Chapter 17 Chapter Seventeen

Chapter 17 Chapter Seventeen

Eben’s jaw works like he’s chewing on words he can’t swallow. Finally, he leans back in his chair, voice cutting across the yard louder than it should.

“Hey, Gav!”

The sound makes me jump. Gemma drops her phone into her lap, eyes wide. Across the fence, Gavin’s head snaps up, his shoulders stiffening. Mara startles too, her hand still resting lightly on his arm.

“You planning on staring all morning, or you actually gonna say something?” Eben calls, tone sharp, daring.

The silence that follows is thick, like the air’s been sucked out of the backyard. Gavin’s jaw tightens, his hand dragging once through his hair. He doesn’t answer right away.

Mara looks from him to us, suspicion sharpening her features. “Who are they to talk to you like that?” she asks under her breath, but loud enough for me to catch.

I can feel my heart hammering, my skin prickling with heat. Gavin’s eyes lock on mine for a split second — just a flicker, quick and raw — before he looks back at his brother.

“Eben,” he says, voice steady but low, “not now.”

Eben laughs without humor, shaking his head. “Not now? That’s always your answer. You think avoiding shit makes it go away?” He stands, hands clenched at his sides. “You’re not fooling anyone, Gav. Least of all her.”

His chin tilts toward me, and the blood drains from my face.

The silence feels unbearable, Eben’s words hanging in the air like a spotlight I don’t want on me. Heat creeps up my neck, and before I can think better of it, I push to my feet so fast my chair scrapes against the deck.

“Anybody want ice cream?” I blurt, my voice higher than usual.

Gemma blinks, startled, then shrugs. “Uh… sure?”

Eben doesn’t answer right away, his glare still locked on Gavin across the fence. But when I glance at him, his expression softens just slightly, like he remembers I’m standing here too. “Yeah. Fine. Ice cream sounds good.”

I don’t wait for more. I spin on my heel and head for the screen door, my pulse thudding in my ears.

Behind me, I can feel Gavin’s gaze, heavy and searching, but I don’t turn around. I can’t. Not with Mara still standing next to him, not with Eben’s words still echoing in my head.

Inside, the cool air hits my skin, but it doesn’t stop the flush burning across my face.

I slide a bowl of ice cream toward Josh, who shovels a spoonful in like it’s his last meal. My own spoon just scrapes the surface, stirring circles until the mint melts into pale green puddles.

Through the open kitchen window, voices filter in — sharp, muffled, then clear when someone raises their tone.

Eben.

“You gonna keep standing there, Gavin? You think nobody notices?”

The voices outside rise again, sharp enough now that even Josh pauses mid-bite.

“Don’t start, Eben,” Gavin mutters, his words tight but carrying.

“I’m not starting,” Eben fires back. “I’m finishing. You keep acting like nothing’s happening when it’s written all over your face every time she walks in the room.”

The silence that follows is heavier than the summer air.

And then Mara’s voice slices through it, louder than before. Sweet, but with poison underneath.

“Really, Gavin? You’re going to let your brother waste breath over her? Who even cares what Ari does? She’s not your responsibility. I am.”

The words slam into me before I can blink. My chest goes cold, like someone dumped the melting ice cream over my heart instead of the sink.

Josh chokes on a laugh, spoon clattering. “Damn. Guess she said it.”

I grip the counter harder, staring at the bowl in front of me until the colors blur.

Outside, Gavin’s reply comes low, almost dangerous. “Don’t talk about her like that.”

The screen hums with cicadas, with the faint rustle of Eben shifting his weight, but I can’t move. Because Mara’s words are still stuck in me, ringing louder than they should.

Not your responsibility.

And maybe she’s right. Josh glances toward the window, brows lifting. “Uh oh.”

My grip on the spoon tightens.

“I said not now,” Gavin’s voice answers, low but rough, carrying just enough to cut through the cicadas outside.

“Yeah, well, maybe you should make it now,” Eben snaps back. “Because I’m done watching you split yourself in half every time you look across that fence.”

