Chapter 15 Chapter Fifteen

Chapter 15 Chapter Fifteen


The night air is cooler now, the hum of cicadas filling the silence between houses. Gavin sits on the steps of the Miller place, elbows on his knees, staring at the gravel driveway like it holds all the answers he doesn’t want to say out loud.
The screen door creaks. He doesn’t look up until Mara eases it shut behind her, wrapping her cardigan tighter around her shoulders.
“You disappeared fast,” she says quietly, settling a few steps above him. “Figured you’d rather sulk out here than in there.”
Gavin exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “Didn’t want to be part of the yelling match.”
Mara watches him for a moment, her expression softer than the sharp edges she usually carries. “You always run when things get messy.”
He lets out a short laugh, humorless. “And you don’t?”
“Touché.” She tucks her knees to her chest, resting her chin there. For a while, they just listen to the crickets. Then, almost hesitant, she adds, “You don’t make this easy, you know.”
Gavin glances at her. “Make what easy?”
“Us.” Her voice cracks slightly, though she tries to cover it with a small smile. “Sometimes I feel like I’m fighting for something you don’t even want anymore.”
The words hang heavy between them. Gavin looks back down at the gravel, jaw tight. “Mara…” He shakes his head. “It’s not that simple.”
“Then explain it.” Her voice sharpens, but it’s not anger — it’s pleading. “Because I came all this way, and half the time, I don’t even know if you want me here.”
He finally looks at her, and there’s guilt in his eyes, mixed with something unspoken he can’t bring himself to admit. “I never asked you to come.”
The sting lands immediately, and she flinches. But she doesn’t lash out. Instead, she pulls in a shaky breath, eyes glinting in the porch light. “You didn’t have to. I just… I thought maybe if I showed up, you’d remember why we worked in the first place.”
Gavin’s throat tightens. He doesn’t tell her she’s wrong. He doesn’t tell her she’s right either.
Mara lets out a bitter laugh, swiping at the corner of her eye. “God, I sound pathetic, don’t I?”
“No,” he says quickly. Too quickly. “You don’t.”
For a moment, she almost smiles. But it fades just as fast. “Then why do I feel like I’m already losing?”
Gavin doesn’t answer. Because the truth — the reason his chest clenches every time he looks across the yard toward the Faye house — is the one thing he can’t give her.
So he sits in silence, and Mara hugs her knees tighter, both of them drowning in everything unsaid.
Mara breaks the silence first, her voice low. “Do you even remember why we started? Or was it just… convenient?”
Gavin finally leans back, his head tilting against the wooden railing behind him. He stares up at the hazy stars. “Convenient? No. That’s not fair.”
She waits, quiet, letting him find his words.
“You came when everything else was falling apart,” he says slowly. “School was a mess, my dad was on my case, Eben was… well, Eben. You made it feel like maybe none of that mattered when I was with you.”
Mara swallows hard, fingers twisting the edge of her cardigan. “So I was a distraction.”
“You were more than that.” He looks at her then, his voice steady but softer than she expects. “You listened when I didn’t even know how to say what was wrong. You made me laugh when nothing was funny. You reminded me there was more than… all of it.”
For a second, she lets herself breathe easier, her heart tugging at the memory. “I loved you for that, you know. Because you let me be there for you.”
Gavin’s jaw works, like he wants to say something but doesn’t. Instead, he runs a hand through his damp hair and mutters, “Yeah. And I let myself need you.”
Her chest aches at the way he phrases it — past tense. “So what changed?”
Gavin pauses, staring at the ground. “Maybe nothing. Maybe me.”
Mara studies him, searching his face for a crack, for the answer she feels like she already knows but doesn’t want to hear. “You’re here but not here, Gavin. I feel it. Like part of you is somewhere else. With someone else.”
His eyes flicker, just for a second — across the yard toward the dark silhouette of the Faye house — before he forces himself to look away.
Mara catches the hesitation, but she doesn’t push. Instead, she draws her legs down, placing her feet on the step beside him. “I don’t want to lose you. But I also don’t want to be holding on to something that’s already slipping.”
