Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Table of Contents

2. Company Picnic

3. Party Bust

4. Smoke Alarm

5. COD Zombies

6. Driving Lessons

7. Halloween Haunt

8. Truth or Drugs

9. “Don’t Make it Weird” 

10. Math Homework in French? 

11. Suspended

12. Fire on the Stove! 

13. On the Edge

14. Riverbend

Chapter Text

Josie

The street outside the large beige house didn’t look like a firehouse yard anymore. Half the neighborhood had unloaded their coolers and kids and taken over. A football game sprawled across the lawn. Guys in navy tees darted between cones while kids squealed every time they caught the ball.

A row of folding tables sagged under crockpots and casserole dishes, steam curling into the late afternoon air. At one end, a blue barrel brimmed with ice and soda cans; at the other, men crowded with amber bottles in hand.

Women claimed the picnic tables, voices rising in waves. Kids tore through every direction, swarming the rigs, climbing the ladder truck’s bumper, weaving through the game. 

I slowed at the edge, backpack slipping off one shoulder. The air smelled like smoked meat and barbecue mixed with the fresh scent of leaves finally painting the ground in reds and oranges. Heat pressed through my black jeans, sweat beading as the sun bore down. Blond strands stuck to my cheeks; I shoved them back, wishing I’d tied it up.

One more scan of the crowd, a tug on my strap, and then I saw him.

Matt Casey. 

He was right in the middle of it, short blond hair plastered to his forehead, shirt clinging as he squared up against a guy twice his size. A shout went up, the ball flew, and he sprinted like it was a championship instead of pickup.

He caught it clean, ran it past the cones, and the crowd burst around him. Kids circled him, men clapped his back. He laughed, breathless, drawing smiles and waves from women at the table. 

He looked…happy. In his element. 

And then here I was…about to disrupt it all to pieces. 

I almost changed my mind, almost turned around—he’d had a rougher life than me, he deserved this little slice of happiness—when he turned just the right amount and his eyes landed on me.

His grin faltered, chest still heaving, gaze fixed. 

I didn’t move. Neither did he.

“Casey! You in or out?” someone yelled. 

He just shook his head, tossed the ball away, and started toward me.

My backpack strap slipped again. I hitched it up, heart kicking, legs planted where I stood. Three years gone, nothing but a funeral and the occasional drop-in between us, and now? Here I was, impeding on his life in the middle of some family thing at his job. 

“Josie?” His voice cracked as he stopped in front of me. I glanced past him: several eyes were on us, specifically that of three younger women huddled around the beer barrel, hair up, makeup plastered, modelesque figures making me fidget in my sack-of-bones frame. 

“What’re you doing here?” He drew my attention back, swiping at his brow with his sleeve. Gross. 

“Hey…” I tried to grin, but it was half-assed. I tugged the strap of my backpack with both hands, closing in on myself. “Can we…talk?” My voice caught. “Somewhere not—” I glanced at the trio of girls watching us again. “Here?” 

He stared at me for one long second, glanced over his shoulder with a brief nod and wave to someone, then led me around the side of the firehouse, away from the crowd and the eyes following. The shade felt cooler, but did nothing to calm the nerves swimming inside me. 

He stopped near a stack of equipment boxes, crossed his arms, and studied me. Half-hurried—looking back at the picnic every few seconds, half-curious—pausing on me in between glances. 

"Alright, what's going on?"

I shifted my backpack strap. Again. "Nothing major. Just...Mom's gone.” I dropped my gaze, studying the smooth concrete surface of the apparatus bay. “It’s been…like a week."

"A week?" He let out a short breath, running a hand through his hair.. "Jesus, Jos. What's she doing this time? New boyfriend? Art retreat?" He shook his head. "Let me guess, she left you some cash and a note saying she'd be back soon?"

"Something like that." As in, nothing like that. This time. 

“Figures,” he muttered, crossing his arms. “She just up and leaves you for this long with—what, food? Money?” 

I shook my head. “I can’t get a hold of her. Her phone’s been shut off or something.” 

“Seriously?” His voice rose, drawing a few heads from around the corner. The ones who could still see us. “Jesus…Christ Josie. She just abandoned you? What the hell.” 

“Or…something’s wrong?” The nerves beat harder against my ribs, hot in my chest. “What if…what if something happened to her?” 

“Right.” He puffed out a breath, hands on his hips, and shook his head once. “I’m sure she’s fine, Jos. Not like she hasn’t pulled this crap on you before.” 

Oh. Right. Like his mom was any better? “At least she isn’t rotting in jail for killing our dad," I mumbled. 

He stilled, face darkening. "That's different and you know it." His voice was low, dangerous. 

"Is it? My mom doesn't murder people, Matt." I crossed my arms. Tight. "Probably.” Shifted my weight, dug my white canvas sneaker into the cement. “I think."

He huffed a laugh, shaking his head. "At least my mom actually raised me instead of dragging me around the country like some kind of—” he stopped, eyes landing on me. 

"Some kind of what?" I stepped closer, jaw clenched. "Say it."

His mouth snapped shut. Then he closed his eyes, ran a hand down his face, blew out a soft breath. 

Knew it. Chicken. 

I hitched my backpack higher on my shoulder. "Never mind. This was a bad idea."

I turned and started walking back toward the street.

"Josie, wait."

I kept walking.

"Josie!" His voice was sharper now, closer. "Stop."

I did. Still crossed arms. Still didn’t turn around.

"That's not—” He was right behind me now. "I didn’t mean—” he let out a heavy breath. “Look, I'm sorry, okay? I shouldn't’ve said that."

I still didn't turn around, every muscle in my body trembling now.

"Jos, come on. Talk to me. What's really going on?"

"Forget it."

"No, I'm not gonna forget it,” he snapped. What the hell did he have to be defensive about? “You came here for a reason." His voice softened a little. "What aren't you telling me?"

I stood there for a second, shoulders tight, before finally turning around. "We have to be out of the apartment by Friday."

His face fell. Completely. "What?"

"Evicted. The landlord said Mom hasn't paid rent in three months." My voice threatened to betray the wave welling up inside. I couldn’t look at him, just stared at the sidewalk, tightened my arms, held it in. 

But I felt the shift in him. "Three months?"

I nodded. 

“Three—damn it, Jos.” He blew out a short breath. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” 

“Tell you what? Like you said, Mom does this all the time. I didn’t think—”

“Okay, alright,” he put his hands up, then drug them down his face, groaning into his palms. When his hands fell, his eyes landed on my backpack. “You don’t have food. Do you?”

That…surprised me. 

“I—” I shifted my weight again. 

“She just left you there without rent paid? Without food?”

“What? No. There’s food.” Ramen counted. “There’s food back home, okay. It’s not–it’s not that bad. I’m fine, I just,” I deflated, voice falling flat. “I didn’t know what to do.” 

“You should’ve called me the second this happened,” he snapped. 

Right. Because this was going well so far. Calling definitely would’ve. 

I just glared at him. “Thanks, Matt. I’ll remember that the next time my mom decides to up and disappear for a week without telling me.” 

He rolled his eyes. “God she’s—” he swore under his breath, then glanced at the picnic again. We were in full view of everyone since I’d walked off, heads turning our way every few seconds. Nobody even tried to hide their curiosity. “How do you just up and leave without paying rent? Without taking care of your kid?” 

I didn’t have an answer to that. As much as his bashing of my mom pissed me off and I wanted to defend her, I was too tired. Too weak. 

Because…well…Mom hadn’t been gone for a week. More like four weeks. I just…didn’t want to tell him that and sit there listening to him ram my mom into the ground even harder when—for all I knew—she was buried underground already. 

And, to be real, ramen wasn’t really all that sufficient. Not when it was a once-a-day meal for a month, no breakfast because the cereal’d been long gone, no lunch because there was no cash left out for lunch money. Mom’d always been the kind to fly by the seat of her pants, only buying whatever she was in the mood for at the moment. We never had much stocked, not even fresh water. 

I closed my eyes, willing the strength to stay just long enough until I could disappear back home and collapse on that crap couch again. 

“Alright. That’s it.” He gripped my shoulder, jerking me from my wishful thinking. “You’re staying with me.” 

My eyes snapped open. “What?” 

“Jesus Josie, when’s the last time you ate?” He squeezed my shoulder. All bone and sharp edges. His eyes roamed the rest of me; heat immediately crawled up my chest, neck, face. I pulled my arms in closer, squeezed my backpack strap tight. I hated eyes on me. Despised it. Especially that stupid first responder assessment he was giving me now. 

Why did my brother have to go and be a dumb firefighter like our dad? Our dad sucked. Just hoped he’d end up better than our dad. 

“Josie.” He snapped my thoughts back. “Last time you ate?” 

“Lunch. At school,” I lied. 

He raised a brow. Yeah, didn’t think he would’ve believed that. 

“Right. Well, come on,” he tugged me forward. “Grab a plate. You need to eat. End of story.” 

I shook my head. “I’m not hungry.” But my stomach protested. 

He stopped, leveled a look at me. Heat burned my face. 

“Thought so,” he muttered, steering me toward the tables without letting go.

Matt

She was lighter than I remembered. Not in weight—I hadn’t picked her up since she was a kid—but in the way her shoulder gave under my hand. Bones. Too sharp. I kept my grip steady, guiding her back toward the food line even while my stomach twisted.

Three years since I’d really seen her. Three years with only a funeral, half-assed drop-ins when her mom ran out of town for a weekend and a half, and me pretending she was fine because I couldn’t deal with the mess her mom always dragged her through. 

And now here she was, my work’s family picnic of all places, looking like she hadn’t lived properly in days. Weeks. Hell longer, probably. 

The chatter around the tables didn’t slow. Crockpots steamed, kids raced by, guys still laughed over the last play. But I felt every eye tracking us, wondering who the hell this kid who just showed up was. 

I didn’t let go. Not when she tried to tug her arm free, not when she muttered she wasn’t hungry. Her stomach had already given her up. 

“Plate first,” I said, voice low, final. “Then we’ll figure out the rest.”

She glared up at me, but it was weak. The same look she’d given Dad any time he ever tried to pull an authoritative move on her growing up. 

Only this time there was no dad. No mom. Just me.

I grabbed a paper plate, shoved it into her hands, and started piling food on before she could argue. 

“I don’t like pulled pork,” she said fast, before I could even reach for the crockpots with meat in them. “Or pulled anything. Also, I don’t like barbeque.” 

I just stared at her. For a very long second. “How are we related?” I muttered. 

She shrugged. “I don’t like the texture.” 

I nodded on instinct; I remembered that. She’d always had a thing about textures—foods, clothes, sounds. How the hell did sounds have texture? But to her, it did. 

I watched as she scooped her own green beans and mac n cheese on the plate, but not enough to look like it could satisfy. 

I should’ve known. Should’ve seen it coming the second Lena called me out of the blue a few months ago, asked to meet for coffee like we were old friends. Then she tossed the guardian thing out there like it was nothing. What the hell was I thinking? Of course I said yes. Of course I walked out and buried the whole damn conversation under work and shifts and life. Should’ve seen it coming.

“Casey.”

I turned. Andy Darden was making his way over from the grill, sleeves shoved up, sunglasses hanging crooked off the collar of his shirt. He had a half-grin plastered on like always, like nothing could touch him, like we hadn’t just come off a week of calls that left both of us wrecked.

“You just gonna disappear in the middle of a game and leave me with the ball?” he ribbed, jabbing me in the arm. “Some teammate you are.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “Pretty sure I scored the last one before you even knew what end zone we were running in.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He grabbed a soda off the table, cracked it open. “Some of us don’t run ten miles a day before shift like lunatics.”

“Jealousy’s not a good color on you.”

“Say that to Heather. She’ll argue you to death,” he fired back, grin tugging wider. He wasn’t wrong. She would win. 

His gaze flicked past me then, to Josie, hovering at my shoulder, fingers tight on the strap of her backpack. Silent and invisible in public. Like she switched bodies with someone else the second her foot left the door. Nobody would ever have guessed she never shut the hell up at home. 

Andy’s brows went up, then he glanced back at me. “You gonna introduce me, or am I supposed to guess?”

I laughed. Right. “Uh—Andy, this is Josie.” I wrapped an arm around her scrawny shoulders, pulled her in. “My little sister.”

Andy’s grin softened. He stuck his hand out easy. “Good to finally meet you, Jos. Your brother’s talked about you more than he’ll admit, I’m sure.”

Damn it, Andy. 

Josie’s eyes darted to me, quick, like she was checking if that was true. 

I rolled my eyes, stuffing down a groan. 

Andy winked at her, then turned back to me. “I can see the resemblance now. She also looks like someone just killed her cat—oh damn! It’s uncanny, Casey.”

“Don’t start,” I muttered, but the corner of my mouth twitched.

But Josie stared him down, deadpanned him the hardest glare I’d ever seen.

Andy clapped me on the shoulder, hard enough to jolt me forward a step. “Relax, Casey. She’s family. She’s good.”

Family. The word lodged deep. I nodded once, shoved my hands in my pockets. Family. Damn it. The things we’d do for family around here. 

Chapter Text

Josie

The flashing reds bled across the street, bouncing off the neighbors’ windows. My ears rang with the shrill of sirens, and smoke still curled out the cracked basement windows. Kids stumbled past me, coughing, crying, cops barking orders. I hugged my hoodie tighter around me, trying to look invisible.

“Josie?”

I froze.

Matt.

He was coming down the sidewalk fast, turnout coat slung open, eyes sharp and furious. Rick hovered just behind him, Andy and Jared wrangling with the hose line near the house, but Matt didn’t even glance their way. His gaze locked on me like a spotlight.

Oh no. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” His voice cracked loud enough that two cops turned their heads. “Answer me!”

“I—” My throat stuck. “It’s not what—”

“Not what?” He gestured toward the house, toward the cops dragging kids out who couldn’t stand on their own. “You’re sixteen-years-old, Josie! Do you have any idea what we just walked into? Alcohol, drugs—Jesus, there were kids unconscious in there!”

Heat scalded my face. Everyone was staring. Dustin and Juggy were lined up against the squad car, officers searching their bags. They were for sure going to jail. 

I wanted to disappear into the pavement.

“Matt, please—”

He cut me off. “No. You don’t get to talk your way out of this. You lied to me. You put yourself in the middle of this mess. And now I get to be the idiot firefighter who finds his own sister in the middle of a call.”

The word sister burned more than the smoke.

Andy shifted awkwardly beside him, like he wanted to say something, but Matt’s fury held. “You think these people are your friends?” He jabbed a finger at the row of kids pressed against the cop car. “They’re not. They’re getting high and throwing their futures away, and you’re right there with them. Is that what you want?”

Tears pricked behind my eyes, hot and fast. “I didn’t do anything!”

“I don’t care!” His voice cracked. “I almost tripped over a kid in that basement who wasn’t breathing, Josie. Do you get that? Do you understand that that could’ve been you?”

My chest shook. I bit my lip hard enough to taste blood.

“But I didn’t do anything,” I said again, my voice small. Weak. 

He shook his head, then jerked his thumb toward the truck. “You’re coming with me. Now.”

I didn’t move. My shoes felt cemented to the sidewalk.

“Move!”

“No.” Heat flared in my chest. Nerves. I don’t think I’d ever said no to my brother my entire life.

Now seemed as good a time as any to start.  

“Don’t test me, Josie. Not tonight. Move.” 

I crossed my arms. Matched his glare. 

Then he snapped. 

He took two steps to get to me, grabbed my arm, and turned me toward the truck. I had no choice but to walk. 

“We’re not doing this here. You’re coming with me.”

Every cop, every firefighter, every kid on the block turned to watch. Humiliation burned me alive. I dragged my feet after him, every curse known to humanity racing through my mind at him.

The cab reeked of smoke and rubber, the sting still sharp in my throat. I wedged myself between Andy and Jared, arms crossed tight, eyes fixed on the floor. Neither of them said a word. Matt sat across from us, gear still half on, his stare heavy even when I refused to look up.

The silence was deafening, nothing but the low hum of the engine, cars rolling past outside, and the occasional horn blaring from some impatient driver. Every sound pressed harder against my ears, like it wanted to fill the space no one dared to.

We jolted to a stop at a red light. 

Andy shifted, cleared his throat. “You know, this kinda reminds me of my sister. One time she told our parents she was staying at a friend’s house, right? Next thing we know, she’s halfway across the state on a city bus to Jamstead, you remember that? The music…” He trailed off, glancing between my brother and Jared. “Festival.” 

He quit talking fast when Jared shot him a look. 

I risked a glance at him. He grinned. 

His sister had the right idea.

Then Matt’s glare cut across the cab, hard enough that Andy snapped straight. 

“Don’t give her any ideas,” he muttered.

The light turned green. The truck lurched forward. 

I leaned back, let my arms tighten across my chest, and smirked. “Too late.”

Matt’s eyes locked on mine, flat and hard.  

I smiled, fakely sweet. “Your sister sounds cool, Andy.” Eyes never left my brother’s. 

Andy laughed, short and nervous, but shut his mouth again with one glance in the rear view mirror from the guy in the front seat. The lieutenant or captain or whatever. 

Matt’s eyes cut hard into mine for one more second before he jerked his head away, staring out the window, jaw tight and working. 

His silence was heavier than his stare had been. 

“Casey, pulling up now. Make it quick,” the officer commanded. 

Matt finally looked at me. “Out.” 

I swallowed hard and pushed the door open, following him up the narrow stairs. My legs were heavy, every step louder than it should’ve been. He unlocked the door, held it just long enough for me to slip inside, then shut it too soft for the tension welling up between us. That somehow made it worse.

Everything in me broke. 

My body shook, my nerves ramped up. 

I inhaled slow, shaky, and then turned—right into his fury. 

“You think this is a game?” His voice cracked through the room, sharp enough to make me flinch. “We just dragged kids out of that house who couldn’t even stand, Josie. Kids who might not wake up tomorrow.”

That hit me. Hard. 

“I told you, Matt. I didn’t do anything—”

“You think that matters?” He jabbed a finger toward me, then raked his hand through his hair, pulling at the short strands. “You were there. You were right in the middle of it. Nobody even paid attention to the smoke, Josie, if you’d been in there just a minute longer do you know what could’ve happened?”

“It was just a little smoke!” My voice rose, desperate. “What’s the big deal?” 

He stepped closer, eyes hot. “Just a little smoke? Do you have any idea—” His words choked off. He ran a hand down his face, eyes closed, but then swallowed and kept going. “I could’ve…that kid I drug out, who wasn’t breathing? His parents—that could’ve been me. You don’t understand—” Both hands flew to his face and he turned, just enough to hide his face from me. 

My chest flared, hot and sick.

He turned back to me, jaw clenched. “Stay away from them. You’re not to go near those guys again, you hear me?” 

My arms went slack, my jaw dropped. “You can’t be serious.” Heat shot out of me. “That’s not fair, Matt! You can’t tell me who I can and can’t hang out with.” 

“I can,” he cut me off, voice low, eyes hard. “Because I’m responsible for you now, Josie, whether you like it or not.”

“I don’t like it,” I spit out. 

He paused; then straightened, hands on his hips. He shook his head once, huffed out a laugh. “Well I didn’t ask for it,” he muttered. 

Ouch. That…hurt.

Really hurt.

I folded my arms again. My muscles wound so tight they ached, my legs locked to the point of a single bead of sweat trickling down my spine, my head was light, everything starting to spin. 

“You think those people are your friends, Jos?” His voice was low now, sharp. He waited until I glanced up at him. “They’re too busy throwing their lives away to care if you even have one or not. What the hell were you thinking?”

That sliced me. “You don’t care if I have one or not either, so what difference does it make to you?”

I turned before he could say anything, stomped down the short hall, and slammed my bedroom door behind me, rattling the walls. 

My breath hitched. I leaned against the door, shoulders trembling. Hot tears streamed down my face, silent but choking. 

“Hate me all you want, Josie,” he shouted down the hall. “But we’re not doing this again. You’re grounded.” The floor creaked, the front door shut, and then it was silent. 

