Page 54 of The Light We Lost

I huffed a laugh—she was too polite to call someone out for being late. I moved out of my chair to wash my plate, pausing when I saw a flash of red hair.

“I’m sorry I’m late.” Indy lingered in the entryway, holding still as Cash smelled her. “I’m sure you’re finished with dinner by now, but I thought I should stop by and apologize.”

“It’s okay,” Shay insisted. Why was Indy here? When had they become friendly? All my curiosity left when I heard Shay ask in a quiet voice, “Indy... is everything alright?”

I leaned across the table, not caring if she caught me staring. She wore a white cardigan and a pair of jeans that flared wide at her boots. Her hair was down, her curls full and framing her face. I couldn’t have imagined her better-looking if I tried, but it wasn’t her appearance that had my heart pounding.

Her eyes were glossy and rimmed with red, and I knew by the way she avoided Shay’s gaze she was trying to hide the fact she’d been crying. She’d been the same when we were younger. Her first instinct was always to hide when she was hurting.

But I saw it now as I had then, and I felt it just the same.

“I’m great.” Indy gave her a watery smile, her blinks quick. “I don’t think I’m used to the dry air anymore.”

“Alright, well, come on in. I’ll make you a plate.”

She followed Shay without another word, glancing around the cabin with wide eyes, likely wondering how the hell Shay and Brooks had turned what once was a literal dump into a home.

Years ago, this cabin was hardly more than a shack. It had been small and outdated, the flooring broken and rotted. But then, the flooring was ripped up and replaced. The foundation was strengthened. Walls were torn down, and it was expanded into a three-bedroom cabin. There were family pictures on the walls, laundry piled on the couch, and Winnie’s toys were scattered across the floor. There was no denying there was a sense of home within these walls.

“Here”—Shay pulled out the chair on the other side of Wren—“I saved you the best seat.”

Indy hesitated a step, probably thinking the best seat in the house wasn’t beside a grubby toddler, but she sat anyway. I watched her, waiting for her gaze to meet mine. But it never came.

What the hell?

We had a ways to go, but I’d thought we’d made progress. We were moving forward. Or had I imagined it? Had her fears not eased with a simple touch of our fingers like mine had?

“It’s good to see you, Indy.” Brooks scrubbed a hand through his beard, probably as uncomfortable in the silence as we all were. Even Winnie was quiet. “But I’m not so sure you being here is a good idea.”

I rolled my hand into a fist. Brother or not, he had no right to speak to her like that. Before I could drag him outside and make sure no one ever told Indy where she could or couldn’t be, he grinned. “Seriously? You took my brothers to a game, but not me? What the hell’s up with that?”

She cracked a smile, and I let out a breath, relaxing in my chair. “You used to complain when you’d watch games with me. I didn’t think you’d want to come.”

“You should’ve heard him,” Shay told her, bringing back a plate from the kitchen. “He whined all night about how he was stuck at home while his brothers were out watching the rivalry game.” She scooted the plate across the table to Indy. “I don’t care if you leave him, but next time please take me so I don’t have to listen to him complain.”

“Or better yet,” Indy said, “let’s skip the men entirely.”

Shay laughed, and I’d be lying if I said something in me didn’t rejoice at the sight of them getting to know one another. “I see how it is.” I leaned back in my chair. “You’ve known each other for what—two minutes? And you’re already ditching us? I’m hurt.”

“Sorry.” Shay shrugged, making herself comfortable on Brooks’s thigh. “Us women have to stick together.”

Indy gave her a polite smile before she thanked her for dinner, silently eating as the rest of us made pointless conversation. She’d chimed in with onehell noafter Shay tried persuading her into running a marathon with her. It wasn’t until Brooks and Shay stood and wandered to the kitchen that I said, “The diner looked busy from my view of the street. You have a good day?”

She nodded, apparently too lost in her mashed potatoes to respond—or look at me. I knew it was a lame question, but I was grasping for straws here, and I wasn’t about to let her push me away. “Doesn’t look like you have your earbuds in, so I’m assuming you can hear me.”

“I heard you,” Indy replied in between bites, her gaze on her plate. “I nodded.”

I let out a low chuckle, leaning against the table. “But I like listening to you, peaches.”

She huffed a laugh, letting a bit of her mask slip. “You’re the only one who ever has.”

She pushed around the food on her plate, seeming to hope I’d drop it. Like I didn’t remember the things people had said about her when we were kids. She was too loud. Reckless. Hotheaded. Stubborn. Her head was in the clouds. I’d never felt that way, and I had no intention of letting it go, but luckily for her—or maybe not lucky for her—Winniehad other plans.

My niece wrapped her tiny little fingers into Indy’s hair, mashed potatoes and all, and Indy screeched, taken off guard. “Wren,” I chided, struggling not to laugh. “Just because you barely have any doesn’t mean you can start yanking on a pretty girl’s hair.”

She gave me gap-toothed smile, winding Indy’s hair tighter in her fist. “See, I told you,” Indy cried, trying to pry herself free. “As soon as I talked, the baby grabbed my hair.”

I chuckled. Taking pity on her, I reached across the table. “Permission to touch your hair?”

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