight. I glanced at him as his head tipped back against the wall, eyes squeezed shut and fresh tears rolling down his cheeks.

“Please don’t leave,” Jude whispered, his voice cracking. A quiet, broken sob escaped him. “I don’t think I can do this without you.”