The cicadas hum louder, filling the gap where his answer should be.
Gavin presses his palms against his knees, breathing out slowly. “I don’t have it figured out yet, Mara. That’s the truth.”
And for the first time, Mara doesn’t argue. She just nods, even though the uncertainty cuts deeper than anything else.
Mara nods once, her lips pressed tight like she’s holding back words that might shatter what little ground they still have. She hugs her cardigan closer and stands, the boards creaking softly beneath her feet.
“You should get some sleep,” she says, her voice steadier than her eyes. “Maybe things will feel less… tangled in the morning.”
Gavin stays seated, watching the gravel again instead of her. “Yeah. Maybe.”
She lingers a beat longer, as if waiting for him to say something that will tether her back to him. But nothing comes. So she gives a small, sad smile and turns toward the door.
The screen door clicks shut behind her, muffling the sounds of the Miller house, and suddenly it’s just Gavin and the night.
He leans forward, elbows on his knees again, dragging his hands over his face. His chest feels heavy, heavier than the water pressing down on him when he dove off the falls earlier.
Mara’s right. Part of him isn’t here.
His gaze shifts despite himself, pulled across the yard like a compass needle. The Faye house sits quiet, one upstairs light still glowing faintly through the curtains. Ari’s window.
He exhales sharply, raking his hand through his hair again, and mutters under his breath, “What the hell are you doing, Gav?”
But he doesn’t look away. Not until the light in Ari’s window clicks off, leaving the house — and his chest — in darkness.
The house is quiet, finally. Josh is passed out in his room, probably snoring loud enough to shake the walls. Mom and Dad retreated after another round of lectures that I half-heard but fully felt. I should be sleeping too, but my brain won’t shut off.
The image of the falls keeps replaying — the roar of the water, the cold shock of hitting it, the way Gavin’s voice cracked when he shouted my name.
I roll onto my side, staring at my phone on the nightstand. My thumb hovers over his contact. It’s stupid. It’s reckless. But then again, so am I.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I type:
Ari: Why do you even care what I do?
I stare at the screen, the little “delivered” checkmark mocking me. My heart thunders as seconds drag. Then the typing dots appear.
Gavin: You really want me to answer that?
I chew my lip, hesitating. Then:
Ari: Yeah.
There’s a pause, long enough I almost regret sending anything. Then my phone buzzes again.
Gavin: Why did you do it? The jump. The drinking. All of it.
I shut my eyes, my chest squeezing. The truth is right there, burning a hole in me. My thumbs hover before I finally let it spill.
Ari: Because I didn’t want your eyes off me.
The second I hit send, regret punches me in the gut. God, what was I thinking? It’s a shot in the dark, a risk I can’t take back.
The dots appear. Stop. Start again. Stop. It feels like hours before his reply comes through.
Gavin: You don’t have to do stupid shit to make me notice you.
I suck in a breath, my pulse skipping. The words glow back at me, heavier than anything else tonight. I want to ask what he means, what it really means — but my courage is gone, replaced with a dizzy warmth that curls low in my stomach.
Instead, I lock my phone, pressing it to my chest in the dark. My lips curve into a smile I can’t stop, even if I wanted to.
What I don’t know — what I couldn’t possibly know — is that his eyes never left me in the first place. Not until Mara pulled them away.
The smell of coffee drags me out of bed. My parents’ voices drift up the stairs, sharp and cutting in that way that means trouble.
I pad into the kitchen, hair a mess, throat dry. Mom and Dad are standing at the counter, arms crossed, while Josh slouches at the table looking like death warmed over. He groans into his coffee mug, eyes bloodshot.
“There she is,” Mom says, narrowing her gaze on me. “Our other little rule-breaker.”
Heat crawls up my neck. “Morning.”
Dad gestures toward the fridge. “Breakfast. You’ll need it after last night.” His tone is flat, no room for argument.
I sink into a chair, avoiding Josh’s smirk. He looks like hell, but still manages to enjoy me getting chewed out too.