Heavy, weighted silence that pressed in all around, suffocating and crushing.

I sank to the floor, pulled my legs in close, and let my head fall to my knees, hard. Sobbed into my jeans, loud, unfiltered, ugly. Didn’t care. I didn’t care. Nobody was here to hear it. Nobody was here to care. 

My chest clenched, squeezing in, aching so hard it hurt to breathe. My body shook with every sob, every breath. Everything was blurry. I couldn’t breathe without swallowing hot tears, couldn’t think without hurting. Everything hurt. 

My heart hurt. My brain hurt. My insides hurt. How could a feeling like loneliness be so physically painful? How could something as stupid as depression wreck me so bad? 

But it did. It physically hurt. It wrecked my body. And I crumbled there, on the floor of Matt’s tiny office-turned-bedroom, alone. No friends, they were too high to care. No parents, one was dead, the other gone. No brother, he was pissed. 

Alone. Just…

Utterly and deafeningly alone.

Matt

The cab rattled as we pulled back onto the street, diesel humming under my boots. My hands were still locked at my knees like I was dragging her with me, even though she was upstairs, door slammed in my face. I couldn’t get the sound out of my head.

“Hey.” Andy leaned forward in his seat, chin jutting at me. “You good?”

I gave the smallest nod I could manage. “Yeah. She’s home.” My voice came out rough, like gravel scraping.

Jared grimaced, shaking his head. “That looked ugly, man.”

I tightened my fist. “You think I don’t know that?”

The silence that followed wasn’t the calm kind. Jared shifted, muttered something low I didn’t catch. My chest felt too small for my lungs, heat crawling up my neck.

“She’s sixteen,” I said finally, forcing the words out. “She doesn’t get it. She doesn’t get how fast this can go bad. One minute you’re having fun, next—” 

The kid I'd pulled out of that basement kept flashing before me. Pale skin, lips tinged blue, completely limp in my arms. For thirty seconds, I thought he was gone. Thirty seconds of CPR that felt like thirty minutes before he finally coughed up smoke and vomit.

That could've been Josie.

“Next thing, you’re not breathing.”

Nobody said anything for a while. Just the hum of the engine, the city sliding past.

Andy let out a slow breath. “She’ll figure it out. You’ll get through to her.”

I wanted to believe him. I did. 

But her words were still bouncing in my skull. You don’t care if I have one or not either, so what difference does it make to you? I’d spent the whole damn night proving the opposite, and still. She couldn’t see it.

I cleared my throat, glanced out the window, refusing to meet their stares. “Doesn’t matter. She’s grounded. I’ll make sure she figures it out.”

It sounded steady, final. Inside, I was shaking.

The truck hissed as the engine died, metal ticking from the run. The others were already halfway across the bay, helmets swinging at their sides, voices carrying toward the lockers. But Jared didn’t move. He sat there, unbuckled, watching me out of the corner of his eye like he had since we left the scene.

“You gonna sit there all night, Morgan?” I muttered, pulling my strap loose.

He leaned back, arms folded. “You think yelling at her’s gonna keep her out of trouble?”

The words landed harder than I wanted them to. I shoved the door open, boots thumping onto the concrete. “She’s grounded. That’s enough.”

He hopped down after me, shaking his head. “You really believe that?”

I stopped short, jaw tight, staring at the floor drain like it might answer for me. The picture in my head wouldn’t quit—Josie’s face, streaked with smoke and tears, throwing my words back at me like they’d cut her worse than any fire could.

“She’s sixteen, Jared. I can’t watch her twenty-four seven.” My throat burned. “But I’m not letting her throw her life away.”

He didn’t press, just clapped a hand on my shoulder. “Then find a way she’ll actually hear you.” He squeezed once, then dropped his hand. “Look, I know it’s not the same,” he said, “but Maddie’s sister? Angela’s sixteen too. Same kind of stubborn. Same kind of…lost.” He grabbed a rag, started wiping down equipment. “It’s not easy, man. Doesn’t matter how much you ground ’em or how loud you yell. They’ll still test every fence you put up.”

I glanced at him, then blew out a breath, grabbed a rag and helped. “So what—what the hell am I supposed to do? Just let her run wild?”

He shook his head. “No. You keep showing up. Even when she acts like she doesn’t want you to.” He paused, waited until I looked at him. “Especially then.”

His words sat heavier than the gear in my hands.

Chapter Text

Matt

The phone finally picked up after my third call. Smoke alarm wailing in the background.

Josie’s voice came through, way too bright. “I’m fine—it’s fine. Everything’s fine!”

My grip tightened on the phone. “Is that…the smoke alarm going off?”

“I have everything under control, don’t freak out.” 

“Josie.” I was about to freak out. “You set off the smoke alarm?” 

“Well, no…technically the noodles did.” Something flapped on the other end. Probably a towel or something near the alarm. 

I tried to keep my voice under control. She was…sort of handling it. “How did you burn noodles?” 

“I didn’t burn them, the water did.” Right. It was the water’s fault. “I was doing my homework because you told me I had to do it as soon as I got home…” 

Her words faded out as she dove into the long story, something about homework and getting hungry and the bathroom and homework again, I lost track. Pinched the bridge of my nose, closed my eyes. Felt the guys around the table snickering behind their food and papers. “—I forgot.”

That brought me back. I scrubbed a hand down my face. 

“…You just gave me the play-by-play of how you nearly burned down my kitchen making pasta.”

Herrmann choked into his coffee. Andy covered his mouth. Jared didn’t even bother hiding his grin.

“Nearly being the key word there.” She actually thought that was a good point. 

“Josie. They’re noodles. Boiling water. That’s it.”

Herrmann lost it then, laughing loud enough the whole common room turned. Andy was shaking his head, muttering something about teenagers. Jared mouthed noodles? at me.

“Yeah well…” The sound of the window sealing shut echoed on the line. “They’re harder than they look?” 

I blew out a low breath. “You’re gonna give me a heart attack before you graduate.”

“That’s a little dramatic, don’t you think?” 

“So is setting off the smoke alarm with pasta.”

I massaged my temples, Andy and Herrmann not even holding back on laughing now. 

“Window open,” I ordered. “Fan on. And do not touch the stove again. Order something. Got it?”

She groaned loud. Right into the speaker. “Got it.” 

“Josie.” I waited. She was probably rolling her eyes at me, knowing her. “The stove is off…right?” 

“Yes, Matt, I’m not an idiot.” She hung up immediately. 

Silence for about two seconds. Then Herrmann leaned forward. “Casey, she’s grounded, right? Maybe keep her away from the kitchen too. Kid’s a hazard.”

Andy chuckled. “Noodles, man. That’s like the entry-level of cooking.”

Jared shook his head, laughing. “You sure she’s safe alone? We can start a rotation, have someone sit with her when you’re on shift.”

“Yeah,” Herrmann added, “firehouse babysitting program. We’ll even teach her how to boil water.”

I shot them a look, but it only made Herrmann laugh harder.

“Hey, relax, Casey,” Andy said, still grinning. “Better she sets off your alarm with noodles than us having to pull her out of a second-story window.”

Herrmann slapped the table again. “Pasta fire! First call I’ve ever heard where the victim’s the spaghetti.”

Jared was still grinning when he leaned back. “Man, I can’t wait until she tells this story herself. You’ll never live it down.”

I just shook my head, pushing back from the table. “Not a word of this leaves this room.”

Which, of course, it would.

_______________________________________________

I’d told Joise to check-in regularly. So no surprise when my phone buzzed with a text from her. 

[JOSIE]

I think your apartment is haunted. 

[ME]

Not this again.

[JOSIE]

No seriously. 

The temp just dropped like fifty degrees. Instantly. 

And there’s scratching on the walls. 

I shook my head, ignored her. Didn’t last long; my phone buzzed again almost immediately. 

[JOSIE]

And there’s a shadow moving in the hall closet. 

Matt, it’s haunted.

[ME]

Old building. 

[JOSIE]

If I’m not here when you come home tomorrow then you know why.

[ME]

If you’re not there when I get home, it better be because you’re at school. 

[JOSIE]

Oh. Yeah. I forgot. 

Most of the house had gone upstairs already. Not a bad idea. Pocketed my phone, followed them up. 

[JOSIE]

Can Crissy come over?

[ME]

No. You’re grounded. 

[JOSIE]

Please?

She could help with my homework. 

We’ll stay in my room. I’ll even lock it. Will that make you happy?

[ME]

Josie. I said no. 

[JOSIE]

You’re impossible. 

Like, worse than Mr. Armstrong when he catches us walking the short halls. 

[ME]

Good. 

[JOSIE]

NOT good. I’ve been grounded for three days already. 

Can I be done now? 

[ME]

No. 

[JOSIE]

When? 

When can I be done being grounded? 

Friday?

[ME]

When I say you are. 

[JOSIE]

Which is…

[ME]

When I can trust you again. 

[JOSIE]

What if you can trust me by Friday?

Then can I go see Crimson Peak with Crissy? 

[ME]

Josie, you’re grounded. 

[JOSIE]

It’s just a movie theater, Matt. 

Not a club. 

There’s no drugs or alcohol there. 

Well, the theater does sell alcohol. 

But I’m not asking you to buy any for me. 

That stuff’s gross. 

IDK how you drink it. 

Good God she didn’t quit. 

[ME]

The answer’s no.

[JOSIE]

Please? 

Please?

Please?

Please?

Please please please please please? 

[ME]

Josie, I’m at work. Stop texting me. 

Unless it’s an emergency. 

[JOSIE]

What constitutes an emergency?

[ME]

Fire. Blood. 911. 

[JOSIE]

Like…my blood? Or someone else’s? 

[ME]

Josie. Enough. I mean it.

I plopped on the bed, tossed the phone on the stand next to me, and got comfortable. The buzz against the table was almost expected. 

[JOSIE]

If you loved me, you’d let me go. 

[ME]

I’m not letting you go. And I’m trying to sleep. Goodnight. 

Set the phone down. Five minutes passed. Nothing. Ten. Still nothing. Relief edged in—then another buzz had me flipping it over.

“Who you sweet-talking at midnight, Casey?” Herrmann’s voice drifted from the next bunk.

I shot him a look. “Nobody.”

Jared sat up on an elbow, squinting at the glow. “That’s a lot of nobodies.”

Before I could snap back, Andy’s voice came from the far end. “Ah. She’s going the whole ‘annoy him to death’ bit.”

The room went quiet. Even Herrmann was confused. “What?”

Andy rolled onto his side, facing us. “My sister used to do that when she was grounded. Text, nag, beg, circle around it every way she could. Never left our parents alone until they caved and cut her loose early.”

A couple of the guys chuckled. Jared shook his head. “Smart.”

“Manipulative,” Herrmann corrected.

I sat back against the wall, phone heavy in my hand. “Not happening. She can text me till her thumbs fall off, she’s still grounded Friday.”

Andy smirked in the dark. “That’s what my folks said too.”

I killed the phone screen and dropped it face-down beside me. “Yeah, well. I’m not your folks.”

Miraculously, the texts stopped. I’d manage a few hours of sleep before the alarm seared through the sleeping house. We all jumped, raced downstairs. I was just strapping in when my phone buzzed on the bench. 

Who the hell was texting me at two in the—

[JOSIE]

Your neighbor walks her dog at two in the morning. Who does that?

Of course. Why the hell she was awake right now? She had school in four hours. 

[ME]

Why aren’t you asleep?

[JOSIE]

Why aren’t you?

[ME]

On a call. Go to sleep. 

[JOSIE]

Can’t. Don’t need to. I’ve learned to function without it. 

[ME]

You have school in a few hours. Try. 

[JOSIE]

I’m fine. 

[ME]

You won’t be if you don’t sleep. 

How are you even still awake right now?

[JOSIE]

You’ve lived a very sheltered life, big brother. 

You saw where Mom and I were living before. 

We’ve lived in worse places. Sleep wasn’t always an option. 

That hit harder than I’d thought. My throat tightened. I shoved the last strap into place. 

[ME]

You don’t have to live like that anymore. 

House is quiet. You’re safe. Get some sleep while I’m gone.

I slipped the phone into my pocket and ran for the rig, knowing I’d check again the second we cleared.

Chapter Text

Josie

The gunfire from the TV was constant, punctuated by Matt's occasional curse and the muffled voices bleeding through his headset. I sat cross-legged on the loveseat, book propped on my knees, trying to focus on the words. Trying being the key word.

"Andy, revive me—Andy! Behind you, dude!" Matt leaned forward, controller gripped tight, leg bouncing fast against the carpet.

I flipped the page. Didn't read a single word on it.

"No, Josh, don't go down there. Ben, cover him—damn it!" His leg jiggled faster, knee jerking up and down. Then he groaned, slouching back. "Alright, hold on. I gotta—” he glanced at me, cleared his throat. “I gotta take five."

I rolled my eyes. Like I hadn’t heard the word “piss” come out of his mouth before. 

His leg was still going, his free hand tapping the armrest.

"I can play," I said.

He froze mid-fidget, head turning toward me. "What?"

"I'll play." I closed the book, set it aside. "So you don't die standing there."

His eyes narrowed. "You don't know how to play."

"Can't be that hard."

"Josie—"

"Just go. I got it."

He stared at me for a second, leg still bouncing, then huffed. "Fine. But—" He lifted the headset mic. "Heads up, guys. Josie's taking over for a minute."

Andy's laugh crackled through. "Oh, this'll be good."

Matt shot me a look, then handed over the controller and headset. "Don't get us all killed."

"I’m not that bad."

He stood, still hesitating, then finally took off down the hall.

I slipped the headset on, adjusted the mic. The screen showed some dark, decrepit building, zombies shambling in the distance. My character stood still in a corner.

"Alright, Josie, you ready?" Andy's voice came through clear.

"Sure."

"Just stay with the group. We're headed to the power room."

I pushed the stick forward. My character moved. Okay, good start.

Then a zombie lurched around the corner and I panicked, mashing buttons. My gun fired into the wall, the ceiling, everywhere except the zombie. It lunged. I died.

"Reviving you," Ben said, calm.

My screen went gray, then I was back up.

"Okay, that was a warm-up," I muttered.

Andy laughed. "You're doing great."

I moved forward again, this time following the little icons on the screen. Another zombie. I fired, missed half the shots, but it went down.

"There we go!" Andy cheered.

"I got one!"

"Don't get cocky," Josh said, but he was laughing.

I turned a corner, ran straight into three zombies, and died again.

"Reviving," Ben said.

"Thanks."

Matt's voice cut in from the hallway. "She dead already?"

"Twice!" Andy called back.

Matt groaned. Loudly.

"I'm fine!" I shouted toward the hall.

Another round. I lasted maybe twenty seconds before a zombie grabbed me from behind.

"How do you die that fast?" Matt muttered, back in the doorway now.

"They're fast! And your player can’t run."

He crossed the room, hand out. "Alright, give it here."

"No, wait—one more round."

"Josie—"

"Just let me—"

A zombie hit me. I fired wildly, missed, died.

"She's committed, I'll give her that," Josh said through the headset.

Matt dropped onto the couch next to me, reaching for the controller. "Okay, that's enough."

I twisted away. "No, I got this."

"You clearly don't."

"Matt—"

"Go to your right."

"I am!"

"Your other right, Josie. The other right."

I turned spun in a full circle, the camera paneling upwards, then down, then finally straight. 

A zombie appeared. I screamed, fired, missed.

"Down there—go down the stairs!" Matt pointed at the screen.

"Which stairs?"

"The ones right in front of you!"

"I don't see them!" 

"Josie, just—give me the controller."

"No, wait—"

I hit a button. Something exploded. My character flew backward.

"What did I just do?"

"Grenade," Ben said, way too calm. "You just threw a grenade at yourself."

Andy was dying laughing in the background.

Matt leaned over, hand on the controller. "Okay, seriously—"

"No no no, let me keep playing!" I yanked it back. "Just tell me what to do!"

"I am telling you what to do and you're not listening!"

"I'm trying!"

"Follow the team—just follow the icons on the screen."

"I am!"

"You're running the wrong way."

"Where's the zombie?"

"Behind you!"

I spun around. Fired. Missed. Died.

"Reviving," Ben said again, and I swore I heard him sigh.

Matt groaned, head falling back against the couch. "My chances of surviving were better if I'd just left my guy standing there."

"Rude," I muttered, but I was grinning.

Another round. I actually hit a zombie this time. Then got cornered and died thirty seconds later.

"How do I shoot?"

"You're literally shooting right now, Josie!"

"Well it's not working!"

"Aim!"

"How do I am?” 

“This and this,” he pointed to the right analog stick and the left trigger. 

I put my fingers on the buttons. 

“Fire—Josie you have to fire when you aim.”

“I am.” I looked down at the controller, finding the right buttons. Zeroed in on the target, and was ju…st about to shoot when a zombie attacked from behind. 

“Nice job,” he deadpanned. 

“Well I was about to shoot.”

“You’re too slow,” he said as I tried to aim again, then shot. Missed a zombie by a margin. Three ran at me. I died. 

Again. 

“I’m trying! It’s hard to aim and shoot at the same time.” 

Matt reached for the controller again. I dodged.

"One more round!"

"No—"

"Please?"

He sat back, arms crossed, jaw tight. But he didn't grab the controller.

I made it a full minute that time before dying.

"Okay, I think that's her record," Andy said.

"It is," Matt confirmed, flat. He held his hand out. "Controller. Now."

“Let’s leave it up to a vote. Andy?” 

He laughed even harder. “You two arguing is more entertaining than this. I choose Josie.” 

Matt glared at me. 

I sighed, passed it over. "Fine."

"Thank God," he muttered, settling back into the couch.

“Matt’s back?” Ben sounded hopeful. Great. 

I grabbed my book, moved to the end of the couch, and tucked my legs under me.

Andy was still laughing. "That was the best entertainment I've had all week."

"Glad I could help," I said.

Matt adjusted the headset, fingers already moving over the controller. His character spawned in.

Two seconds later, a zombie came out of nowhere and killed him.

"What the—"

I bit my lip, trying not to laugh.

His hand shot out, smacking my leg. Not hard, just enough to make his point.

"That was your fault," he muttered.

"How is that my fault?"

"You died in the middle of a zombie hoard."

"So?"

“Oh my God,” he muttered, turning back to the screen. 

Ben and Josh were cracking up in the background.

I grinned, opening my book. "The zombies were more fun to play with than you," I muttered back. 

He grumbled something under his breath, but I caught the edge of a smile before he turned back to the screen.

Chapter Text

Matt

I made a mistake. A big one.

Josie sat in the driver's seat of my truck—my truck—hands gripping the wheel at ten and two like she'd been doing this her whole life. Which she hadn't. She'd never driven anything bigger than a grocery cart.

"Alright," I said, trying to keep my voice level. "Before we even think about moving, let's go over the basics again."

"Matt, I know the basics." She rolled her eyes. "Gas, brake, clutch. Easy."

"It's not that easy."

"I've watched you drive a million times."

"Watching and doing are two very different—"

She turned the key. The engine roared to life.

My hand shot to the dashboard. "Josie—"

"Relax." She grinned at me, way too confident for someone who didn't know what she was doing. "I've got this."

"You don't got this." I gestured at the empty parking lot around us. "This is lesson one. Lesson one, Jos. You haven't even moved yet."

"Then let me move!"

"Not until you—" I stopped, pressing my fingers into my temples. Already a headache. "Okay. Fine. Put your foot on the brake."

She did.

"Now, clutch in."

She pressed the clutch.

"Good. Now—slowly—put it in first."

The grinding noise that followed made my stomach drop.

"Josie!"

"What? I did what you said!"

"You have to press the clutch all the way down!" I gripped the door handle. "All the way, Jos, or you're gonna strip my gears."

"Your gears are fine." She shoved the clutch down harder this time and jammed the gear shift into place. "See? First gear."

I groaned. Loud.

She shot me a look. "I haven't even started driving yet and you're already being dramatic."