My stomach flips. Ice cream forgotten, I press my palms against the counter, leaning closer to the open screen. Mara says something then — her voice sugar-sweet but edged like glass. I can’t make out the words, only the sound of them, pointed and sharp.

Josh keeps eating, oblivious as ever. “Man, Eben’s pissed.” He laughs under his breath. “Bet Mara loves that.”

I don’t answer. Because the truth is, I don’t love it at all — hearing the cracks in Gavin’s voice, hearing Eben push against walls I’ve been pretending weren’t there.

And worse, knowing every word is about me.

Mara’s laugh cuts sharp through the air. “You’re seriously defending her again? This is pathetic, Gavin. You act like she’s the only girl on this street worth noticing, and you’re blind to the one standing right in front of you.”

Something shifts in Gavin’s stance. For once, he doesn’t just take it, doesn’t let her words slide past. He steps closer to Mara, his voice steady but edged like glass.

“I’m not blind.”

Mara falters, blinking, but recovers with a scoff. “Then what? You’d rather keep chasing after some girl who—”

“Stop,” Gavin snaps, louder this time. Eben straightens, ready to step between them, but Gavin doesn’t let him. His jaw clenches, shoulders tight. “I can’t do this anymore, Mara.”

Her smile falters. “What are you talking about?”

“You showing up here. Acting like we’re still something we’re not.” His words are low, final, like each one is nailed into the space between them. “We’re done. We’ve been done. You just didn’t want to hear it.”

The silence that follows makes every hair on my arms rise.

Mara shakes her head, her voice cracking for the first time. “You don’t mean that.”

But Gavin doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t soften. He just looks past her, toward the house — toward me, though I duck my head before his eyes can find mine.

When Mara finally turns on her heel and storms toward the Millers’ side, the slam of her door echoes across the lawns.

And all I can think is that even with the chaos of her gone, I feel just as unsteady — because what’s left between us now feels even louder.

The sound of Mara’s door slamming still rings in my ears when I step back into the kitchen, the carton of mint chip limp in my hands. The lid caves under my fingers, pale green melting down the sides, dripping onto my wrist and splattering the tiles in sticky puddles.

Of course. I’d been standing at the window too long, frozen, watching everything unravel outside.

My mom’s voice cuts in, sharp but tired. “Arianna Faye. Look at this mess.”

I glance down, cheeks hot, as another stream of melted mint chip trails across the floor. Mom grabs a dish towel, muttering as she kneels to clean it up. “Do I have to remind you this isn’t a frat house? Ice cream belongs in bowls, not all over my kitchen.”

“I—sorry, I’ll clean it,” I say quickly, fumbling for paper towels even though she’s already wiping furiously. My stomach knots, the truth burning in my throat. I wasn’t being careless. I was just too caught up watching Gavin break Mara’s heart to notice the carton melting in my hands.

Josh stumbles in behind me, hair messy, eyes half-lidded. “What happened here? Did the freezer quit?”

“Your sister lost a fight with a tub of ice cream,” Mom says flatly, shooting me a look over her shoulder.

Josh smirks, reaching for the fridge. “Classic Ari.”

I grip the counter, the chill of the laminate grounding me as I bite back a reply. My pulse still races, not from the mess, but from the way Gavin’s voice had cut through the morning air outside. He’s still out there — I know he is. And the weight of that makes the spreading puddle of mint chip on the floor feel like the smallest disaster of the day.

Mom sighs, still crouched on the floor scrubbing at the green puddle. “Honestly, Ari, between you and your brother, I’m not sure which one of you is more work this summer.”

Josh laughs through a mouthful of leftover pancakes, completely unbothered. “Definitely her.”

I shoot him a glare, but before I can fire back, the back door creaks open.

Gavin steps inside, sunlight at his back, hair damp like he’s already showered. His eyes flick from Josh, to me, to the spreading stain Mom’s still working on. He doesn’t say anything at first — just takes in the scene, his expression unreadable.

