Page 33 of Catch
“It’d have been pretty wild for me to assume your brother owned your house.”
“He owns my other brother’s house, too,” I replied. “And Easton’s girlfriend’s house. Honestly, he probably owns half the houses in Harmony Haven by now. At least all the ones that were falling apart. He wants Harmony Haven to stay safe, affordable, and a place young families want to raise their kids. The house I’m in? I was only supposed to stay there until the renovations were done, and then he planned to sell it. But I’m not ready to leave. I might just buy it from him.”
It was the first time I’d mentioned anything significant about my oldest brother. Normally, I kept that information close to my chest, especially with people outside of town. I usually didn’t tell anyone that Westley Brooks, the Atlanta business mogul, was my brother. Not that I expected Loxley to know who he was, but I’m sure she’d heard his name before. West seemed to be getting quite the reputation, and was always in the news. I expected her to ask more about that, but she stayed quiet for several minutes, strumming her fingers to the beat of the song.
“I wouldn’t want to leave it, either,” she finally said. “I’ve only been there a week, and it’s the most at home I’ve ever felt. I can see why you’d want to stay.”
We fell into a comfortable silence for the rest of the drive as the music set the tone. The road took us through the heart of town, past the Piggly Wiggly, and back out toward the countryside. It was about a thirty-minute trip before I turned off the highway onto a dirt road. The gate was about twenty feet from the road, and I eased up to it slowly, then held up a finger, signaling for her to hold on while I got out to enter the security code on the lock and chain.
When I climbed back into the truck, I noticed Loxley’s eyes were scanning the surroundings. She took in the old cattle fence stretching for acres, the rugged driveway winding up the hill, and finally, the white house that sat like a postcard-perfect image against the horizon.
I could tell she was nervous, because she assumed she’d be meeting my parents. She was putting trust in the fact that they weren’t going to call the newspapers, or even their friends, and tell them about Loxley Adams being in Harmony Haven.
As we got closer, she glanced at me and even though our eyes didn’t meet, I could feel her realization sinking in: the house was empty.
Chapter Eighteen
LOXLEY
Miles was takingme up the hill to a house that sat perfectly in the open field. The trees looked like they grew exactly where God had intended, just to make the house look that much prettier. The old barn off to the side, with its faded red paint peeling away, had seen better days, but it still added to an image that I thought only existed on postcards or jigsaw puzzles.
As we got even closer, an unsettling stillness seeped into the air. For all its beauty, the house felt lifeless, as though it was holding its breath, waiting. The hairs on my arms stood on end, and an ache settled in my chest. Somehow, I instantly knew that Miles’ parents weren’t physically there.
“They died when I was ten,” he said softly as he put the Jeep in park. “But I told you they’d keep your secret.”
The weight of his words settled heavily between us. Despite his attempt at keeping it light, I could see the tension in his jaw and the way his hands lingered on the steering wheel, gripping it like an anchor
“I’m so sorry,” I offered, reaching across the console and grabbing one of his hands. His skin was warm, his fingers strong, but trembling slightly under my touch.
“It’s okay,” he said, managing a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He glanced up at me, and in that moment, I could see the depth of his sincerity, the years of grief tempered by acceptance. He squeezed my hand, then raised it slightly, pointing toward a sprawling oak tree that stood near the house. “I usually mow the property, do a little edging, then lay there under that tree and chat with them.”
I nodded, my throat tight. The thought of him lying beneath that tree, speaking to the heavens, struck a chord deep within me. It must have been such a personal experience, and being there with him now felt like an honor.
“That swing looks kind of new,” I said, motioning toward the thick rope swing hanging from one of the oak’s massive branches.
“My middle brother, Easton. He met someone a while back and she has a son. He brings them out here on his days to mow.”
“So you three take turns keeping this place looking nice?”
“Sorta,” he said with a short laugh. “West doesn’t step foot on this property. He hires someone to do his share. We hated it at first because this is Mom and Dad’s house but he’s had a rough time, being the oldest and all. So we just let him deal with things his way. It’s been so long now, though, that I don’t mind. He’s doing the best he can.”
I let my eyes wander back to the house, taking in its weathered charm. It wasn’t ostentatious, but its setting and character were everything one could want in a small-town home. I could almost hear the echoes of laughter that must have once filled the air, footsteps on the porch, and the warmth of a family.
“Come on,” Miles said, giving my hand a gentle tug. “Let me show you something before I get started.”
We climbed out of the Jeep, and he kept hold of my hand as he led me toward the house. Just when I thought we were going to step inside, he veered to the right, guiding me down arocky path that skirted the edge of the wide porch and led to the backyard.
As we rounded the corner, the sight stopped me in my tracks. My breath caught in my throat, and my free hand flew to my chest as I staggered back a step. The entire back of the house was charred and crumbling, a stark contrast to the pristine facade.
“Oh my God,” I whispered, my voice trembling. My eyes darted around the ruins, noticing the sagging stairs leading to nowhere, a half-burned couch slumped in the rubble, and a rusted metal statue of a chicken lying amid the debris, as if frozen in time. “It was a fire,” I breathed, then turned to Miles. “They died in a fire.”
“Not before they got Easton and me out safely,” he said, his voice steady but thick with emotion. “They went back in to look for West?—”
“But West is okay?” I cut him off, desperate for reassurance, my chest tightening with fear for someone I hadn’t even met.
“Yeah, he’s fine,” Miles said, meeting my gaze. “West wasn’t home and he’s never spoken anymore about it. But I do know he was the best, biggest brother and took care of us. We had our grandparents, but West took everything on as if he were our father. Especially with me since I’m the youngest. We had a really good life, but sometimes it's hard knowing my parents didn’t get to see it.”
“They did, though,” I tried assuring him. “They’re here.”