"I'm not being dramatic, I'm being realistic." I pointed at the gear shift. "This truck is older than you. It doesn't forgive mistakes."

"Then maybe you should've taught me on something newer."

"Maybe you should listen when I'm trying to teach you."

She huffed, but her hands stayed locked on the wheel. Knuckles white.

"Okay." I blew out a breath. "Now. Slowly—and I mean slowly—let off the clutch while you give it a little gas."

"How much gas?"

"A little."

"That's not specific."

"Just—trust me. A little."

She pressed the gas.

The truck lurched forward, died.

We both jerked against our seatbelts.

"Too much clutch!" she snapped before I could say anything.

"Or not enough gas." I rubbed my face with both hands. "Try again."

She turned the key. The engine sputtered, caught.

"Okay, this time—"

The truck shot forward.

My hand slammed against the dash again. "Brake! Brake, Josie!"

"I know!" She stomped the brake. We jolted to a stop.

I sat there for a second, heart hammering, staring out the windshield.

"That was good," she said.

"That was not good."

"I moved the truck."

"You launched the truck."

"Same thing."

"It's not—" I stopped myself, jaw clenched. "You know what? Fine. Let's try again. But this time, ease into it. Don't just stomp the gas like you're trying to peel out."

"I wasn't trying to peel out."

"Could've fooled me."

She glared at me, but started the truck again.

This time, the launch was smoother. Not by much, but enough that I didn't hit my head on the roof.

"There you go," I said, cautious. "Now just—steady on the gas. Don't—Josie, you're drifting."

"I'm not drifting."

"You're absolutely drifting. Stay in the lane."

"There are no lanes, Matt, it's a parking lot."

"Pretend there are lanes!"

She jerked the wheel. The truck swerved.

"Easy!" My hand shot to the wheel, steadying it. "Easy, don't overcorrect."

"Then stop yelling at me!"

"I'm not yelling!"

"You're yelling right now!"

I clamped my mouth shut. Forced myself to breathe.

She kept driving, slow and jerky, the truck bucking every time she touched the clutch.

"You're riding the clutch," I muttered.

"I'm not riding anything."

"Your foot. It's hovering. Either it's in or it's out, you can't—"

The truck died again.

She groaned, loud and dramatic, head falling back against the seat. "This is impossible."

"It's not impossible. You're just not listening."

"I am listening! You keep barking orders at me and I can't think!"

"I'm not barking—" I stopped. Dragged a hand down my face. "Okay. Let's just…take a breath."

She turned her head, looked at me. "Are you talking to me or yourself?"

"Both."

She snorted, but restarted the truck.

I watched her hands on the wheel, her foot hovering over the clutch. She bit her bottom lip, focused.

"Alright," I said, quieter this time. "You're doing fine. Just…take it slow."

She eased off the clutch. The truck rolled forward, smooth.

"There you go." I nodded. "Just like that."

She grinned. "See? I told you I could—"

A trash can appeared in front of us.

"Josie—"

"I see it!"

"Then turn!"

She cranked the wheel. Hard.

Too hard.

The truck swung wide, tires squealing as we careened toward the curb

"Brake!" I yelled.

She slammed it.

We stopped. Inches from the curb.

I sat there, frozen, hand still braced on the dash, heart trying to beat out of my chest.

Josie stared straight ahead, hands locked on the wheel.

Then she looked at me. "…That was close."

"Ya think?" My voice came out strangled.

"But I didn't hit it."

"You almost hit it."

"Almost doesn't count."

I groaned, loud and long, dropping my head into my hands.

She poked my shoulder. "Matt, come on. I'm learning."

"You're gonna give me a heart attack."

"You're being dramatic again."

"I'm being realistic." I looked up at her. "Do you have any idea how much it would cost to fix this truck if you wrecked it?"

"I'm not gonna wreck it."

"You almost wrecked it thirty seconds ago!"

"But I didn't." She grinned, way too smug. "See? I'm a natural."

I stared at her.

She stared back.

Then I reached for the door handle. "Okay. We're done."

"What? No!" She grabbed my arm. "Matt, I'm just getting the hang of it!"

"You almost hit a trash can."

"It came out of nowhere!"

"It's been sitting there the entire time!"

She pulled on my arm. "One more lap. Please? I promise I'll do better."

I looked at her. Big eyes, hopeful grin.

Damn it.

"Fine." I sank back into the seat. "One more lap. But if you hit anything—and I mean anything—we're done. Got it?"

"Got it." She was already restarting the truck.

I gripped the door handle. Braced my feet. Said a silent prayer.

The truck lurched forward.

I closed my eyes.

This was gonna be a long afternoon.

The next morning…

The coffee was too hot, but I drank it anyway. Needed the caffeine after spending my entire day off white-knuckling the passenger seat of my own truck.

"Casey, you look like hell," Herrmann said, dropping into the chair across from me at the kitchen table.

"Thanks."

"Rough weekend?"

"You could say that."

Andy wandered over, mug in hand, eyebrows raised. "What'd you do? Run a marathon?"

"Worse." I took another sip, winced. "Tried to teach Josie how to drive."

The room went quiet.

Then Herrmann laughed. Loud. "You what?"

"She's sixteen, she needs to learn."

"And you volunteered for that?" Andy shook his head. "What, you got a death wish or something?"

"She begged me to teach her." I set my mug down harder than I meant to. "Said she didn't want some stranger yelling at her in driver's ed."

"So you yelled at her instead?" Jared appeared from the bunk room, smirking.

"I didn't yell."

"Bet you did."

I groaned, scrubbing a hand over my face. "She almost hit a trash can."

Herrmann laughed short. "A trash can?"

"It was sitting there the entire time. She didn't see it until we were ten feet away, then she cranked the wheel so hard I thought we were gonna flip."

Andy winced. "Ouch."

"That's not even the worst part." I leaned back in my chair. "She stalled out six times. Six. And every time, she blamed me."

"How's that your fault?" Jared asked.

"According to her? I was 'barking orders' and making her nervous."

"Were you?"

"…Maybe."

Herrmann laughed again. "You're a firefighter, Casey. Course you were barking orders. It's what we do."

"Yeah, well, it doesn't work with sixteen-year-olds." I picked up my mug again. "She told me I was being dramatic."

Andy grinned. "Were you?"

"I grabbed the dash a few times."

"How many's a few?"

I didn't answer.

Jared's grin widened. "That bad, huh?"

"She launched the truck out of park like we were drag racing." I shook my head. "My neck still hurts."

"Did she at least get the hang of it?" Andy asked.

"Sort of. By the end she could move forward without killing the engine." I paused. "Most of the time."

"Most of the time?" Herrmann raised an eyebrow.

"She's got a lead foot. And she overcorrects. And she doesn't check her mirrors."

"Sounds like my wife when we were dating," Herrmann muttered into his coffee.

Jared leaned against the counter, arms crossed. "So when's lesson two?"

I groaned. "She already asked if we could go out again next weekend."

"And you said?"

"I said maybe."

"That's a yes," Andy said.

"That's a 'I need to mentally prepare myself first.'" I drained the rest of my coffee. "She's way too confident for someone who doesn't know what she's doing."

"Sounds familiar," Jared said, eyes cutting to me.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing." He smirked. "Just saying, runs in the family."

Really? 

Herrmann chuckled. "You're a brave man, Casey. Teaching a teenage girl to drive? In your own truck?" He shook his head. "I'd rather run into a burning building."

"Yeah, well." I stood, grabbing my mug to refill it. "At least in a burning building, I know what I'm doing."

"She can't be that bad," Andy said.

I turned, leveled a look at him. "She asked me if the clutch was the same thing as the brake."

His eyes went wide. "Oh."

"Yeah."

The alarm went off.

We moved fast, grabbing gear, heading for the rigs. But as I climbed into the truck, I caught Herrmann grinning at me from across the bay.

"What?" I snapped.

"Nothing." He shook his head, still grinning. "Just thinking about you trying to teach that girl parallel parking."

I groaned.

Jared laughed from the seat behind me. "Twenty bucks says she takes out a mailbox."

"I'm not taking that bet," I muttered. I’d lose. 

Jared settled into his seat, then glanced at me. "Want Madison to teach her? She's teaching Angela. Seems pretty good at it, too."

I glared at him. "You want me to ask your wife if she'll teach my sister how to drive?"

He shrugged.

I kept staring. "In your car?"

Jared laughed. "Hell no."

I waited.

"Hers," he added.

I sat there for a second, the engine rumbling beneath us as we pulled out. Thought about another afternoon in that parking lot. Another round of Josie overcorrecting and me grabbing the dash.

Maybe it wasn't the worst idea.

"I'll think about it," I muttered.

Jared's grin widened. "Smart man.

Chapter Text

Josie

The end credits of The Conjuring rolled across the screen, the only light in the tiny apartment. The blinds pulled closed over the sliding glass doors to the patio, but moonlight still flickered in, striping the carpet in silver. A chill swept over the room, dropping gradually enough to almost go unnoticed. 

“Well,” Beck said, checking her phone. “It’s officially not Halloween anymore.” 

I glanced at the green numbers on the stove in the kitchen: 12:04. She was right. 

The popcorn bowl sat mostly empty between us, a few small pieces untouched by butter and a lot of unpopped kernels floating at the bottom, salt stuck to the sides. The mounds of candy wrappers we’d crushed through piled on the blanket in front of us. 

I leaned my head back against the couch, closing my eyes for a second. 

“Love that movie. Can’t wait for the next one.” 

“Did you hear? They pushed back the release date until next summer,” Beck said, like it was a personal affront to her. Which, it probably was. 

My phone buzzed in my lap, but I didn’t move. I was…tired, to be honest. Hanging out with Beck was awesome, sure—I’d never had a girlfriend to shop with, do my makeup for me, watch scary movies and pigout on junk food with before. But it was also…draining. So, very, draining. 

I half-envied Matt right now, asleep in his bed on the other side of the wall behind us. 

My phone buzzed again, and then it was gone. 

I peeked my eyes open, rolling my head towards Beck. Her plain brown hair was up in a high ponytail, t-shirt and sweats the same as always outside of school. She held my phone in her hands, chuckling at the screen. 

“Juggy?” She glanced at me. “Who is Juggy?” 

I waved it off, closed my eyes again. “Guy I work with. He’s cool. Ish.” When he wasn’t obsessing about All That Remains, his virgin girlfriend, or weed, anyway. 

“What kind of name is ‘Juggy’? Is that is real name?” 

I shrugged. “Dunno. That’s just what everyone calls him. So it’s what I call him.” 

She laughed. “Well, he wants you to know that he just—and I quote—’beat Dustin’s ass so hard at Paper Mario that he won’t be able to walk straight for days.’” 

I winced. “Ew. Gross.” 

“Who’s Dustin?” 

“Other guy I work with.” 

I could feel her stare on me, but I didn’t flinch. 

“You…work with interesting people,” she whispered. 

I just nodded. She wasn’t wrong. 

“I have to go to the bathroom.” She got up, shuffled around me and down the hall. 

I stood up then, gathered the candy wrappers up and was about to take the three steps it took across the cheap linoleum tiles in the kitchen to toss the when something froze me to the spot: CLANG! 

Right above me. 

I looked up, slowly, stared at the ceiling. The ceiling fan was still. Flashes from the movie flickered over the blades. Shadows swam around it. 

THUMP. KER-PLUMP. 

Above. 

Someone up there was…having fun? 

I inhaled, shakily. Sped to the trash can and dumped the wrappers, and was just about to dive back onto the blanket when something slithered across the door, stopping me in the middle of the floor. 

The sound of something snaking across the heavy door traveled down, slow, to the very bottom. 

What was that? 

The toilet flushed, snapping me out of it. Running water from the sink echoed in the small apartment, stopped, then the bathroom door opened. 

Beck joined me in seconds, wiping her hands on her shirt. 

“Josie? What—”

BANG—BANG—BANG. 

Right on the door. 

“What was that?” she whispered, voice right in my ear; I jumped. 

“I don’t know,” I whispered back, eyes locked on the door. Five steps in front of me. Too close. Matt’s room, more than five steps behind me, not close enough. 

Whoooooooosh. 

The slithering sound skittered above us; our heads shot to the ceiling as it ran across, straight down the hall. 

BANG-BANG-BANG! 

We jumped; then scrambled backwards to Matt’s door. 

“Wake up my brother,” I whispered, eyes never leaving the front door. 

“What—no! I’m not going in your brother’s room, that’s weird,” she hissed back. 

“Right, weird…” I watched the door handle. From back here, it stared at me. Solid. Brass. Cold. Turning…

Oh—

No. 

No-no-no. 

“MATT!” I screamed; fumbled with his doorhand, threw the door open and raced to his bed, Beck hovering in the hall. 

“Matt, wake up,” I shook him, his skin clammy from sleep and sweat—ew. “Wake up, something’s here.” 

“Just trick-or-treaters. Tell’em we don’ have candy,” he mumbled, then buried his face under his pillow. 

“It’s past midnight, trick-or-treaters aren’t out anymore.” 

“Ding-dong ditchers,” he answered fast. His hand clamped down on the billow, shutting me out. 

“No, Matt, it’s something else, it’s—”

BANGBANGBANGBANG! 

The walls vibrated; Matt shot up, hair stuck up on one side, eyes wide, searching. 

“What the hell?” he mumbled. He stood, grabbed a shirt hanging off the side of his dresser and threw it on as he raced passed me, passed Beck, to the front door. 

We followed, Beck clutching my arm as we crept through the living room, stopping only when Matt held a hand out behind him, face against the door, peering through the peep hole. 

It was silent for too long. 

“Nothing,” he muttered, stepping back. He turned, stopping when his gaze landed on us. Huddled together, curled in, Beck shaking against me. 

“It’s nothing,” he repeated, firmer. “Nothing’s there.” 

“You heard it,” I said, shrugging out of Beck’s hold. “Something’s out there.” 

“Someone,” he corrected, way too calmly. “And they’re gone.” 

BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG. 

We all froze. The knocks continued, but not on the door. On the walls. On either side the door. 

Until Matt turned, unlocked the door and cracked it open. 

The second the draft from the hall drifted in, the banging stopped. 

“Who’s there?” he called, looking one way, then the other. 

The faint yellow light in the hall zapped once, twice, flickering in and out. Casting Matt in an eerie yellow glow. 

He pulled the door open a little more, about to take a step into the hall when the heaviest weight I’d ever experienced settled right in my chest, deep and painful and suffocating. 

I shot forward, lunging for my brother, and grabbed ahold of him. 

“Matt, don’t go,” I whispered, fingers digging into his arm. I’d never felt this kind of fear before, but something…something clenched in my chest, my throat, something that said if he stepped out there, he wasn’t coming back. 

“Shh, Josie,” he shot back with a jerk of his head. He stared down the hall again, too long. I watched his eyes: scanning, moving, never stopping. 

“Matt.”

His eyes flicked to me. “What?” 

“Don’t go out there.” My voice barely made it past my trembling lips. 

“There’s nothing there.” He gestured down the empty hall, but he was wrong. 

A shiver crept up my spine, slow and cold. My heart thudded loud in my chest. Thu-thump. Thu-thump. Thu-thump. My breath blew out in one single puff of white in front of me, and then everything stilled. 

Silence rang in my ears, heavy and crushing. Darkness crept in, crawling along the edges of my vision, closing in, pressing in, black…black…blackness. 

Matt stood there, door open, ready to be taken—

“Matt!” I pulled on his arm with both hands, gripping hard. His hand slipped from the door frame and he turned, eyes piercing me. 

“What, Josie?” 

“Get inside,” my voice shook, “please?” 

“Please, Matt,” Beck whispered, gripping the corner of the wall behind us. “Something’s out there!” 

His eyes shot to her for a second, then back to me. 

“There’s nothing out there.” He turned back towards the hall. 

“Yes there is—there’s something out there and it’s gonna get you—get inside, Matt, please!” 

“Stop, Jos.” 

“No, come inside.” I tightened my hold on him, my hands shaking. 

He looked at me again. “There’s nothing there.” His voice too calm, too quiet. 

“Yes there is.” 

“No, Josie, listen—”

“No you listen!” I didn’t mean to shout it, but my voice broke as it rose. My shoulders trembled. “Don’t…just…I-I…I can’t lose you, too.” The words tumbled out, barely audible, tears welling up in my throat, threatening to burst forth. 

His eyes softened, head tilted. “Josie, you’re not—” 

THUMP—CLANG—THUD. 

We all looked up; frozen to the spot, holding our breaths. 

A long, slow scratch started right above Matt and me, rattling the ceiling as it scraped along, back towards the hall where Beck stood, clutching her chest. 

“I wanna go home,” she cried. 

“Yeah, me too,” I nodded. 

“This is your home.” 

“I meant your home.” 

“Alright, guys—” Matt held his hands up. “Enough.” 

He shut the door and locked it, then flipped on the living room lights. 

I covered my face for a second, Beck flinching back. 

But the scratching above stopped immediately. We looked up, waited. But  nothing. 

Matt waited another mintue, eyes on the ceiling, then flipped the lights off. The scratching crackled and popped, zipping across the ceiling. He flipped the light on again and, again, it stopped. 

What…just happened? 

“Electrical shortage,” he muttered. “See?” He looked at me, half a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “It’s nothing.” 

But his eyes stayed trained on the ceiling, ears listening. 

Nothing happened for a solid five minutes that felt like five hours. 

Matt’d checked the walls, vents, everything. When he turned the lights back off, it was quiet. 

He helped us settle on the living room floor with blankets and pillows, cleaned up our popcorn and pizza mess, and made us put on a stupid animated Disney movie. Beck was appreciative of that, though whether that was because she turned into a hypnotized zombie around my brother or because she really wanted something lighthearted and funny, it was hard to say. 

He said his goodnight and disappeared into his room again. 

Beck was out within seconds. Literal seconds. I shut the TV off, curled into a ball on my side, and just…stared. 

The carpet was soft, but not soft enough. Dug into my bony hip through the layers of blankets under me. The one blanket we shared was only half over me, Beck pulling it away when she rolled to the side. 

I watched an ant crawl across the linoleum in the galley kitchen opposite me. It moved slow, from a chair half-pushed into the round table neither of us ever ate at, to the brown pantry cabinet, disappearing behind the counter under the dishwasher. 

Good luck, little ant. Stay away from that. 

My eyes roamed the cabinets over the stove, one of them still crooked no matter how many times Matt tried to straighten it. 

And then it squeaked. 

The tiniest sound I’d ever heard, but it did. The crooked cabinet squeaked as it swung open, slow, revealing nothing but blackness behind it. 

My brain tried to conjure up the image of the shelf with dishes there, but my eyes only saw total, pure, pitch black. 

My heart flitted, my chest squeezed. Just a little. 

Then—tap, tap, tap. 

On the wall. In the hall. Like it came from Matt’s room. 

I sat up. Looked at the wall behind the couch. 

Tap, tap…tap-tap. 

I swallowed, heat and fear swirling in my stomach. 

Then the tapping moved, further down the hall. Further away. 

Everything in me screamed to stay in place, but my body moved on its own: I stood, slowly, the blanket falling around my feet. I wrapped the oversized hoodie around me, held myself tight, and inched down the dark hall. 

Tap-tap. 

At the far end, near my room. 

Oh no. No-no-no. 

Tap tap tap. 

I trailed the wall with my fingers, the sleeve slipping down to my elbow. The wall was rough, sticky paint, cold to the touch. Then over the wood frame of Matt’s room, across the cheap door, back to the wall again. 

I stopped at the door to my tiny room. It was cracked open, just enough to peer inside. The desk under the window was still a mess, homework strewn across like I’d actually touched it. I hadn’t. My journal front and center, closed, pen neatly beside it. Chair half-turned out. 

The closet door was pulled open, nothing but darkness behind it. 

Tap-tap. 

I flinched; it was right in front of me. On the wall. 

My fingers sat there, drumming the paint. Then…

I tapped back. Knock-knock. 