“You were supposed to be home by dinner,” Mom says sharply. “Do you think we don’t notice when you both stumble in smelling like liquor?”
Josh coughs into his mug, not even trying to deny it. I wince. “I’m sorry,” I mumble.
“You should be,” Dad says. “You’re lucky you didn’t get yourself killed.”
My stomach twists at the reminder. Lucky. That’s one word for it.
The back door creaks open, and my head jerks up. Gavin. He steps inside, casual as ever, brushing a hand through his hair like he belongs here.
“Hey,” he says simply, nodding to Josh.
Josh perks up, grinning faintly. “What, watchdog duty again?” He claps Gavin’s shoulder, and Gavin smirks but doesn’t answer. His eyes drift — past Josh, past my parents, landing squarely on me.
My breath catches. His gaze lingers just a second too long, like the text messages from last night are still hanging between us.
“Josh,” Mom says, dragging attention back. “We’re not finished talking.”
Josh groans dramatically, sinking lower into his chair. “Mom, please, can we not—”
Their bickering swallows the kitchen, all sharp words and frustration. It’s enough of a distraction that Gavin takes a slow step closer to me.
“You okay?” he asks under his breath, voice low enough that it doesn’t carry.
I nod quickly, even though it’s a lie. My pulse is still unsteady from the waterfall, from the look in his eyes, from his message. “Yeah. Fine.”
He doesn’t look convinced. His hand brushes the back of the chair next to me, close enough that I feel the heat of him even without contact.
“You don’t look fine,” he murmurs.
And suddenly, the room feels smaller. The shouting between my parents and Josh fades, drowned out by the weight of Gavin’s eyes.
I force a weak smile. “Neither do you.”
The corner of his mouth twitches, like he wants to say more — but doesn’t. Instead, he leans back just as my mom turns around, her attention snapping back to me.
Before I can answer, Mom turns sharply, her gaze landing on Gavin like a hawk spotting prey.
“And you,” she says, her tone cutting through the room.
Gavin straightens instinctively, like he’s been through this before. His easy confidence flickers, replaced by that guarded, stoic look he wears when he doesn’t want to show too much.
“You’ve been around this family long enough to know better,” Mom continues, her voice firm but threaded with something else — disappointment. “You’re supposed to be the responsible one. If Ari or Josh end up in trouble, who do you think I expect to step in?”
The words sting, and not just for him. My cheeks heat at the implication, like I’m a burden she’s unknowingly handing over.
“Mom—” I start, but she raises her hand, silencing me.
Gavin’s jaw tightens, but he nods once. “Yes, ma’am.”
It’s quiet, respectful, but I see the flicker in his eyes. He doesn’t like it. Not because she’s wrong — but because it puts him in a place he doesn’t want to be.
“Good,” Mom says shortly, turning her attention back to Josh, who’s trying not to laugh at Gavin getting roped in.
The weight in my chest grows heavier. I glance at Gavin, who’s staring down at the table like he’s swallowing back words he’ll never say.
For a moment, it feels like he really is part of this family — but one held to higher standards, like Mom trusts him more than either of us. And somehow, that makes everything between us even more complicated.
Mom’s verdict lands like a gavel. “Neither of you — Ari or Josh — is allowed off this property. The only exception is the backyard, and even that’s because of the pool.”
Josh groans, slumping in his chair. “That’s basically house arrest.”
But it doesn’t bother me as much. The backyard feels like a refuge more than a prison, and right now, the thought of hiding out there with a book or floating in the pool sounds better than facing everyone else’s eyes.
Breakfast passes quietly after that, the clatter of forks and clinking of coffee mugs filling the silence. Dad tries to lighten things with small talk, but Mom’s watchful gaze keeps us all in check.
When the plates are cleared, I slip outside, needing air. The morning sun spills over the deck, warming the wood beneath my bare feet. I almost think I’ll have a moment alone until I hear the screen door creak open behind me.
Gavin steps out, his shoulders tense, hands shoved deep in his pockets. For a while, we just stand there, the breeze carrying the faint sound of Josh arguing with Mom inside.