Page 118 of At First Flight
“Where’s Lila?” he finally asks.
“She needed a break,” I say gently. “Just for a little bit.”
“Did she get tired of us?”
God.
“No, buddy. Never.” I run a hand through his messy hair. “Sometimes grown-ups need space to figure things out. But it doesn’t mean we don’t love the people we need space from.”
He nods, but I can tell he doesn’t understand. Hell, I barely understand it myself.
I’m at Otter Creek Farm by noon, helping Rowan patch a fence near the back pasture. It’s not that he doesn’t have the men on hand to do the work. I think he somehow sensed that I needed to leave the house. Maybe it was Lila’s doing.
The sun beats down relentlessly, and the sweat stings my eyes, but I welcome the physical distraction. The cows are loud, the barn smells like hay and heat, and I’m grateful for both. It beats standing in that empty kitchen pretending I don’t notice how everything’s still where she left it—her water glass, the folded throw blanket, and a rubber band from Evelyn’s braid still resting on the table.
“She tell you where she’s staying?” Rowan asks, tightening the drill bit on his impact driver.
I nod. “Ashvi’s place.”
“She okay?”
“I don’t know.”
He gives me a long, measuring look. “And you?”
I want to lie and say I’m fine, that this is just a blip. That she’ll come home once she clears her head. But I can’t. Instead, I wipe my hands on my jeans and sit on the edge of the truck bed.
“I keep thinking,” I say slowly, “if I’m just good enough, she’ll stay. But it’s hard to compete with someone’s dreams, especially hers. She’s a freaking life-saving scientist.”
Rowan leans his arms against the tool rack but doesn’t interrupt.
“I’ve done everything right. I built the house. I hired help. I show up every damn day. I learned to braid Evelyn’s hair and sit through Oliver’s rants about dinosaur evolution. I try so damn hard to be steady. To be… safe.”
Rowan nods once, slow. “And?”
“She’s still halfway out the door.”
We sit in silence, the wind stirring dust around our boots.
Then he says, “You can be everything good in the world, man, but you can’t make someone believe they can have it. That’s their job.”
The words hit harder than I want to admit.
Back at the house, I move through the motions—dinner, baths, bedtime—but it’s all muscle memory. I readWhere the Wild Things Arewith Evelyn curled against me, her thumb in her mouth, and Oliver pretending he’s not sleepy even as he nods off mid-sentence.
Lila’s name doesn’t come up again.
But when I go downstairs, I catch sight of her sweater draped over the back of the couch. I press it to my face and inhale. It still smells like her.
I have no idea how to move forward without her.
Chapter Twenty-four – Lila
The stars are out by the time I slip my shoes on and step onto Ashvi’s porch. The night smells like honeysuckle and warm asphalt, and my headache has dulled to a manageable throb for the first time all day. My body still feels like it’s carrying the weight of too many truths. And one giant mistake.
I stare out at the street, wondering if he’s home. Wondering if Evelyn has asked for me. Wondering if Oliver picked out a new rock for his collection and left it on the windowsill for me to find.
The guilt claws up my throat again. Because everything Ashvi said when I showed up last night was right.