Silence. 

Then—tap-tap-tap. 

Knock-knock-knock. 

Tap. Tap. 

Knock. Knock. 

The air dropped around me, cold suddenly pressing in on every side. A whistling blew outside; the papers on the desk fluttered. Darkness crept from the corner by the closet, slow at first. Thin tendrils curling around the edges of my vision, swirling…swirling. 

Jo…sie…

NOPE. 

Nope-nope-nope. 

I slid to Matt’s door and knocked—too soft. 

“Matt?” I whispered, hand on the knob. 

Nothing. 

“Matt?” I tried again louder. Knocked again. 

Still nothing. 

I cracked the door open, peered inside. He was sprawled facedown on his bed, blanket pushed to his waist, pillow over his head. 

I squeezed inside and closed his door, raced to his bed and shook shoulder. His skin was warm, moist. Gross. 

“Matt—Matt, wake up. Matt!” I hissed. 

“Whaaat,” he groaned, the word buried in the pillow, half-swallowed by the mattress.

“Something’s in my room,” I whispered.

He didn’t move, his voice flat. “Go to sleep.” 

“I can’t.” My voice cracked. “Matt, please, can I sleep in here?”

Still into the mattress, rough, exhausted. “No.”

“Please? There’s something out there, Matt. It was tapping on the wall, and then it whispered, it—Matt! Please?” I begged, pleaded, tripped over my own words. 

He grunted, then shoved up onto his elbows and turned his head. His eyes were barely open, hair sticking up, face lined with pillow creases. “You’re just gonna leave Beck out there alone?”

“She’s fine!” I shot back, too fast. “Besides, she stole the blanket and it’s freezing.”

“I gave you like five blankets.”

“She stole all of them!”

He stared at me for half a second, then dropped his head, muttered something I was probably glad I didn’t comprehend, and then grabbed the pillow under his arm. Lobbed it at me without even looking. “Just go to sleep.”

I hugged the pillow to my chest, scrambled onto the edge of the bed, curled into a ball, and yanked the blanket tight around me.

“Seriously, Jos?” He tugged the blanket back, the force rolling me backwards. 

“It’s cold,” I whispered. 

He rolled over, facing away, but he was closer. He was there. 

“You’re fine,” he mumbled, already fading back into sleep. “Nothin’s gonna get you.”

Except…something was. 

Because it was out there. In my room. 

I squeezed my eyes shut, prayed and prayed and prayed for it to go away. And I finally drifted off, Matt’s words echoing in my head. “Nothin’s gonna get you.” 

I hoped he was right. 

Chapter Text

Matt

The dryer buzzed, and I pulled out the load, shaking out Josie's jeans before folding them. Something rattled in the pocket. Small, plastic. I reached in and pulled out an orange prescription bottle.

Not hers.

"Josie!" I called, staring at the label. Adderall. Kory Anderson—Kory. Damn it.

She appeared in the doorway, took one look at what I was holding, and froze for half a second before she folded her arms and leaned against the frame, trying to play it cool. She failed.

"What is this?" I held up the bottle, pills shaking inside.

"It's not mine."

"Then why was it in your pocket?"

"Kory gave it to me. She said I looked tired and—"

"And you took it?" My voice came out sharper than I meant. "Josie, do you have any idea what this stuff can do? You can't just take random pills because someone—"

"I didn't take any." She stepped back. "I was gonna throw it away, I just…I didn't know how to say no, okay?"

I stared at her. Sixteen years old and she couldn't say no to drugs because she was worried about—about what, exactly? 

"You need to learn to stand up for yourself. Just be yourself. These people aren't your friends if they're pushing this crap on you."

Her face twisted. "I don't even know who I am, Matt." The words came out raw. "At school I'm the smart one who helps with homework and advice because I don't gossip about everything to everyone. At work I pretend to know about music and skateboarding when I'm really just a poser. With Sean I'm just...some mediocre guitarist." She dug her nails into her arms. "I don't know which one is actually me."

I stared at her, her crap excuse of words only making this hole thing that much worse. 

"Do you know how easy it would be to overdose on this stuff?" I held up the bottle, voice getting sharper. "One bad reaction, one interaction with something else you're taking, and you're unconscious. Or worse. You could stop breathing, have a heart attack—"

"Look, if I wanted to kill myself, I wouldn't use Adderall. I'd use Ambien. Which I do have a prescription for, so you couldn't stop me from getting it even if you wanted to."

My blood went cold. The bottle slipped in my hand.

"Josie." My voice cracked. I shook my head, trying to process what she'd just said. "Why do you say things like that?"

She shrugged like it was nothing. Like she hadn't just sucker-punched me.

I turned away, running a hand down my face. When I looked back, she was still standing there, smaller somehow, waiting for me to lose it.

I passed her, walked to the kitchen, opened the cabinet above the fridge. The one she couldn't reach. Shoved the bottle inside behind the cereal boxes.

"Sit down," I said. "We're talking about this. Now."

She dropped onto the couch, arms still crossed, not looking at me. 

I sat across from her, the coffee table between us feeling like a mile.

"First," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. I didn’t want her shutting down if she thought I was mad. Which I was. But this was too important to let my anger cut in the way. "You don't take pills from anyone. Ever. I don't care if it's Kory or anyone else. You don't know what's in them, you don't know how they'll react with other medications."

"I told you I didn't take any."

"But you kept them. In your pocket. For how long?"

She shrugged. "A few days."

"A few days." I rubbed my forehead. "Josie, what if I hadn't found them? What if you'd gotten desperate one night, stressed about homework or something and taken them?"

"I wouldn't have." Her voice was small, thin. 

"You just told me you don't know who you are. That you feel like you're pretending all the time." I leaned forward. "That sounds pretty desperate to me."

Her arms wrapped tighter around herself. "It's not the same thing."

"Isn't it?" I watched her face, saw the moment she realized I might have a point. "You're so worried about being who everyone else wants you to be that you'll take drugs from someone just to avoid saying no."

"It's not that simple."

"Then explain it to me."

She was quiet for a long time, staring at her hands.

"Everyone expects something different," she finally said. "And I don't know which one is the real me. Or if any of them are."

Okay. Alright. I could work with that. "Well…which one do you want to be real?"

"I don't know." Her voice cracked. "That's the problem."

I sat back, squeezed my temples. This…this was far beyond my paygrade as older brother. 

Then I blew out a breath. But not as guardian. I had to try. Something… 

But then what she’d said earlier struck me: the Ambien comment. Holy shit—

"Hold on. Back up." I looked at her hard. "What you said about the Ambien. We're not done with that."

She rolled her eyes. "Matt—"

"No. You don't get to just throw that out there and move on. You talked about killing yourself like it was nothing."

"I didn't say I was going to—"

"You said you know how you'd do it. That's not normal, Josie. That's not something you just say."

Her jaw clenched. "I'm not stupid and I'm not irresponsible with medication."

"I'd like to say you're smart and responsible, but lately you've proven the exact opposite."

That hit. Her face flushed, arms tightening around herself.

"Look," my voice dropped, softer, "you want to know what I see when I look at you? I see someone who's smart enough that her friends ask her for homework help. Someone safe and loyal enough that she won't gossip about people behind their backs. Someone who learned guitar well enough that Sean wants her in his band—and trust me, he wouldn't ask if you sucked. And you think you’re a poser because you pretend to like the same music?” I laughed. A short, harsh laugh. “Josie, how many times’ve you been doing ollies out in the parking lot blasting that—2000’s punk rock crap?"

“Good Charlotte is not crap,” she shot back quickly. 

I just raised my brows. Point proven. 

"But I don't know if that's actually me or just…just…I don’t know." She sunk back in the couch, eyes dropping again. 

"It is you. All of it. You think you're pretending, but you can't fake being smart. You can't fake being loyal. And maybe you're not the best guitarist in the world, but you're good enough that you won Battle of the Bands last month. Is that not something?"

She stared at the floor. "Then why doesn't it feel real?"

"Because you're sixteen and still figuring it all out. That's normal. What's not normal is talking about killing yourself like it's a backup plan."

Her head snapped up, eyes flashing. "What are you getting at, Matt? What are you doing? You're my brother, not my dad. I don't need a lecture from you."

I opened my mouth to respond, but she cut me off.

"And news flash, I didn't have a dad the first sixteen years of my life and I'm doing better than you were at my age so don't tell me I need it."

That stopped me cold. Because she wasn't wrong.

At sixteen, I was barely keeping my head above water. Watching Dad tear Mom apart every night, watching Mom drink herself into oblivion to cope. I was failing half my classes, getting into fights, had no plan for anything beyond getting the hell out of that house.

Josie had a job. Honor roll. College scouts already calling about scholarships. She was light-years ahead of where I'd been.

But she was also sitting in my living room talking about suicide like it was just another item on her to-do list.

"You're right," I said finally. "You are doing better than I was. A lot better."

She went quiet, like she'd expected me to fight back.

"But that doesn't change the fact that you just told me you know exactly how you'd kill yourself. And that scares the hell out of me."

"I wasn't—" She stopped, jaw working. "I was just making a point."

"What point? That you've thought about it enough to have a plan?"

"No." But her voice was smaller now. "I was just saying the Adderall thing was stupid to worry about."

"By telling me about something worse to worry about instead?"

She didn't answer that. Just stared at her hands, shoulders hunched.

"Josie." I waited until she looked at me. "Are you thinking about hurting yourself?"

"No." Too fast.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes." Still too fast, but her voice cracked on it.

I leaned forward, elbows on my knees. "Because if you are, we need to talk about it. Really talk about it."

"I'm not." She pulled her legs up, hugging her knees. "I just...sometimes I think about what it would be like. If I wasn't here. That's not the same thing."

My chest tightened. "Yeah, it kind of is."

"Oh my God, Matt, you're making a bigger deal out of this than it is. Can you just drop it already? I don't wanna talk about it anymore." She unfolded herself and stood up, heading for the hall.

"No." I stood too, catching her shoulder as she tried to pass. "We're not done."

"Yes we are." She shrugged away from my hand.

I stepped in front of her again. "Sit back down, Josie."

"Move."

"No."

"Matt, I'm serious. Move."

"So am I. Sit down."

She glared at me, hands clenched at her sides. For a second I thought she might try to shove past me, but then her shoulders sagged.

"This is stupid," she muttered, but she walked back to the couch and dropped down hard.

I sat back down too, studying her. She was staring at the wall, jaw tight, everything about her screaming that she wanted to be anywhere but here.

"Look, I get it. You don't want to talk to me about this stuff. Fine. But you need to talk to someone."

"I don't need—"

"Yeah, you do. Someone who actually knows what they're doing. Not your brother who doesn’t know what he’s doing."

She shot me a look. "You want me to see a shrink?"

"I want you to see someone who can help. Because what you just told me? That's not normal teenage stuff, Josie. And I don't know how to fix it."

"There's nothing to fix."

"You think about what it would be like if you weren't here. You know exactly what pills you'd use if you wanted to die. That's not nothing."

Her voice went flat, too controlled. "Why do you care? I've been doing everything you said. I follow your rules. I'm not going out or doing anything reckless anymore. I go to school, go to work, come home and do my homework. That's it. That's all I do. I'm not causing you any stress anymore, am I? I'm not—I'm not asking anything of you. I'm not—"

She stopped. Her face cracked, just for a second, before she looked away.

That hit me harder than anything else she'd said. The way she made it sound like she was some kind of burden I was trying to manage instead of my sister.

I moved to the couch, sat next to her instead of across from her. "Josie. Look at me."

She didn't.

"I don't care about the rules. I care about you."

"Same thing."

"No, it's not." I waited until she finally turned her head. "The rules aren't about making my life easier. They're about keeping you safe. But if you're sitting here thinking about not being here anymore, then I'm failing at that."

Her eyes filled up, and here chest heaved. Once. "You're not failing." A tear slipped free, rolling fast down her cheek. 

"Yeah, I am. Because somehow I made you think that following rules and not causing stress is all I want from you." I shook my head. "That's not what I want, Jos. I want you to be okay. Actually okay, not just going through the motions."

"It's not you. You don't—" She stopped. Swiped at her face. "You're doing everything right. Actually better than right." She started picking at a loose thread on her sock, not meeting my eyes, sniffling a little. "Some of my friends are jealous, you know."

I didn't know what to say to that. Jealous of what? Of her having a brother who found drugs in her pocket and who’d been so clueless about whatever was going on that made her think about wanting to die? Not exactly something any of her friends should be jealous of. 

She waited a minute, then kept going. "I know you care. And I appreciate that you let me come to you for anything. But..." She paused, searching for words. "It's hard to explain. Mom was always on antidepressants and anti-anxiety meds and I just, I just don't want to be like her," she muttered.

And there it was. The real reason she was fighting this.

"Josie." I waited until she looked at me. "You're not your mom."

"But what if I am? What if this is just...genetic or whatever? What if I turn into her?"

"You won't."

"You don't know that."

"Yeah, I do." I leaned forward. "Because you're already nothing like her. Lena ran from everything. You stick around and deal with it, even when it sucks. She put herself first. You worry about everyone else. She gave up on you. You're still here, still fighting."

She was quiet, still picking at that thread.

"And if you need medication to help you fight? That doesn't make you weak. That doesn't make you her. That just makes you smart enough to get the help you need."

She stayed quiet, still picking at that thread. But she didn't try to get up or walk away. Just sat there, processing.

I let the silence stretch. Figured she needed time to think about what I'd said. But after a few minutes, I realized she wasn't going to respond.

"So here's what's gonna happen," I said, keeping my voice calm. "You're gonna see someone. A counselor, therapist, whatever you want to call it. We'll find someone you can actually talk to."

She finally looked up. "What if I don't want to?"

"Then you don't want to. But you're still going."

"Matt—"

"This isn't negotiable, Jos. You just told me you think about what it would be like if you weren't here. That's more than I know how to help with."

“I didn’t ask for your help.” 

"Yeah, well, you got it anyway. That's what happens when you're sixteen and living under my roof." I stopped, rubbed my hand over my face. That came out harsher than I meant. "Look, I'm not trying to be…I'm not trying to…” I groaned, fighting for the right words. “I can't just ignore what you told me. You can’t honestly think that I can."

She didn’t answer. Just went back to picking at the thread. "What if they want to put me on medication?"

"Then we'll cross that bridge when we get to it. Together."

"What if—"

"Josie." I reached over and stilled her hand. "One thing at a time. Right now, we just find someone for you to talk to. Someone who isn't your brother trying to figure this out as he goes."

She looked at me for a long minute, then nodded. Barely. But it was something.

I pulled her against my side, arm around her shoulders. She didn't resist, just leaned into me, still quiet. Her head dropped to my shoulder, some of the tension finally leaving her body.

"I'm not going anywhere," I said into her hair. "Whatever this is, we'll figure it out. But I need you to stick around so we can do that, okay?"

She nodded against my shoulder. "Okay."

"Promise me."

“Oh my God, Matt—”

“Promise, Josie.” I squeezed her shoulder. She wasn’t getting off that easily. 

"Fine,” she groaned. “I promise."

I tightened my grip on her. "Good. That's all I need right now."

"Matt," she said, really softly.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

I started to say something back, but she wrapped her arms around me then, cutting me off.

"I love you," she said, muffled against my shoulder.

The words hit me harder than expected. When was the last time she'd said that? When was the last time either of us had said it? My throat closed up.

A few months ago she was living in some dump with her mom, eating cereal for dinner and sleeping on a couch that probably had more springs than cushion left. Now she was here, in my arms, telling me she loved me after talking about wanting to die.

I could've lost her tonight. Or tomorrow. Could've lost her without ever knowing how close she was to the edge. The thought made my chest hurt, made it hard to breathe.

"I love you too, Jos," I managed, voice cracking. "More than you know."

More than I knew how to show her. More than I was good at saying. But she was here, and she was staying, and that had to be enough for now.

She sniffed against my shoulder. Great, now she was crying again.

"Matt," she said, voice muffled, sniffing again. 

"Yeah?"

"What do you smell like?"

I froze. That wasn't what I'd expected.

She pulled back a little, nose scrunched up. I caught myself doing the same thing, lifting my shirt to smell it. Did I smell bad? I'd showered this morning, put on deodorant—

"It's, uh." I stumbled over the words. "Hallie got me cologne. For Christmas. New stuff, I guess."

"Why?" she asked, and I felt heat crawl up my neck. 

"What—what do you mean why? Does it smell bad or something?"

"No, it's just—" She cut herself off with a sneeze. Then another one. "It's—” another sneeze, “really citrusy and—" another sneeze. 

But she was laughing now, which only made her sneeze more.

"Jesus, Jos, are you…okay?"

"Oranges," she said between giggles and sneezes. "Allergic to oranges.” Oh shit. “But it's—” she sneezed again, “so funny. You smell like—” another sneeze, “like a citrus grove."

I swore under my breath. "That's right, I forgot. Don't tell Sharon and Karen." The social workers still making their monthly drop-ins. 

She was still laughing and sneezing, wiping her nose on her sleeve. "I'm sorry, I can't—” another sneeze, “stop."

"Alright, alright. I'm gonna go change my shirt so you can breathe," I said, standing up. "Try not to sneeze yourself to death while I'm gone."

"No promises," she managed between sneezes, which only made her laugh harder.

Chapter Text

Josie

“Matt,” my voice was small. Too small. “Um…can you…” I swallowed back the tears, held my jacket closed tight against the biting wind with my free hand. “Can you come get me?” 

The sounds of dishes clattering filled the background, chatter humming around him, a TV somewhere on low. 

He was on a date. That was right—I’d forgotten. He took Hallie out for their six-month-aversary. 

Damn it, Josie. 

“Why—where are you?” 

I could hear the tension in his voice. 

He was pissed. 

This. Sucked. 

“I-I-I…I don’t know. Nobody here will tell me the address.” The front door slammed open, two guys hollering as they stumbled out, tossing something I couldn’t see over the porch banister. It landed with a thud in the dark grass. “Nobody knows it, I don’t think. I dropped my location right before I called. Did you get it?”

He was quiet for a second, the background noise filling the space. Then it faded and his voice came back, sharp and tight. 

“You’re twenty minutes away. Be ready.” 

The line ended. 

Relief flooded some part of me, but a bigger part of me tensed more in the fear of having to stand here, in the freezing cold, with him inside, for twenty minutes. 

Twenty minutes was a grueling, sadistically long time. The porch light flickered every few seconds, throwing the front lawn in and out of shadow. My jacket didn’t do much against the wind, but I wasn’t stepping back inside. Not with him in there.

The music dipped for half a beat, then blasted louder, the door creaking open. I froze when I heard my name.

“Josie.” Eric’s voice slurred, heavy. He stumbled onto the porch, scanning until his eyes landed on me. A smile tugged crooked across his face. He started down the steps, one hand dragging the railing. “Hey, wait up—”

I didn’t. My stomach lurched, legs moving before my head caught up.

The gravel crunched under my shoes as I bolted toward the truck pulling in. Headlights cut through the dark, and I didn’t stop until I reached Matt.

His door hadn’t even shut yet. I grabbed his sleeve, breath sharp. He looked from me to the guy weaving across the yard. His jaw locked.

“What?”

“Josie!” the guy shouted again, coming closer.

Matt’s hand caught my arm, too tight, and he pulled me behind him. “Stay back.”

The guy slowed, then squared his shoulders, puffing up like he wanted a fight. “Who the hell are you?”

Matt didn’t move. “Her ride.” His voice was low, clipped. “That’s all you need to know.”

Eric blew out a breath, loud and too long, then stepped forward like he was testing ground.

Matt shifted, planting himself, one hand out at his side like he was ready to shove if he had to. His other hand clenched. He didn’t raise his voice, didn’t need to.

“You’ve got three seconds to turn around,” he said.

He swayed, then muttered something I couldn’t catch before stumbling back toward the porch.

Matt didn’t drop his stance until the door slammed shut. Only then did he glance back at me, eyes sharp even in the dark.

“Get in the truck,” he ordered.