“Perfect timing,” Mom mutters, straightening up with the towel in her hands. “Maybe you can knock some sense into these two. Ari let half a carton of mint chip melt all over my floor.”

The heat in my cheeks flares. “It wasn’t— I just—” I stammer, but my words sound pathetic even to me.

Josh grins, tossing a grape in the air and catching it. “She was too busy daydreaming at the window.”

Mom gives me a look that says she agrees. “Exactly. And you,” she turns to Gavin, “you’re supposed to be the responsible one. Don’t think I didn’t notice you were out with them last night too.”

The room shifts, the air tightening. My chest goes hot and cold all at once. She’s not wrong — Gavin was there. But he wasn’t part of the problem. He was the one pulling me out of it.

Gavin’s gaze lingers on me for a beat before he finally speaks, voice steady. “I’ll take care of it, Mrs. Faye. Won’t happen again.”

My mom nods, clearly satisfied enough with that answer to finally toss the soggy towel into the sink. “Good. Because I don’t need three kids to keep track of.”

Josh snorts, and I sink lower in my chair, my throat dry. Gavin crosses the kitchen, leaning one hand on the counter close enough that I can feel the weight of his presence. He doesn’t look at me, not directly, but I know the words from earlier still hang between us.

Better me than you.

And I can’t decide if it makes me want to scream at him… or thank him.

Josh stretches, yawning like he hasn’t a care in the world. “I’m hitting the pool before Mom finds something else for me to do.” He snags a towel from the counter and wanders out the back door, whistling.

Mom follows a second later, muttering something about laundry as she disappears down the hall.

And just like that, it’s quiet. Just me and Gavin, the hum of the fridge filling the silence.

I stare at the puddle where the ice cream used to be, my stomach in knots. “Thanks for… covering for me,” I mumble, not meeting his eyes.

“You shouldn’t have needed me to,” he says. His voice isn’t sharp, but it’s firm, threaded with something heavier.

I finally glance up. He’s watching me now, arms braced on the counter, leaning forward just enough that I feel trapped by the closeness. Not in a bad way. Just… like there’s nowhere to run.

“Your mom’s not wrong,” he goes on. “I should’ve been more responsible.”

My brows knit. “Why would you say that? You were the responsible one.”

He doesn’t answer right away. His jaw tightens, like he’s weighing what to say, what to keep back. Finally, he shakes his head. “Not enough.”

I bite the inside of my cheek, frustration mixing with a pull in my chest I can’t ignore. “You saved me last night, Gavin. If you weren’t there…” My voice falters, the memory hazy but still enough to make my stomach turn. “You can’t blame yourself for everything.”

His eyes flicker, softening for just a second before he looks away. “Someone has to.”

The words land heavy between us. My pulse skips, and before I can think, I whisper, “Why you?”

Gavin’s gaze snaps back to mine, the question hanging there like a dare neither of us is ready for.His gaze doesn’t waver from mine, heavy and unblinking. “You don’t have to do stupid shit just to get my attention, Ari.”

The words sting, even though his tone isn’t cruel. More like he’s desperate for me to understand.

My throat tightens. “Is that what you think I’m doing? That everything I do is just… some performance for you?”

He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “That’s not what I mean. I mean—” He stops, dragging in a breath, then lowers his voice. “You already have it. My attention. Always. You don’t need to nearly get yourself killed for me to care.”

My heart lurches. The kitchen feels smaller somehow, the hum of the fridge louder. “Then why…” My voice cracks, softer now. “Why do you keep walking toward her?”

For a moment, silence stretches between us, thick enough to drown in. His jaw tightens, his eyes dark as if I’ve cornered him with a truth he isn’t ready to say out loud. For a moment, silence stretches between us, heavy and unrelenting. Gavin doesn’t move—then he does, slow but certain, closing the space between us until my back presses lightly a

gainst the counter.

The hum of the refrigerator buzzes in my ears, my pulse louder than both.