I didn’t argue. Didn’t talk the entire ride home. Neither did he. But he gripped the wheel tight, face hard, eyes never leaving the road. Words never leaving his mouth. Not even when he parked the truck. Not even as we walked up the stairs, down the hall.  

Not until I closed the door behind me and he’d already plopped down at the table. 

“Why do you put yourself in these—” He broke off with a groan, fists tight. He knocked his forehead once with his hand, then dragged it down his face. “I’m glad you called, okay? I’m glad you didn’t—God, I’m just glad nothing happened.” His voice cracked as he tried to reel it in. “But Josie—” Another groan, eyes shut. “Why do you keep ending up in this crap?”

Um. Was he…glad? Or mad? Because he sounded mad. 

“I didn’t know he was gonna take me there,” I said, eyes falling to the floor. 

“Then why’d you get in the car with him?” Matt shot back. His jaw clenched. “He’s a low-life, Josie. You had to know nothing good was coming from that.”

I didn’t, actually. 

“I didn’t ask for this, Matt.” My voice was low, anger simmering hot. I didn’t ask for him to try to force himself on me. I had no idea that’s what was going on at this so-called party. “Sorry I interrupted your stupid little date but you told me to call if I ever needed you to come get me.”

“I’m glad you did!” 

“Really? Because you sound mad. Are you glad I did or are you mad?” 

“Both.” He hung his head in his hands, elbows on the table. 

“You can’t be both,” I muttered. 

He sat back in the chair, eyes glaring at me. “What the hell were you even doing with those guys anyway? I thought you were supposed to be with—Beck and Mara and…” he trailed. Geeze, he couldn’t even remember more than two of my friends' names?

“I changed my mind.” I didn’t need to tell him why. 

“Why?” 

Damn it. 

I bit my bottom lip, focused my eyes on the faux wood floor of his kitchen. Dug the toe of my sneaker into the carpet. 

“Josie, talk to me.” 

“I don’t want to.” My eyes burned, wet at the corners. Seriously, now body? Now? 

“Fine. Then I’m mad. I’m mad you keep picking the wrong people. You know the crap those guys get into. Why not just stick with your friends from school?”

“They call me McSlut just because every guy at work texts me all the time and I haven’t even been on a single date with any of them!” I didn’t mean to shout. It just came out that way. “I told them to stop because it pisses me off but they don’t listen. That’s what they call me and now everyone at practice does it too and I’m just so sick of it!” I squeezed my arms so tight it hurt. “I’m still a virgin! How am I slut? I’m not a slut!” 

I dropped to the couch. Hard. My whole body tensed. 

The chair legs screeched against the floor as Matt shoved back from the table. His hands stayed clamped on the edge.

“Jesus, Josie.” His voice cracked sharp across the room. “I don’t care what they say. They’re idiots. You’re not—” He dragged a hand over his face, fingers pressed into his eyes. 

“That’s great you don’t care, but I do.” My voice was low, rough. My throat scratched from the stupid tears lodged in my throat. 

“That’s not what I meant.” He sounded tired. Looked tired. 

He let out a breath, shoulders sagging as his hands slid off his face. His elbows hit the table with a dull thud. “I mean—I care, Josie. I care a hell of a lot.” His voice was quieter now, like the fight had drained out of him. “But them? Screw them. They don’t get to decide who you are.”

Easy for him to say. Sure, screw them. And then have no friends at school. Be alone at school. Not that I wasn’t used to that. 

The tension killed my shoulders. I blew it out, sinking further into the couch. I kicked off my shoes and tucked my feet under me, grabbed a blanket off the back of the couch. But I still didn’t look at him. Played with a frayed edge of the blanket, twirling a loose thread around my fingers. 

He stood, the chair scraping. He moved to the couch and sat on the arm, close enough that I could smell the aftershave from his ruined date. “You’re staying here tonight,” he said, flat. “Phone stays here. No going back out. I’ll call Beck and Mara in the morning if you want—”

“No!” I said too fast, eyes snapping to him, heart hammering now. “Why would you do that? Don’t do that. Don’t—” I huffed, heat racing up my neck and face. “Matt. Do not. Get. Involved.”  

He froze, hands up like he’d been caught. Then he leaned forward on his knees, voice lower. “Okay. Fine. I won’t.” He scrubbed a hand over his mouth, eyes flicking away. “I just…I don’t like not doing anything.”

My chest burned, a different kind of warmth spreading. 

Guess he was trying. I should give him that. 

“You’re not…not doing anything,” I muttered. “Thank you. For picking me up.” I finally flicked my eyes to his. “And for listening.” 

His shoulders eased, just a fraction. He gave a short nod, like he didn’t trust his voice yet. Then he huffed out a breath, almost a laugh. “Yeah. Well. That’s what I’m here for, right?” His eyes flicked to mine, quick, then away again.

He sat back on the couch arm, drumming his fingers against his knee, restless. Then he tilted his head, made a vague little gesture between us. “And for the record…” his mouth twisted, half-grimace, half-smile, “don’t know how I feel about what you said. Earlier.” He let the words hang, then shrugged. “Actually—glad. I’m glad. Keep it that way.”

Everything burned; my chest, my neck, my face. I knew exactly what he was talking about. 

I deadpanned a look at him. “Don’t make it weird.” 

Chapter Text

Matt

The nail gun kicked back in my hand, sinking another brad into the trim. Sweat dripped down my temple despite the October chill. My phone buzzed in my pocket.

I ignored it. Lined up the next piece of trim, fired again.

It buzzed again. Then again.

"You gonna get that?" Josh called from across the room, wrestling with a sheet of drywall.

I pulled the phone out, glanced at the screen.

Josie.

My stomach dropped. She was supposed to be in school. Was she hurt? Sick? Did something happen?

I swiped to open the messages.

[JOSIE]
How do you solve for x in a quadratic equation?

I stared at the screen. Math homework?

[JOSIE]
Like if it's 2x² + 5x - 3 = 0
How do I find x?

I read it again. She was texting me. About math. In the middle of the school day.

My thumbs hovered over the keyboard.

[ME]
Ask your teacher.

The response came back in seconds.

[JOSIE]
He told me that's not his job.
Figure it out myself.

I huffed a breath, shook my head. What kind of teacher said that?

[ME]
You're smarter than me.
You don't need my help.

I waited. The three dots appeared, disappeared, appeared again.

Something was off.

[ME]
What's really going on?

The dots vanished. A full minute passed. I set the nail gun down, leaned against the wall.

Finally, her response popped up.

[JOSIE]
I'm bored.

I almost laughed. Of course she was.

[ME]
You're at school.
Talk to your friends.

[JOSIE]
My friends are in Spanish, not French.

I read that twice. French class. She was in French class.

[ME]
Why are you doing math in French class?

[JOSIE]
Because I wanted to get my homework done.

[ME]
Did you ask your French teacher for help on your math homework?

[JOSIE]
Yeah.
He's a sub. He's not very good at math.
Or French.

I ran a hand down my face, exhaled slow, but I was grinning.

[ME]
Pay attention in class.

I shoved the phone back in my pocket, grabbed the nail gun again. But my hand stalled halfway to the trim.

She wasn't texting because she needed help with math. She was texting because she was bored. Because her friends weren't in that class. Because she wanted someone to talk to. And she'd picked me.

My chest squeezed. Just a little. 

She'd never had that before. Someone to just text in the middle of the day. Someone who'd text back.

I pulled my phone out again, thumbs moving before I thought it through.

[ME]
How's your day going otherwise?

The three dots appeared immediately.

[JOSIE]
Fine I guess.
Swim practice after school.
Beck's being annoying.

Not that I really cared about high school girl drama, but…

[ME]
What'd she do?

[JOSIE]
Nothing. It’s not a big deal. 

Couldn’t say I wasn’t grateful for that. 

[ME]
Want me to pick you up after practice?

[JOSIE]
You don't have to.

[ME]
I know.
But I'm offering.

The dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.

[JOSIE]
Okay.
Thanks.

[ME]
See you at 5.

I pocketed my phone, picked up the nail gun, and got back to work. But I couldn't stop the stupid grin on my face.

Chapter Text

Josie

His face went blank. Completely blank. Like every muscle just...stopped.

"What?" The word came out flat, almost too quiet.

I swiped at my face, heat crawling up my neck. "She said you—that you came onto her. That you made a move or whatever and I know it's not true but what if people believe her and—"

"Josie." He cut me off, hands coming up. Then dropping. Then one dragged down his face. "Slow down. What exactly did she say?"

"Does it matter?" My voice cracked. "She said it, Matt. People are talking about it and if the wrong person hears—"

"Hey." His hands landed on my shoulders, hard. His eyes locked on mine, sharper now, focused. "Look at me. Nothing's gonna happen to me, okay? Nothing."

"You don't know that." The tears came faster, my chest heaving. "They could take me away from you and I can't—I don’t want to—"

"That's not happening." His grip tightened, his voice dropping lower, steadier. "Josie, listen to me. That's not happening. I promise you."

"But what if—"

"No." He shook his head once, jaw tight. "We'll figure this out. Together. But you can't—" He stopped, let out a hard breath. "You can't shove people off benches, Jos. No matter what they say about me."

"She was lying about you!"

"I know." His voice gentled, just a fraction. "And we'll deal with that. The right way. Not by getting yourself expelled." He squeezed my shoulders once more, then let go. "You should've come to me first. Before it got to this."

I wiped my face again, arms crossing tight. "Would you have believed me?"

That stopped him. His mouth opened, then closed. Then he blew out a breath and pulled me in, one arm around my shoulders, his other hand pressed to the back of my head.

"Yeah," he said, quiet. Rough. "I would've believed you."

His arms tightened around me. For a second he didn't say anything, just held me there in the empty hallway outside the principal's office.

My voice came out small. Broken. "I don't wanna lose you."

His grip tightened more. Then his voice came, low and steady against my hair. "You're not gonna lose me, Jos. I'm not going anywhere."

"You don't know that."

"Yes, I do." He pulled back just enough to look at me. His eyes were fierce. Certain. "Nothing she says is gonna change anything. Nothing. Trust me, please.” He squeezed my shoulders, once. “Now, we're gonna go back in there," he continued, voice dropping lower, "and we're gonna tell them exactly what happened. The truth. All of it." He waited until I looked at him. "And then we're gonna go home. Together."

The tears came harder then, and he pulled me back in, one hand at my back, holding me steady while I fell apart in the middle of the stupid school hallway.

"I've got you," he said quietly. "I've got you."

****

Mrs. Porter's voice rose, sharp and cutting. "Three days? That's it? She assaulted my daughter! Look at her nose! She could've broken it! And you're just going to let this little—"

"Watch it." Matt's voice cut through the room, low and hard. He didn't move from his chair, didn't raise his voice, but the warning was clear.

Mrs. Porter's mouth snapped shut for half a second before she turned on him. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me." His eyes locked on hers, steady. Unflinching. "Say what you want about me, but you're not talking about my sister like that."

"Your sister is out of control! She's violent, she's—"

"She's sixteen," Matt cut her off, voice firm. "And she made a mistake. She's being disciplined for it. But let's not pretend your daughter's innocent here."

"Are you calling my daughter a liar?"

Matt's jaw tightened. "I'm saying there's more to this story than what you're hearing."

"Oh, I've heard plenty," Mrs. Porter shot back, her voice dripping with disdain. "I've heard all about the kind of household she's coming from—"

"That's enough." The principal's voice broke through, hands raised. "Mrs. Porter, please—"

But Matt was already standing, his hand finding my shoulder. "We're done here," he said, eyes on Mrs. Porter. "Josie will serve her suspension. But if you've got something to say about how I'm raising her, you can take it up with me. Not her."

He didn't wait for a response. Just guided me toward the door, his hand firm at my back.

Matt

The truck idled at the red light. I gripped the wheel tighter than I needed to, jaw working.

Three days.

Three days suspended because some girl decided to run her mouth about me and Josie snapped.

I glanced over. She was pressed against the passenger door, arms crossed, staring out the window. 

The light turned green. I shifted into drive, rolled forward.

"You shouldn't have done that," I said finally.

Her glare was sharp. "What was I supposed to do, Matt? Let her tell everyone you're some kind of—"

"Yes." The word came out harder than I meant it to. I softened my voice. "Yeah, Jos. You let her. Because it's not true, and the truth comes out eventually."

"Not always." Her voice was small now. Defeated.

That hit me harder than it should've.

I pulled into a gas station parking lot, threw the truck in park. Turned to face her.

"Look at me."

She didn't move.

"Josie. Look at me."

She turned, slow, eyes red-rimmed and defiant all at once.

"I appreciate what you were trying to do," I said, keeping my voice level. "I do. But you can't—" I stopped, ran a hand over my face. "You can't throw punches every time someone says something about me. Or about you. It doesn't work like that."

"I didn't punch her. I shoved her."

"Josie."

"What?" Her arms tightened across her chest. "You said it yourself. I'm not a liar."

A laugh broke out of me before I could stop it. Short. Rough. "Yeah. You're not." I shook my head, looked out the windshield at the gas pumps. "You're also not a fighter, Jos. So why're you acting like one?"

Silence.

I looked back at her. She was staring at her lap now, jaw tight.

"Because I was scared," she finally whispered.

My chest clenched.

"Scared of what?"

"Losing you." Her voice cracked. "They could've taken me away, Matt. If people believed her, if someone called—they could've—"

"Hey." I reached over, gripped her shoulder. "That's not gonna happen, alright? Nobody's taking you anywhere."

"You don't know that."

"Yes, I do." I squeezed her shoulder once, then let go. "Because I didn't do anything wrong. And when people lie about you? The truth comes out. It always does."

She didn't look convinced.

I sighed, shifted back in my seat. "You're suspended for three days, Jos. That means you're grounded for three days. No friends. No phone except for emergencies. You stay home, you do your homework, and you think about why shoving people off benches isn't the answer."

"But it was the answer."

"Maybe." I started the truck again, pulled back onto the road. "But that doesn't make it right."

She went quiet. Stayed quiet the rest of the drive.

When we pulled into the apartment complex, I killed the engine but didn't move. Just sat there, hands on the wheel.

"For what it's worth," I said, not looking at her, "thanks. For having my back."

I felt her eyes on me.

"Even if you went about it the wrong way," I added, glancing over. "It means something. That you were willing to fight for me."

Her arms loosened, just a fraction. She didn't say anything, but she didn't have to.

I pushed open my door. "Come on. Let's go."

Chapter Text

Matt

The alarm blared overhead, sharp enough to cut through the low hum of conversation in the common room. I was halfway through a sandwich when the tones dropped.

"Engine 51, Truck 81, Squad 3, Ambulance 61—structure fire, 2400 block of Lincoln Avenue—"

I was already moving, tossing the sandwich onto my plate as I grabbed my gear. The apparatus bay flooded with bodies, turnout coats flying on, boots hitting the floor in a rhythm I could do in my sleep by now.

My phone buzzed in my pocket.

I ignored it, yanking my suspenders up over my shoulders.

It buzzed again. Then again.

"Casey, you comin'?" Herrmann barked from the engine.

I pulled my phone out, ready to silence it, when Josie's name flashed across the screen.

My stomach dropped.

She was grounded. Home alone. Shouldn't need anything.

I swiped to answer, pressing it to my ear as I jogged toward the rig. "Jos, I can't talk right now, I'm—"

"MATT!" Her voice cracked high and panicked over the line. "There's a fire! There's a fire in the kitchen!"

I stopped cold. "What?"

"There's a fire! I don't know what to do, it's—Matt! I threw water on it but it got bigger!"

My blood went ice cold. "You threw—Josie, what kind of fire?"

"I don't know! It's just fire! On the stove!"

"Casey!" Andy yelled from the truck. "Let's go!"

My brain split in two directions. The rig. Josie.

"Josie, listen to me." I forced my voice steady, gripping the phone tighter. "What's burning? Is it grease? Oil?"

"I—I don't know! I made grilled cheese and then I left and the paper towels caught fire—"

"Paper towels?" I let out a hard breath, tension easing a little. Not grease. Not spreading. But still. "Okay. Okay, do not throw more water on it. You hear me?"

"But don’t you use water to put out fire?"

"No water! Where is it now? Is it still burning?"

"Yes. It's-it's just sitting there, Matt, it won't go out!"

"Casey!" Chief’s voice cut sharp across the bay. "We're rolling!"

I turned, eyes locking on the Chief. "My sister—there's a fire at my apartment."

Chief looked at Herrmann, then back at me. "How bad?"

"Paper towels on the stove. She threw water on it."

Herrmann swore under his breath.

"She okay?" Chief asked, already moving.

"Yeah, but—"

"Then talk her through it. We'll radio ahead, get a rig to your address." He jerked his head toward the engine. "But you're still riding with us. Move."

I nodded, jogging to the engine as I pressed the phone back to my ear. "Josie, you still there?"

"It's getting bigger, Matt!" Her voice pitched higher, edging toward full panic.

"No it's not. It just looks like it is." I swung into my seat, yanking the door shut as the engine roared to life. "Listen to me. Do you see the fire extinguisher?"

"The what?"

"Under the sink. Red canister. Do you see it?"

A clatter, a curse. "I-yeah. Yeah, I got it."

"Okay. Pull the pin at the top. Aim it at the base of the fire, not the flames. You got that?"

“What pin? What’s it look like?”

Good grief. “The—”

“Oh this thing. Like a grenade.” She laughed. Actually laughed. 

“Base of the fire, Josie, not the flames, got it?” 

"Base of the fire, not the—okay, okay—"

"And squeeze the handle. Don't stop until it's out."

A hiss crackled through the line, followed by a muffled cough and a string of swearing that would've earned her a lecture any other day.

"Did it work?" I pressed, gripping the phone tight enough my knuckles went white.

Another cough. "Yeah. Yeah, it's-it's out." Her voice wobbled, breath shaky. "Oh my God, Matt, I almost burned down your apartment."

"You didn't." I let my head fall back against the seat, exhaling hard. "You didn't, okay? It's out. You're fine."

"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to! I just left for a second and-and-"

"Josie." I cut her off. "You're fine. The fire's out. That's all that matters."

She sniffled on the other end. I could see her standing there in the kitchen, extinguisher still in hand, smoke hanging in the air, eyes red.

"A rig's coming to check it out," I added. "They'll be there in a few minutes. Just open the windows. Turn on the fan. And for the love of God, do not touch the stove again."

"Okay." Her voice was small now, thick. "Matt, I'm really sorry."

"I know." I glanced out the window as we tore through an intersection, sirens wailing. "We'll talk when I get home. Just…stay out of the kitchen."

"Okay."

I hesitated, then added, quieter, "You did the right thing, calling me."

She didn't answer, but I heard her breathing, shaky and uneven.

"I gotta go," I said. "But I'll see you later. Alright?"

"Okay."

The line went dead.

I lowered the phone, staring at the screen for a second longer than I should've.

"She okay?" Herrmann asked

"Yeah." I shoved the phone back in my pocket, scrubbing a hand over my face. "Yeah, she's fine."

"Good thing she called you and not 911," he muttered. "Dispatch woulda lost their minds."

I huffed a breath, something between a laugh and a groan. "Yeah. Good thing."

This kid was either gonna destroy my apartment or give me a heart attack before she graduated. Best guesses as to which. 

Chapter Text

Josie

The river ran dark and quiet below me. I hugged my knees, partly to hold all the warmth I could inside, partly to steady myself. The cement ledge was a lot colder than it looked, especially an hour after the sun dropped below the horizon. 

But I liked staring at the water. Watching it move, like black glass just gliding along below me. Like I could scream every last thing wrong with this world into it, and it would just…drag it behind me, disappearing beneath the bridge, never to be seen again. 

My chest ached from the heaving, the clenching, the barely breathing all day. 

Hell, my whole body hurt. Sore muscles, first from the crying, then from my fingers shaking so hard I couldn’t hold a single thing thanks to the dropping temperature. It had to be below freezing out by now. 

But I didn’t care. 

I dipped my head, resting my forehead on my knees, arms wrapped tight around my legs. Mr. Arnold’s comment on my last paper flashed across my mind. Unfocused and poorly organized…vague statements, lack of evidence, no analysis. What did he think my entire paragraph on why Gatsby threw parties even was? And I had at least four examples straight from the text to prove that. This reads like a rough draft, not a finished paper. I spent hours on that thing, making sure it was up to speed after the last stupid paper he said wasn’t good enough. Do better. 

Do better. 

That’s what Mr. Ferny said, too, when I wrote about World War II. Do better in citing my supporting evidence of the causes for the war. Do better in detailing the historical accuracies of Hiroshima. 

Do better. Do better. Do better. 

When everyone paraded around Beck after the last swim meet, nobody noticed my time was second in the entire meet. Because hers was first. Coach’s advice? Do better than her. I thought swimming was an independent sport, only competing against our own times? 

When I screwed up the chord during practice, like, five times, all Sean said was do better. “Come on, Josie, you can do better than that.” 

What the hell ever. 

I couldn’t even smoke pot right. One puff off that damn pipe and it all went down wrong. Burned like hell. Choked me half to death. 

“You’re doing it wrong,” Juggy had said. “Do it just like you did, but you know, better,” Dustin had said. Because that helped. 

All I did was mess everything up. Do it all wrong. Everything. All of it. 

School. Swimming. Guitar. I was so pathetic I couldn’t even do drugs right. 

And now Matt. My one safe place. My one solace. “You can do better than that, Josie. I know you can.” 

That’s what he thought. 

But no I couldn’t. I couldn’t do shit. 

The tears were cold against my cheeks, flowing slower than before. Silent. 

“Josie.” 

Matt. Of course. His voice was steady. Careful. 

I didn’t move. Didn’t look up. 

The steps on the concrete slowed before they reached me, then stopped. 

“Hey.” Softer this time. “It’s me.”

“Yeah no shit, Sherlock.”

His voice clipped back fast. “Don’t get smart with me, Josie. Not when you’re parked on the edge of a damn bridge.” Whatever. The tension from him bled over to me fast. “Josie.” Quieter. “C’mon. I’m right here. Don’t shut me out.”

“Go. Away.” I forced out, breath hot against my legs, tears streaming faster now. Talking made it worse. 

“I’m not going anywhere. You don’t want to talk, fine. But I need you to hear me—you’re not alone out here. Not tonight.”

I laughed. Not really. More like sputtered, but it was harsh and too loud for my ears. 

“What do you know about being alone?” Finally I lifted my head. The biting cold hit my fast, freezing my tears to my cheeks. “You have a life now, Matt. You have your dream job, your friends at work. Your girlfriend. Even your hobby is your side job. You have everything.” 

His jaw tightened, breath visible in the cold. 

“You think that means I don’t get it? That I’ve never been alone?” He shook his head. “You don’t see the whole picture, Josie. You see what you want to.”

He shook his head, frustration breaking through. Finally. Maybe if I pushed hard enough he’d leave me the hell alone.  

“Yeah, I’ve got the job. The shift. People around me. Doesn’t mean it’s easy. Doesn’t mean I don’t walk into an empty house most nights.” His eyes stayed on mine, steady. “None of that changes this—you. Sitting out here like this.”

Like that had anything to do with it. 

Another bitter laugh escaped my lips, but quieter this time. I looked down at the water. A little ripple popped up. Probably a fish. The soft plop of the droplet hitting the body floated up. Calming. Stilling in a way nothing else could. 

The noise of the night slowly died down around us. The breeze in the trees stopped. The last of the rubber on pavement in the distance faded. Even the water, soft. Quiet. 

And everything in me just…numbed. 

Went completely and utterly…numb. 

It came out of me then. Words I didn’t even know were sitting on my tongue, voice that didn’t sound like it belonged to me. Too cold. Too low. Too detached. 

“You don’t get it.” Not a single tear moved now. 

“Okay. Then explain it to me.” 

“Everything…everything is wrong. Everything in my life is wrong. Everything I do is wrong.” Something fought in me to laugh, but something deeper suppressed it. Nothing but silence echoed after. “Dad never even wanted me. I should probably miss him. It feels wrong not to. Mom just…disappeared. Who knows if something happened, or if she just…” My gaze blurred, unfocused. The water blurred into the bank on either side, trees blurred into the night sky.

“Josie,” his voice dropped. I heard the pain in it. “Dad not wanting you? That’s on him, not you. You don’t—” he stopped. Probably didn’t know what to say. Who would?

“I used to be good at school, but not anymore. Everything I write? It’s crap. Never good enough. I can’t even get close to my record in swimming, let alone Beck’s. I’ll never make it to finals. Can’t even get the notes for Sean’s new song right. I keep screwing it up, like I screw everything up.” 

“You don’t—” his voice caught. Then he tried again. “You’re harder on yourself than anyone I know, cut yourself some slack.” 

“No.” Finally something broke in me; my voice cracked. My chest heaved again. “I just don’t care anymore, Matt. I don’t—”

“Don’t say that, Josie.” He found his voice, too. Sharper. Firmer. “Stop saying that. Look, just…come here and we can talk about this.”

“No, because it’s true!” I looked at him, finally. Saw him through the tears welling in my eyes again. Damn it. Again. “I don’t give a shit about school anymore. I don’t even like swimming, I only joined because Beck begged me to! I don’t care about the band. I told Sean I didn’t wanna do Battle of the Bands but he signed us up anyway.” 

I wanted to yell at him. To tell him he was the worst of it all—letting him down, making him mad at me, that was worse than any of the other stuff. 

But I couldn’t. For some reason, I couldn’t. 

“Okay. You don’t care? Fine. So, what then?” 

Stop, Matt. His voice rose.

“You’re just gonna quit?” He laughed, short and sharp. It stung. Just stop yelling. 

“Is that you? You quit when things get hard, Josie?” 

I dropped my head to my knees again, closed my eyes against the stiff denim. “Just stop!” The tears fell.

“Stop what, Josie? Stop talking?” His voice carried, louder than before. Snapping. 

Stop yelling. Stop getting mad, stop—stop—stop! 

“Stop caring? Because I can tell you right now I can’t do that and you know that!” 

“No—just…just stop! Stop yelling at me, stop—being mad at me! Please.” I dug my hands into my hair, pulling, tears soaking into the sleeves of my shirt.

“Okay! Okay, I’m not mad, Josie.” His voice cracked, raw, too rough. “I’m not mad.” 

Right. Because yelling at me wasn’t him being mad. 

“Yes you are. That’s all you are now, that’s all I do is make you mad all the time,” I said through the tears, digging into my scalp more. “Everyone just gets tired of me, all the time. Nobody really wants me around. Nobody cares if I’m there or not.” 

He didn’t say anything for a minute. I heard his shoes against the pavement. Getting closer. I didn’t even try to move. Too cold. Too…didn’t care. 

“I’m not mad,” he finally said, quiet, unsteady. “And don’t say nobody wants you. That’s not true. I do. I always do. I just—” his breath caught, rough. “I’m scared I’m gonna lose you, Josie.”

My elbows dug into my knees, bone against bone. Painful. But it shot through me, reminding me I was still here, still alive, still…real. 

But I didn’t want to be here. Didn’t want to be alive. Didn’t want to be real.

“I’m scared,” he said again, voice dropping a fraction. “I’m scared I’ll lose you and I don’t know how to stop it. I don’t know how to fix this. Tell me—just…tell me. What can I do?”

“Go away,” I whispered through shallow breaths. Louder, harder: “Go away. Just go away. Leave me alone.”

“I can’t do that.” His voice dropped, steadier now. “I’m not gonna do that.”

“Just go home.” My hands twisted, pulling, tugging at my hair. “Please. Just go.”

“Come with me,” he said. Quiet. Measured.

I laughed, sharp and broken, shaking my head. “I don’t have a home to go to, Matt. I don’t have anywhere to go and I don’t want to go anywhere. I don’t want to do this anymore.” My voice broke, my head digging hard into my arms. “I can’t do this anymore,” I choked out. 

He went still. I closed my eyes, shutting him out. Shutting the image of him out. Trying to shut his shaking voice out. 

He stepped toward me, and when he spoke his voice was smaller, rougher. 

“Same,” he said, low. 

“What?” I dropped my arms. He was right there, next to me now. 

I never knew that. Never knew Matt felt like he couldn’t do it anymore either. And his life…well it wasn’t perfect. Harder than mine probably. 

“Sometimes I want to quit. I think about walking away.” He swallowed like it hurt, then put a hand on my back, fingers gripping between my shoulder blades. Warm through the thin hoodie. “But I don’t. And you can’t either, Jos. You can’t run every time it gets hard. You can’t just…” He shook his head once. “Quit. You can’t do that to me. Please.” 

The fabric of his coat pressed warm against my cheek. His other hand tightened at my shoulder. “You have a home,” he added, quieter. “My place. You always have a place with me. That’s not up for discussion.”

The words fell straight through me. 

I looked at him. He was tired and raw, in a way that made my heart hurt. Worse than the depression and the loneliness and the crushing weight of dread. 

And then…a fresh wave of tears came. Of course. 

He wrapped his arm around me, pulled me into his chest, and held me. Let me cry into him, arms tight as I shook against him. 

The instant I slid off the railing and my feet hit pavement, he crushed me to him, his arms locked around me. Clutched the back of my head, pressing me into his chest, his face buried in my hair. He shook, damp tears seeping against my scalp as he held me tighter, tighter still.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, voice frayed. “I’ve got you.”

He was crying with me, his body heaving against mine, his grip unrelenting.

“What can I do?” he asked again, desperate, the words muffled in my hair. “Josie, what can I do to help you?”

The question cracked me open. I knew what I needed. What I wanted. But I felt stupid even asking it. But what the hell—we were well past stupid. “Do you love me?”

He froze for half a second, then answered fast, fierce. “Yeah. Yeah, I love you. Of course I do.” He squeezed tighter, fingers digging into me. “More than anything, Josie. More than anything.”

My breath shuddered, breaking on the words I forced out next. “Then don’t let go.”

His arms crushed tighter, coat wrapping me in, his voice rough against my ear. “I won’t. I promise, I won’t.”

The words broke me open. My throat ached, my chest heaved, and the apologies spilled out before I could stop them. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Matt. I’m sorry I’m sorry—”

“Hey, hey.” His breath hit my hair, his voice cutting low but steady. “Enough. You don’t owe me that, alright? You’re here, you’re here. That’s all that matters.”

I clung harder, knuckles digging into his coat. And that’s when I felt it. Why he was holding so tight. Fear, sure, but…cold. 

I was shaking, not from crying, but from the cold. My skin numb, my lips trembling.

“Jesus, Jos,” he muttered, pulling back just enough for his eyes to catch mine. Panic flickered there, quick and sharp, before he wrapped his jacket around me tighter. His chest swallowed me whole, heat bleeding through where I pressed into him.

He held me there, unyielding, then bent his head to speak again, voice rough. “We’re getting you warm. Right now.”

Chapter Text

Matt

The poker hand in front of me blurred. I'd been staring at the same three cards for the past five minutes, not seeing them, not caring.

"Casey, you in or out?" Herrmann asked from across the table.

I blinked, refocused. "Yeah. I'm in."

Andy snorted. "You don't even know what you're holding, do you?"

He wasn't wrong. I tossed two cards onto the pile. "Two."

The scanner crackled from its mount on the wall. Background noise most of the time, white noise we'd learned to tune out unless our house number came through. But this time, something in the dispatcher's tone made my hand freeze halfway to the new cards Herrmann dealt me.

"All available units, respond to Riverbend Amphitheater. Active shooter, multiple victims down. Mass casualty incident. Repeat: mass casualty incident."

The cards slipped from my fingers.

Riverbend.

Josie.

"Casey?" Herrmann's voice sounded far away.

My chair scraped back, too loud in the sudden silence of the common room. I was on my feet before I realized I'd moved, phone already in my hand.

"Matt." Andy's voice, cautious. Warning.

I didn't answer. Couldn't. My fingers fumbled unlocking the screen, pulling up Josie's contact. Hit call.

It rang once. Twice. Three times.

"Come on," I muttered. "Pick up. Pick up."

Voicemail.

I tried again.

"Requesting additional ambulances. Multiple victims, unknown number. Scene is not secure."

Unknown number.

My stomach dropped.

I texted instead, fingers shaking:

[ME]
Are you okay? 

Josie answer me 

Call me right now

The messages showed delivered. Not read.

"Casey." Herrmann stood, and his face wasn't offering false comfort anymore. He looked as worried as I felt. "She could've gotten out. Could be outside with the crowd, phone lost in the stampede—"

"Or she didn't get out." The words came out flat. Dead. "Active shooter, Herrmann. Scene's not even secure yet."

His face went tight. He didn't try to argue.

I tried calling again. Voicemail again. "She's not answering. She always—she always answers when I call."

That wasn't entirely true. But right now it felt true.

Andy moved closer, slow. "Maybe her phone died. Maybe she dropped it running. Maybe she can't get to it with all the—"

"Active shooter, Andy." I cut him off, phone pressed so hard to my ear it hurt. "People are getting shot and I don't know if she's—" I couldn't finish.

The scanner crackled again: "Scene secure. PD requesting all attendees remain on scene for questioning. EMS cleared to enter."

Detained.

She was there. Somewhere in that horror. Detained. Maybe hurt. Maybe—

No.

I shook my head, tried texting again:

[ME]

Please just tell me you're okay

One text. That's all I need

Delivered. Not read.

"I have to go." I was already moving toward the apparatus floor, toward my truck keys in my locker.

"Whoa, whoa." Herrmann stepped in front of me, solid. Unmovable. "You can't just leave, Casey."

"The hell I can't."

"You're on shift. We could get a call any second—"

"My sister is at that concert!" The words ripped out of me, too loud, echoing in the bay. "She's sixteen years old and there's an active shooter and she's not answering her phone!"

Herrmann's face went tight, but he didn't move. "I know. I get it. But you can't go down there—scene's not even secure yet. You won't be able to get near her."

"I don't care—"

"Matt." Andy's voice, sharper now. "Listen to him. They've got the perimeter locked down. You show up, you're just another body in the way."

"She could be hurt!" My voice cracked. "She could be bleeding out and I'm standing here doing nothing!"

"You don't know that," Andy said, but his voice was strained. Uncertain. "Could be she got out. Could be she's with the crowd outside and just can't get to her phone. Could be—"

"Could be she's dead!" The word tore out of me, raw and vicious. I pressed my palms into my eyes, hard enough to see stars. "Could be she got shot and I'm standing here playing poker while she—"

I couldn't say it.

Wouldn't.

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Herrmann gripped my shoulder, heavy. "Casey." His voice was low. Steady. "I know you're scared. Hell, we're all scared for her. But running down there isn't gonna help. Not yet."

"Then what am I supposed to do?" My hands dropped, phone screen lighting up with nothing. No calls. No texts. No Josie. "Just stand here and wait?"

"Yeah." His grip tightened. "That's exactly what you do. You wait. And the second you hear something—anything—we'll figure it out."

"And if I don't hear anything?" My voice was barely a whisper now. "What if the next call I get is from the hospital? Or the morgue?"

Nobody answered. Because nobody had an answer for that.

Then the alarm blared.

"Truck 81, Squad 3, Ambulance 61. Structure fire, 2947 West Madison—"

"Casey, let's go!" Lieutenant's voice cut through everything.

I stood frozen, phone in hand, staring at the screen.

Still nothing.

"Casey!" Sharper now.

Herrmann gripped my shoulder, squeezed once. "We'll be fast. Get in, get out. Then you can check your phone again. Okay?"

I nodded because I had to. Because I didn't have a choice.

But every step toward the truck felt wrong.

Every second pulling on my gear felt like a second I didn't have.

Every breath I took, she might not be taking.

The fire was routine. A kitchen grease fire that spread to the cabinets. Nothing I hadn't seen a hundred times before.

But I couldn't focus.

I moved through the motions—hose line, knockdown, overhaul—but my head wasn't there. My hands did the work, muscle memory taking over while my mind spiraled.

Multiple victims.

She's not answering.

What if she’s hurt?

What if she was shot?

What if she's alone and scared?

What if she's not alone at all? What if she's on a stretcher, on her way to Med, and I don't even know?

"Casey, you with me?" Herrmann's voice crackled through the radio in my ear.

"Yeah. I'm good."

I wasn't good.

I checked my phone the second we cleared the scene. Pulled my glove off with my teeth, fingers numb and clumsy as I unlocked the screen.

Nothing.

No missed calls. No texts.

Just my own messages staring back at me, unanswered. All delivered. None read.

"Anything?" Andy asked, pulling off his mask beside me.

I shook my head, throat tight.

He didn't say anything this time. No reassurances. No false hope. Just stood there, close enough that I knew he was there. That was all he could offer.

And it wasn't enough. Nothing would be.

Back at the firehouse, I went straight to the scanner.

Stood there, arms crossed, staring at it like I could will it to give me information.

The chatter had died down. No more calls for ambulances. No more updates.

Just silence.

Which somehow felt worse.

I checked my phone again. Still nothing.

Tried calling. Voicemail.

My chest felt too tight, ribs squeezing in, lungs not pulling enough air.

"Casey." Herrmann's voice. I didn't turn. "Sit down. You're gonna give yourself a heart attack."

"I'm fine."

"You're not fine. You haven't been fine since we heard that call."

I finally looked at him. "What do you want me to say, Herrmann? That I'm terrified? That I can't stop thinking about all the GSW calls where the kid didn't make it? That I keep seeing Josie on one of those stretchers with a sheet over her face and I—"

My voice broke. I turned away, jaw clenched.

"She's a smart kid," Herrmann said quietly. "She knows to run. To hide. To get out."

"Doesn't matter how smart you are when someone's shooting." My voice was flat. "You just have to be in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Herrmann went quiet. Because he knew I was right.

I'd seen too much. Responded to too many calls where it didn't matter if the victim was smart or stupid, good or bad, in the right place doing the right thing.

Sometimes you just got unlucky.

And the bullet didn't care.

I checked my phone again.

Still nothing.

***

Almost two hours.

It had been almost two hours since I first heard that scanner call.

Almost two hours of nothing.

No word from Josie. No updates. Just the suffocating silence of not knowing.

I'd tried calling eight times. Texted twelve. Left two voicemails before I gave up on that.

Nothing.

The guys had stopped trying to distract me. Stopped offering reassurances that rang hollow.

Now they just watched. Waited with me.

Andy sat across from me at the table, pretending to read a magazine he hadn't turned a page on in twenty minutes.

Herrmann leaned against the counter, arms crossed, eyes flicking to me every few seconds.

The lieutenant had come out twice, looked at me, said nothing, and gone back to his office.

My phone sat on the table in front of me, screen dark.

I stared at it.

Willed it to ring.

Begged it to light up with her name.

Come on, Josie. Please.

And then—it did.

The screen lit up. Unknown number. But it was something.

I grabbed it so fast I nearly dropped it, swiped to answer before the second ring.

"Hello?"

"Is this Matthew Casey?" A woman's voice. Professional. Detached.

My heart stopped. "Yes. Who is this?"

"This is Officer Miller with the Chicago Police Department. We have your sister, Josie May, here at—"

"Is she okay?" I was on my feet, chair scraping back. Every eye in the room locked on me. "Is she hurt?"

"She's unharmed, Mr. Casey. But we need you to come pick her up. We're at the district station on—"

"I'm on my way. I'm—" I was already moving, grabbing my jacket, my keys. "Is she hurt? Was she shot? Did anyone—"

"She's unharmed, Mr. Casey. No injuries. She's free to go, we just need a guardian to—"

"I'll be there in ten minutes."

I hung up before she could finish.

Herrmann straightened, relief flooding his face. "She okay?"

"She's fine. She's—" I exhaled, the first full breath I'd taken in three hours. "She's fine. She wasn’t hurt. I have to go get her."

"Go." The lieutenant appeared in the doorway, nodding toward the apparatus floor. "We've got it covered here."

I didn't argue. 

Andy caught my arm as I passed. "Hey. She's okay, Casey. She's okay."

I nodded, but I wouldn't believe it until I saw her.

I broke at least four traffic laws getting to the station.

Didn't care.

The only thing that mattered was getting to Josie.

The police station was mass hysteria. Parents everywhere, kids crying, officers trying to process everyone at once.

I scanned the room, heart pounding, looking for her.

And then I saw her.

Sitting on a bench against the far wall, arms wrapped around herself, head down. Alone. Her friends already gone.

She looked so small. So young.

Relief hit me so hard I almost staggered.

She was okay. She was here. She was—

She looked up, and our eyes met.

The fear in her face gutted me.

I crossed the room in four strides, stopped in front of her.

"Josie." My voice came out rough. Raw.

She stood, slow, but I didn't wait—I pulled her into my arms, held her tight against my chest. She was solid. Real. Here.

My hands moved on their own, one palm cupping the back of her head, the other running down her back, her arms, checking for—I didn't even know what. Blood. Injuries. Anything.

"Are you okay?" The words came out muffled against her hair. "Are you hurt? Did you get shot? Did anyone—"

"I'm fine." Her voice was small, muffled against my chest. "I'm not hurt."

I pulled back just enough to look at her, hands on her shoulders, scanning her face, her arms, looking for any sign she was lying. "You're sure? Nothing? You didn't—"

"Matt, I'm fine." She said it again, firmer, but her voice shook.

An officer appeared beside us. "Mr. Casey? If you'll just sign here, she's free to go."

I scrawled my name across the form without reading it, eyes never leaving Josie.

The officer handed me a paper. "Your sister wasn't injured. She cooperated fully. But Mr. Casey—" He paused, his voice dropping. "We lost people tonight. Multiple fatalities. I need you both to understand how serious this was."

Fatalities.

Kids died.

My eyes snapped to Josie. Her face had gone pale.

"I understand," I managed.

The officer nodded, then walked away.

I looked at her. My little sister, standing there, shaking, arms still wrapped tight around herself, eyes red-rimmed, hair a mess. My chest cracked. 

"Come on." I put my arm around her, guided her toward the door. "Let's go home."

She didn't argue. Just followed.

The silence outside was deafening.

The truck was cold when we got in. I started the engine, cranked the heat, but didn't pull out of the parking spot yet.

Just sat there.

Josie stared out the windshield, arms still crossed, shoulders hunched.

I needed to say something. Ask something. Make sure she was really okay.

But every question I wanted to ask felt wrong.

Were you scared? Obviously, anyone would be. Did you see the shooter? That wouldn’t help. Did you see anyone get shot? Die? Hell no. 

Finally, I settled on the dumbest one of all. "You sure you're okay?"

She nodded, but didn't look at me.

"Josie."

"I'm fine." Her voice was tight. Controlled. “I didn’t get hit.” 

"I know. That’s not—" I ran a hand through my hair, exhaled hard. "I had to ask."

The silence stretched again.

I pulled out of the parking lot, headed toward home.

Made it two blocks before I had to ask again.

"You're sure? Did you see—are you friends okay?"

"My friends are fine." Her voice shook. “Can we just—not talk about it? Please?” 

"Okay. Okay, I'm sorry."

Another block.

Another question I couldn't swallow down.

"Did you see—" I stopped. Started again. "What happened in there?"

She didn't answer right away.

When she did, her voice was barely a whisper.

"It was loud. Dark. I’ve never heard a gun fired before. I covered my ears and we started running. People were running, screaming, and then…just…dropping. One second they were there, and then-and then-they-they…weren’t." She stopped, a few tears staining her cheeks. "I didn't know what was happening at first,” her voice cracked, painfully. I felt it too much. “Thought maybe the sounds were part of the show and the screaming was cheering, but then more people started going down and everyone was screaming for real and—"

Her breath hitched.

I reached over, gripped her shoulder. "You don't have to keep going."

"There was this girl,” she sniffed, swiped her sleeve across her face. “She was right in front of me. She was—she went down. Right in front of me, she just-she just dropped. Her friend was screaming for help and I tried—I tried to help but I didn't know what to do and everyone was screaming and Beck pulled me away and made me run and-and-and—"

She covered her eyes, shoulders shaking.

"Josie." I pulled over. Couldn't drive and watch her fall apart at the same time. "Hey. Look at me."

She didn't move.

"Josie."

She dropped her hands. Her eyes were wet, red.

"You didn't do anything wrong," I said. Everything in me was breaking, but I tried to be steady. "You hear me? You didn't do anything wrong."

"I know." Her voice cracked. "I know I didn’t that girl—she was right there, right there in front of me and I-I-I couldn’t—I couldn’t do anything and what if she’s dead, Matt? What if she died?"

She stopped, breath shuddering.

I just looked at her, swallowed hard. I didn’t have an answer. Didn’t know what to say to make it right. Because nothing could. 

"Kids died tonight." The words broke on the way out. "And I was right there. I could've—if she wasn’t in front of me it could’ve been me—"

"But it wasn’t." My voice cracked now. 

"But it could’ve been!" Her voice rose, desperate. "Don't you get it? I could've been one of them and you wouldn't have even known until the cops called to tell you I was dead and-and-and—"

The words hit me. Hard.

"But you're not." I forced the words out, forced them to stay steady. "You're right here. You're okay." My eyes watered, my hand trembled. 

"This time." She turned away, stared out the window. "What about next time?"

"There won't be a next time."

"You don't know that."

She was right. I didn't.

I didn't know how to keep her safe from everything. Didn't know how to protect her from a world that wanted to hurt people.

All I could do was be here. Now.

I reached over, squeezed her shoulder. "You're right. I don't know. But what I do know is you’re here now. You’re alive. Honestly, that’s about all I can ask right now."

She finally looked at me. "You were scared."

It wasn't a question.

"Yeah." No point lying. "I was terrified."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't." I shook my head. "Don't apologize for something that wasn't your fault."

She bit her lip, looked down at her hands. "I know I've been nothing but trouble since you let me stay with you."

The words hit harder than anything else she could've said.

"Josie—"

"It's true. I mess up all the time. I make stupid choices."

"Stop." I waited until she looked at me. "You're not trouble."

"But I—"

"Tonight wasn't your fault. You did everything right and you still ended up in danger. That's not on you. That's just—" I exhaled, searching for the right words. "That's just life sometimes. And yeah, it’s scary.” I half-laughed. “Damn scary sometimes. But it doesn't mean you did anything wrong."

Her chin trembled. She looked away fast, but not before I saw the tears.

"Come here." I reached over, pulled her across the bench seat into my side.

She came without fighting, pressed her face into my shoulder, and broke.

Sobbed so hard her whole body shook with it.

I held her. Let her cry. Didn't tell her to stop or that it was okay, because it wasn't.

Kids died tonight. Horrifically. And she saw it happen. And nothing I said was going to make that okay.

So I just held her while she cried, one hand on her back, the other in her hair, and let her get it all out.

When the sobs finally slowed, she stayed there, face still hidden.

"Matt?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you. For coming to get me."

My throat tightened. "Always, Jos. Always."

She nodded against my shoulder.

I pressed a kiss to the top of her head, then shifted her back to her seat. "Let's go home."

She buckled in without argument.

I pulled back onto the road, one hand on the wheel, the other reaching over to grip hers.

She held on tight.

And we drove home in silence.

Chapter Text

Matt

The floodlights buzzed overhead, casting harsh shadows across the field. I wiped sweat from my forehead—or maybe it was cold sweat, hard to tell anymore. My head pounded in rhythm with my pulse, each beat a reminder that I should've stayed home.

"Matt, you good?" Andy jogged up beside me, hands on his hips, breath visible in the cold November air.

"Yeah, fine." I wasn't fine. My throat felt like sandpaper, my muscles ached worse than after a double shift, and the chills running through me had nothing to do with the dropping temperature.

"You look like shit," Ben called from across the field, grinning. "Darden finally wearing you out at the house?"

"Shut up." I forced a laugh that turned into a cough. Covered it fast, spitting to the side. "Let's just play."

Josh lined up across from me, eyes narrowed. "Ready to get your ass handed to you, probie?"

I crouched into position, ignoring the way my legs trembled. The fever had been climbing all day, but I'd already canceled on these guys twice this month. Once because of Josie's school thing. Once because of a shift trade. I wasn't bailing again.

The ball snapped. I drove forward, shoulder connecting with Josh's chest. He stumbled back, laughing, and I broke past him into the open field.

My vision swam for a second. I blinked it away, focused on Andy's throw spiraling toward me.

Got it.

The ball hit my hands clean. I tucked it, spun left—

My ankle rolled.

The grass came up fast. I hit hard, shoulder first, the impact jarring through my bones. The ball bounced away.

"Damn!" Ben's voice, somewhere above me. "You alright, man?"

I pushed up on my elbows, head spinning worse now. My ankle throbbed, sharp and hot. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm good."

Andy appeared, offering a hand. His brow furrowed when he got a good look at me. "You sure? That was a nasty fall."

"Just rolled it." I gripped his hand, let him haul me up. The second I put weight on my right foot, pain shot up my leg. I gritted my teeth, shifted my weight. "I'm fine."

"You're limping."

"It's nothing." I took a few steps, each one worse than the last. "Just need to walk it off."

Josh retrieved the ball, tossed it between his hands. "We can call it, man. It's late anyway."

Late. Right. I glanced at my watch—nearly eleven. Josie would be asleep by now. Good. She didn't need to see me like this.

"One more play," I said.

Andy shook his head. "Matt—"

"One more."

They lined up again. I hobbled into position, favoring my left leg. The fever spiked higher, sweat soaking through my shirt despite the cold. My lungs burned with each breath.

The snap came. I moved—too slow. Josh blew past me, caught Andy's pass, and jogged it in easy.

"That's game!" Ben shouted, jogging over. He clapped my shoulder, and I nearly went down again. "Good game, man. You sure you're okay?"

"Fine." The word came out hoarse. I cleared my throat, tasted copper. "Just tired."

The walk to my truck took forever. Every step on my right foot sent lightning up my leg. The fever pressed down on me like a weight, making everything hazy around the edges.

Andy walked with me, keys jangling in his hand. "Want me to drive you?"

"No. I got it." I pulled the door open, hauled myself up into the cab. My ankle screamed when I lifted it to the pedal. "See you Monday."

He hesitated, hand on the door. "If you need anything—"

"I'm good, Darden. Go home."

He stepped back, let me shut the door. I sat there for a minute, forehead against the steering wheel, waiting for the spinning to stop.

The drive home was a blur. Red lights. Turn signals. The apartment complex coming into view like a mirage.

I parked crooked, didn't care. Just needed to get inside.

The stairs were worse than the game. I gripped the railing, pulled myself up one step at a time. My ankle buckled on the landing. I caught myself on the wall, breathed through the wave of dizziness that crashed over me.

The key stuck in the lock. I fumbled it, tried again. Finally got it open.

The apartment was dark. Silent. I locked the door behind me, leaned against it for support.

Made it.

I limped down the hall, each step agony. Didn't bother with the light. Just needed my bed.

The door to Josie's room was cracked open. I paused, listened. Her breathing was steady, even. Asleep.

Good.

I pushed into my room, let the door fall shut behind me. Didn't bother undressing. Just collapsed face-down on the bed, still in my grass-stained clothes.

My ankle throbbed. My head pounded. The fever burned through me, turning everything fuzzy and distant.

The last thought before I passed out: alarm. Need to set the alarm.

But I didn't move.

Couldn't.

The darkness swallowed me whole.

JOSIE

The water shut off with a metallic clunk. I toweled off, dressed, wiped steam off the mirror with my palm. My reflection stared back. Damp hair trying down my back, eyes less crusted but still half-asleep. 

I padded down the hall, feet leaving damp prints on the carpet. The apartment was dark. Silent.

Too silent.

I stopped outside my door, hand on the frame. Matt's door was still shut. No light underneath. No sounds of movement in the kitchen, no coffee brewing, no morning news playing low on the TV.

He was always awake by now. Always.

I stood there for a second, water dripping from my hair onto my shoulders. Something felt wrong.

"Matt?" I called down the hall.

Nothing.

I moved to his door, knocked twice. "Matt? You awake?"

Silence.

My chest tightened. I knocked again, louder. "Matt?"

Still nothing.

I cracked the door open. The room was dark, curtains drawn. Matt was sprawled face-down on his bed, fully dressed, one arm hanging off the edge. He hadn't moved.

"Matt?" I pushed the door wider, stepped inside.

He didn't stir.

I crossed to the bed, heart kicking faster now. His clothes were wrinkled, grass-stained. His hair stuck up in every direction. And his face—even in the dim light, I could see the flush high on his cheeks.

I reached out, pressed my palm to his forehead.

He was burning up.

"Matt." I shook his shoulder. "Matt, wake up."

He stirred then, a low groan escaping his throat. His eyes cracked open, unfocused, and he shot up—or tried to.

His right foot hit the mattress and he collapsed back with a sharp hiss, face going white.

"Don't—don't move." I grabbed his shoulder, pushed him back down. "Stay down."

"Josie?" His voice was wrecked, barely above a whisper. "What—what time is it?"

"Almost seven. Matt, you're burning up." I pulled the blanket down, eyes landing on his right ankle. It was swollen, purple bruising spreading across the joint. "What the hell happened?"

He followed my gaze, jaw tightening. "Nothing. Just—twisted it. I'm fine."

"You're not fine." I pressed my hand to his forehead again. He was too hot, way too hot. "You have a fever. And your ankle's twice the size it should be."

He tried to sit up again. I shoved him back down.

"Stay. Down."

"Josie, I'm—"

"If you say fine one more time, I'm calling 911." I crossed my arms, glaring at him. "What happened?"

He closed his eyes, let his head fall back against the pillow. "Football. Last night. It's nothing."

"Nothing." I stared at him. "You can't even stand on it."

"I just need to walk it off—"

"Matt." I cut him off, voice flat. "You're sick. You're hurt. You're staying in bed."

He opened his mouth to argue, but a cough tore through him instead. He turned his head, body shaking with it, and when he finally stopped, he just lay there, chest heaving.

"That's what I thought." I grabbed the blanket, pulled it up over him. "Don't move. I'll be right back."

I left before he could protest, headed straight for the bathroom. Dug through the cabinet under the sink until I found the bottle of ibuprofen, then filled a glass with water from the kitchen.

When I came back, Matt's eyes were closed again. For a second, I thought he'd passed out. But his hand twitched when I sat on the edge of the bed.

"Here." I shook three pills into my palm, held them out. "Take these."

He cracked one eye open, stared at the pills. "I don't—"

"Take them."

He took them. Swallowed them dry, then grabbed the water when I shoved it at him. He drank half the glass before falling back against the pillow.

"Your ankle needs ice." I stood, moved to the foot of the bed. His right ankle was worse up close—swollen, discolored, hot to the touch even through his sock. "And you need to elevate it."

"Josie, I'm fine—"

"Stop." I grabbed the extra pillow from his side of the bed, shoved it under his ankle. He winced but didn't pull away. "Just stop, okay? You're not fine. And you're not getting up."

He stared at the ceiling, jaw working. "I have to get you to school."

"I can walk."

"Josie—"

"Matt." I sat back down, met his eyes. "You can barely move. You're not driving anywhere. I'll walk. It's fine."

His hand shot out, gripped my wrist. His palm was burning. "No. It’s cold out, Jos. I'll—I'll call Andy. He can—"

"He can take me to school?" I raised a brow. "You want to call your friend at seven in the morning to drive me five minutes?"

His grip loosened, but he didn't let go. "It’s too cold."

"I've walked alone before." I pulled my hand free, stood up. "I'm getting ice. Stay here."

I left again before he could argue. Grabbed a bag of frozen peas from the freezer—closest thing we had to an ice pack—and wrapped it in a dish towel.

When I came back, Matt's eyes were closed again. His breathing was shallow, uneven. I set the ice on his ankle as gently as I could. He flinched but didn't wake.

I stood there for a second, watching him. His face was too pale under the flush, his chest rising and falling too fast.

He looked terrible.

I grabbed my phone off the nightstand, pulled up Andy's contact. Hesitated.

Matt would kill me for this.

I hit call anyway.

Andy answered on the second ring, voice thick with sleep. "Hello?"

"Hey. It's Josie." I kept my voice low, eyes on Matt. "Sorry to wake you. But Matt's sick. Like, really sick. And he hurt his ankle last night. Does he—does he need to go to the doctor for this?"

There was some shuffling on the other end. Then Andy's voice came back, sharper now. "Knew he hurt it last night," he sighed. “Yeah, yeah he probably should.” 

“Can you take him? I don’t—I don’t have my license yet” 

"Yeah. Yeah, I'll be there. Ten minutes."

"He’s passed out," I said quick. “You can take your time. I don’t even know if he’ll get up to answer the door—”

“I have a key, Josie. I’ll be there soon.” 

I blew out a breath, relief flooding me. “Thanks, Andy. Really.”

“No problem. Tell him I’ll see him soon.” 

I hung up, shoved the phone in my pocket. Matt was still out, mouth parted, breathing rumbling like it housed a sack of quarters in his chest. Ouch. 

I left, the cold air sharp and bitter, but at least he had someone on the way to take care of him. That mattered more than a five minute warm truck on the way to school. 

Chapter Text

Three years later…

April, Freshman year of college (19)

Josie

Everything was extra bright. The lights along the ceiling, the tiny bulb hanging over the sink in the corner, the computer monitor off to the side. It was all so…bright. 

A half curtain to the single toilet in the room was pulled closed, but it was empty behind there. 

The blinds to the window by the door were closed. The blinds on the door were closed. The TV mounted on the wall opposite the bed was off, the clock under it tick-tick-ticking. 

I closed my eyes. Breathed in—and stopped. Almost puked. Could still smell the pills. Didn’t even know pills had a scent, but too much Ambien did. Too much of anything probably did. Like those stupid Tylenol PM’s I had to take when my prescription ran out and two weren’t enough. A cool…scent. Sort of. Hard to explain. 

I wanted to throw up. 

Couldn’t. My stomach was empty. Couldn’t remember the last time I’d gone to the dining hall to eat. Didn’t have food in my room anymore, hadn’t had time to go anywhere. Too much studying. Too many finals back to back. Two research papers due at the same time. Quarter’s worth of research, twelve pages long, full analyses and all. 

I wasn’t a writer. I couldn’t write. Thought I could in high school, thought I was good even. 

I wasn’t. I sucked. Trying to put together an entire research paper from beginning to end was hell. And I’d had two due on the same day. Three finals the same week to study for. That’s what I got for trying to double-major. 

My body felt heavy. Every last muscle felt weighed down, like I was drowning in cement. My chest was the heaviest, my breaths still shallow. Shallow enough, anyway, for a million friggin’ wires to be attached to my chest, my ribs, my stomach. What the hell were they even monitoring? 

The door opened. I cracked an eye open. Then opened both fully. 

A nurse stepped in. Older woman, graying hair pulled back. She glanced at me, then at the monitors.

"You're awake. Good." She moved to the IV stand, checked something. "How are you feeling?"

How was I feeling? Exhausted. Numb. Heavy. Mostly numb. And exhausted. 

"Tired." That seemed like the safest option. 

"I bet." She wrapped a blood pressure cuff around my arm. "Do you know where you are?"

"Hospital." Duh. 

"Do you know why you're here?"

I opened my mouth—then closed it. Closed my eyes. What the hell happened? 

I was at my desk, last night. I think. Desk lamp on. The overhead light off because Macy was sleeping. My laptop open, books out. Papers out. Kind of remember glancing at the time, was it around one in the morning? 

An orange bottle, white cap. My Ambient. Flashes of my hand on the cap—pill in my palm—swallowing it. 

Then nothing.

"I don't—I don't really remember."

The cuff tightened around my arm. Released. She wrote something down.

"That's okay. The doctor will be in soon to talk to you." She checked the monitors again. "Your vitals are stable. That's good. You gave your roommate quite a scare."

Macy?

"Is she—where is she?"

"She's fine. She called 911. Saved your life, actually." The nurse pulled the cuff off. "You're lucky she woke up when she did."

Lucky. Right.

The nurse left.

I stared at the ceiling. Tried to piece it together.

Macy called 911—but why? Was I unconscious? Not breathing?

What the hell happened?

The door opened again. Different person this time. White coat. Stethoscope around his neck. Dark hair cut neat, close to the sides. Sharp brown eyes, even sharper jaw, clean shaved. Young. Really young, kind of. Attractive, too. He could be on Grey’s Anatomy or something. 

"Josie? I'm Dr. Schwartz." He pulled up a chair. Sat. "How are you feeling?"

Again with this? "Tired."

He opened a tablet. Typed something. "Do you remember what happened?"

"No."

"What do you remember?"

Seriously, again? 

Told him what I’d told the nurse. 

"Just one Ambien?"

I nodded. Pretty sure. Think. Was only supposed to take one, right? 

He looked at me. Waited.

"That's all I took," I said.

"Okay." He set the tablet down. "Josie, when the paramedics brought you in, you were unresponsive. Your roommate found you around six this morning. She couldn't wake you up."

Six. I'd gone to bed around one, maybe two.

"We ran a tox screen. You had high levels of zolpidem in your system. That's Ambien. Based on the levels, you took approximately double your prescribed dose."

What? "I didn't—no I didn’t. I only took one."

"You don't remember taking a second?"

I stared at him. Mouth half open. Shook my head.

"That's common with zolpidem. It can cause amnesia, especially when combined with other substances." He picked up the tablet again. "You also had amphetamines in your system. Adderall. Do you have a prescription for that?"

My stomach dropped, heart picked up. Stupid monitors betrayed me. 

No, no I didn’t. Was I in trouble? Could they—

No point in lying, they could easily check that. 

"No,” I finally said, voice small. 

"Where did you get it?"

"A friend. Gave me some. For finals—studying, to study. For finals."

Dr. Schwartz didn't say anything. Just wrote something down.

"The combination of stimulants and a high dose of zolpidem caused central nervous system depression. Your breathing slowed. Your heart rate dropped. If your roommate hadn't found you when she did, you could have died."

I stared at him. The words hung there. You could have died. I could’ve? I didn’t even remember—

Images flashed. Not images, really, sensations. I remembered falling asleep, sort of. Head hit the desk. I remember trying to get up, to move to my bed, but couldn’t. Body was heavy, breathing was slow. 

I remember my heart rate dropping. 

Fear struck me; I remembered. Tried to think, tried to open my eyes, tried to grab my phone, but I couldn’t move. But I tried. I tried—

"It was an accident," I said. Voice too quiet. "I didn't mean to—" my eyes watered. Stupid eyes. 

"I'm not saying you did. But Josie, accidental or not, what happened to you is serious. We're required to keep you here for evaluation. Seventy-two hours minimum."

"Evaluation?"

"Psychiatric evaluation. It's standard protocol for any overdose."

"But it was an accident."

"I understand. But we still need to make sure you're safe before we discharge you."

Safe. Right. Because apparently I was a danger to myself.

I just nodded. “Okay.” Who cared anyway? Too tired to fight it. 

"We called the emergency contact listed in your student file. Your brother."

Oh god. Oh no. 

Now my heart really raced. I swallowed. "Is he—is he coming?"

"He's on his way."

No…no no no. 

The room tilted. I closed my eyes, swallowed hard. Had to breathe. 

Matt was coming. He was going to see me like this. Hooked up to machines. In a hospital. And he was gonna be pissed. 

I opened my eyes. Dr. Schwartz wasn’t paying attention, just scrawling something done, then clicked through the computer monitor next to me. 

"Can I—can I see my phone?"

"Not right now. But you can make a call if you need to."

"No. It's—never mind."

I’d rather wait. Didn’t need to hear his voice right now. Didn’t need to hear the disappointment, the anger. 

He was gonna be so mad. 

I hoped he wasn’t called off shift. Then he’d really be pissed. 

Dr. Schwartz stood. "I'll check on you in a bit. If you need anything, press the call button."

He left.

I was alone again. The clock on the wall kept ticking. Matt was on his way. He was going to be so mad. 

Or freak out. He might freak out. He did that a lot, too. 

Or both. 

Probably both.

I closed my eyes. Tried to breathe through the weight pressing on my chest.

The door opened.

Well that was fast. Unless I’d dozed off and didn’t realize it. 

Matt stopped just inside the doorway. His eyes went straight to me, then to the monitors, the wires, the IV in my arm.

His face went white.

"Josie."

He crossed the room in three steps. His hands went to my shoulders, then my arms—jarring, the touch. Physical touch. I hadn’t been touched by anyone in—how long? Didn’t know what the heck he was looking for exactly. Injuries he couldn't see, probably.

"Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

I didn't answer. How was I supposed to answer that? Just shook my head. Wasn’t hurt. Not physically. 

His hands moved to my face, tilting it up—I jerked out of his grasp. 

“Stop, Matt—” I mumbled, tried to shove him off. 

He dropped his hands, but didn’t move. Good God, I hated when he hovered like that. 

His eyes scanned mine, then dropped to the wires across my chest.

"What—" His voice caught. He stepped back. Ran both hands through his hair. Turned away.

I watched him pace to the window. Stop. Turn back. Pace to the foot of the bed.

His jaw was tight. Hands on his hips.

"Matt—"

"Don't." He held up a hand. "Just—don't."

He paced again. Window to bed. Bed to door. Door back to me.

"The doctor said—" He stopped. Swallowed. Started again. "He said you took Adderall. That you don't even have a prescription for."

I looked down at my hands.

"He said you took double your Ambien dose. That you were unresponsive when they brought you in." His voice cracked on the last word. "That you could've died, Josie. Do you—do you understand that? You could've died."

My throat tightened.

He moved closer. Stopped at the side of the bed. Gripped the rail.

"What were you thinking?" His voice rose. "Taking drugs you're not prescribed? Mixing them with your medication? What the hell were you thinking, Josie?"

I couldn't look at him.

"Josie, look at me."

I didn't. My eyes welled up, hot and wet and blurring my hands in my lap. 

"Look at me."

I forced my eyes up. His face was red. Jaw clenched. But his eyes—his eyes were wet.

"I'm sorry," I whispered.

"Sorry?" He let go of the rail. Stepped back. "You're sorry. Okay. Great." He turned away again. Hands back in his hair. "Sorry doesn't—sorry doesn't cut it, Jos. Not this time."

He stopped at the window. Stared out at the blinds. His shoulders rose and fell. Too fast. He was trying not to cry.

"I thought we were past this." His voice was quieter now. Rough. "I thought—after high school, after everything—I thought you were doing better."

Guilt twisted in my chest.

He turned around. "Why didn't you call me?"

Call for what? What reason? I didn’t do it on purpose! Why couldn’t he get that? 

"Josie." He came back to the bed. Sat in the chair. Leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Why didn't you call me? If it was that bad, if you needed help—I'm thirty minutes away. Thirty minutes. You could've called me any time and I would've been there."

“Called you about what, Matt? It was an accident. I was just-just-just staying up too late studying and I couldn’t sleep, I could never sleep, so I just took one, I didn’t think—”

“No, you didn’t think,” he huffed out, almost a laugh. 

That stung. 

I glared at him. That wasn’t fair. 

He didn’t get it. He didn’t go to college. 

He didn’t have five professors breathing down his neck at the same time with massive projects all due at once. 

He didn’t have a job he got fired from because he accidentally slept during a shift he didn’t call off for—one time. 

He didn’t have every single one of his friends bail on him all at once, suddenly treating him like he was some kind of disease or something. He didn’t have to open Facebook and see all their posts, tagging each other at the stupid dining hall for lunch between classes that he wasn’t invited to or the pool at the rec center at night like he used to do with them or going to the play at the Union or—or—or—

“Josie…” his voice was strained, rough. He looked at me, but I didn’t meet his eyes. “Why—why didn’t you just…call?” 

He knew me too well. Knew studying wasn’t the real answer here. But I wasn’t about to go cry to him about stupid things that didn’t matter. I wasn’t that little kid anymore. He didn’t that stupid teenage girl drama pushed on him anymore. 

"I didn't want to bother you,” I finally whispered, voice watered and broken. 

His head snapped up. "Bother me?"

"You have your life, Matt. Your job. I moved out to give you space and then calling you every time I was—” I stopped. Stressed wasn’t even the right word here, and we both knew it. Depressed. But I couldn’t say it. “It would've just—"

"Just what?" His voice rose again. "Made me want to help you? Made me worry? Josie, you're my sister. You're never a bother."

I pulled my knees up, a little. Felt kind of nice moving my legs, moving the muscles a little. But that wasn’t why I did it. I wanted to hide, to curl up, to just…

Well. Disappear, I guess. 

He stood. Paced again. Stopped. Turned back.

"Talk to me. Please. I can't—I can't help you if you don't talk to me."

I didn’t move. Didn’t look up. Couldn’t.

"What happened? Why were you taking Adderall? Why didn't you—" He stopped. Took a breath. "Just talk to me."

The clock ticked.

He waited.

I didn't say anything.

"Josie."

I couldn't. Couldn't get the words out. Couldn't explain. And the longer the silence stretched, the harder it felt to open my mouth. 

He sat back down. Rubbed both hands over his face.

I drew in a breath—shaking, painful. 

But then he spoke instead. 

"Okay." His voice was flat now. Defeated. "You don't want to talk. Fine. But the doctor said they're keeping you here. Seventy-two hours. Psych evaluation. And after that, you're coming home."

My head shot up. "What? No. You can’t—”

"You're coming home. You're not going back to the dorms."

"Matt, I can't just—"

"Yes you can. And you will." His eyes locked on mine. "You almost died, Josie. You were so stressed and exhausted you couldn't remember taking your own medication. That's not fine. That's not okay."

"It was an accident!"

"I know it was an accident!" His voice cracked. "But that doesn't make it okay. That doesn't make it—" He stopped. Looked away. His jaw worked.

When he looked back, his eyes were red.

"I can't lose you." His voice broke. "I can't. Do you understand that? I can't lose you, Josie."

My chest cracked, heavy. The tears came then. I couldn't stop them.

He reached over. Took my hand. Held it tight. "So you're coming home. We're gonna figure this out. Together. Okay?"

I didn’t answer, couldn’t. Couldn’t speak. Just nodded, barely. Once. 

He squeezed my hand once. Let go. Stood.

"I'm gonna go talk to the doctor. See what the plan is." He headed for the door. Stopped. Turned back. "I'll be right outside if you need me."

Then he was gone.

I pulled my knees tighter. Buried my face in my arms. And just…cried.

I don't know how long I sat there. Could've been five minutes. Could've been an hour. The clock kept ticking but I stopped paying attention.

The door opened again.

I didn't look up. Didn't wipe my face. Just kept my head buried in my arms.

Footsteps. The chair scraping. Matt sat back down.

Silence.

He didn't say anything. Just sat there.

I waited for him to start in again. To demand answers. To get mad.

He didn't.

The quiet stretched.

I lifted my head. Wiped my face with the back of my hand. Still didn't look at him.

"The doctor said you can stay through the weekend," Matt said quietly. "Then they'll evaluate Monday. See if you're cleared to go."

I nodded. 

Then he was quiet again for a few more minutes.

"Josie, I need to ask you something."

My stomach tightened. I figured this was coming. 

"And I need you to be honest with me. Completely honest."

I looked at him then. His face was calmer now. Still red around the eyes. Still tired. But calmer.

"Was this really an accident?"

My blood ran cold. Heart hardened, dropping like a stone in my stomach. Even knowing it was coming didn’t make it any easier to hear. 

I dropped my gaze. Started twisting the edge of the blanket in my fingers. 

“Yes,” I finally said. My voice cracked, rough. Throat so dry it hurt. 

He didn't say anything right away. Just watched me.

“Okay.” He didn’t sound like it was okay. "But you're glad you woke up, right?"

I shrugged. No. Yes? Did it even matter anymore? 

“Sure.” 

“Sure?” His voice sharpened. 

I glanced at him. 

“Sure, Josie? That’s it?” 

“I don’t know, what do you want me to say?” I mumbled. 

“What do I want you—that you’re okay, Josie. That you’re glad you’re okay.”

But I couldn’t. 

I dropped my gaze again. Rubbed my face with both hands. “I don’t really care.” 

He didn’t say anything. At all. The silence…the silence was deafening. 

When I dropped my hands, looked at him—he was just staring at me. Face pale.

"What?"

"I didn't think 'I want to die,'" I said quickly. "I didn't. But I also wouldn’t’ve cared if I did, I just...wanted it to stop."

"Wanted what to stop?"

"All of it. The stress. The pressure. Feeling like…like…” I wiped my cheeks. Couldn’t tell him, couldn’t tell him how pathetic I really was. That I had no friends. I couldn’t keep any because I was—I was—well, me. 

So I lied. Kind of. “Just felt like I was drowning.” Not in school, not like he was thinking. Classes were fine, I could handle those. Just didn’t care about them anymore. 

He sat back down. Hard. Like his legs gave out.

"So you didn't try to kill yourself," he said slowly. "But you wouldn't have been upset if you didn't wake up."

I didn't answer. Didn't need to.

His buried his face in his hands.

"How long?" His voice was muffled. "How long have you felt like this?"

"I don't know. A while."

"Since you got here?"

"I don’t know."

"Since August?" He dropped his hands. Looked at me. "Jos, it's April. You've been feeling like this for eight months and you didn't say anything?"

"It wasn’t the whole time, okay? It just…comes and goes. It’s fine, I’m fine, Matt. I’m handling it."

"You almost died."

"By accident!"

"But you just told me you didn't care either way!" His voice broke. "That's not handling it. That's—" He stopped. Stood again. Paced to the window. 

Giving up. That’s what he was about to say. 

He gripped the counter under the window. His shoulders shook.

"I don't know how to help you." His voice cracked. "I don't know what to do. And it's killing me that you're hurting this bad and you didn't tell me."

My own tears started again. "I didn't want you to worry."

He turned around. "You didn't want me to worry? Josie, I'm terrified right now."

"I know, but you worked so hard. You got me help, you got me through high school, you thought I was better. And I was, I really was. But then I got here and it all came back and I didn't want you to think it was all for nothing."

"It wasn't for nothing. You're here. You're alive."

"But I'm also—" I stopped. Swallowed. "I was scared to tell you."

"What—why? Josie—why would you be afraid to tell me?"

My chin trembled. I sniffed, wiped my nose. I didn’t want to tell him. Didn’t want to admit what a failure I was, or that if I said it, my fear would come true. That he’d leave, too. 

But—what the heck. The damage was done. Might as well hammer in the nail while we were at it. 

"Becuase I didn’t—” my voice cracked, shoulders shook. I swallowed, tried again. “I didn’t want you to think I was hopeless. That I was a lost cause, like everyone else thinks. I didn’t—I didn’t want you to give up on me too."

A new wave of hot tears spilled, clouding my vision. I wiped them away, but the kept coming. 

He went still.

"What?"

"My friends." The words tumbled out now. "The ones I made first semester. They all left when I got bad again. Said I was too exhausting. Too dramatic. That I was just looking for attention." I swiped at my face. "They said it was pointless trying because I couldn’t be helped. And I thought if I told you, if you knew I wasn't actually better, you'd think the same thing. That you'd get tired of dealing with me."

"Josie—"

"Everyone else did. They all just...left. One day we were friends, the next they acted like I didn't exist. And I couldn't—I didn’t want you doing that too."

He crossed the room. Sat on the edge of the bed this time.

"Look at me."

I did. Barely.

"I'm not going anywhere."

"You don't know that."

"Yeah, I do. I've been saying it for four years. Since you showed up at that firehouse picnic. Since I picked you up from that party. Since I found you on that bridge." His voice broke. "I've never given up on you. Not once. And I'm not starting now."

"But I'm so tired of fighting. And if I can't fight, I know you’ll fight for me, you shouldn’t have to—that's not fair to you—"

"I don't care about fair." He reached for my hands. Held them. "You're my sister. You're not a burden. You're not too much. You're just hurting. And yeah, that's hard. But I'm not leaving you because it's hard."

"But what if you get tired of me too? What if one day you wake up and realize it's too much and you just...can't do it anymore?"

"Then I'll tell you. And we'll figure something out together. But Jos, I'm not gonna just disappear. That's not how this works."

"That's how it worked with them."

"I'm not them."

The tears came harder. I tried to pull my hands back but he held on.

"I'm not going anywhere," he said again. Voice firm. "You're stuck with me. Whether you like it or not."

He pulled me forward then. Arms around me. Tight.

I stiffened at first. Didn't know what to do with it.

But then I broke.

Sobbed into his shoulder. Gripped his shirt. Held on tighter than I ever had.

I forgot what it felt like, to just…be held. His arms were strong around me, his shoulder solid under my cheek. I’d forgotten, forgotten what it felt like to have someone. 

And the way he held me, like he actually wanted to, not just because he felt like he had to, felt…good. 

And that made me feel worse. My chest ached. Deep, painful, so painful it physically hurt. 

"I've got you," he said into my hair. "I'm not going anywhere. I've got you."

"I'm sorry," I choked out. "I'm so sorry."

"Shh. Stop. You don't have to apologize."

"I'm such a mess—"

"I don't care. You're my mess."

I cried harder.

His arms tightened. One hand on my back. One on my head. Secure. Like he could block out anything bad trying to get to me, into my head. 

"You're not too much," he said. Voice rough. "You're not exhausting. You're not dramatic. You're my sister and I love you and I'm not leaving. Ever. Understand?"

I nodded against him.

"Those kids who left you? They're idiots. They don't know what they're missing. But I do. And I'm not giving that up. I'm not giving you up."

His voice cracked. His arms tightened more.

"I almost lost you today," he whispered. "And the thought of that—I can't. I can't lose you, Jos. I can't."

His words cut deep, everything in me breaking. My body shook, harder. 

He started rubbing my back. Not a lot. But enough. “I love you, Jos. You have to know that, you have to know how much I love you.”

“Knowing and feeling are two different things,” I blurted; immediately regretted it. 

He froze. His entire body, just…went still. 

I didn’t mean to say that—that wasn’t—

I pulled back, the fear racing up my chest again. “Matt, I didn’t mean—you don’t—you’ve done everything right, okay?” Tears raced down again. “Everything—everything you’ve done, it’s enough. More than enough, more than I deserve—it’s not your fault, okay? It’s not you, it’s me—”

"Josie." His grip on me tightened, one hand moving to my shoulder. "Stop. Breathe."

I tried to. Failed.

"You didn't hurt me," he said. But his voice was rough. "Okay, yeah. That hurt. But it's okay."

"No it's not. You've done everything for me and I just—"

"Josie." Firmer now. Hands on my shoulders. Made me look at him. "Stop."

I did. Barely. Still shaking.

"It's okay that you don't feel it yet," he said softly. "I don't like it. But I get it."

"You shouldn't have to get it. You shouldn't have to—"

"But I do. Because that's what depression does. It makes you know things in your head but not feel them in your heart. Right?"

I stared at him. How did he get so right so fast? 

"You know I love you. You know I'm not leaving. You know you're not a burden. But you don't feel any of it. Because the depression's telling you something different."

I nodded. Tears kept falling.

"Okay. So we work with that."

"How?"

He was quiet. Thinking. Then his hands dropped from my shoulders.

"Josie. Do you love me?"

"Yes." The word came out immediately. Certain. "Yes—I love you,” I leaned into him, wrapped my arms around him, squeezed like that could prove it. “So much, Matt. You know that, right? Please tell me you know that—"

"I know." He gave a small nod, his voice too quiet. Sad. "I know you do."

He wrapped his arms around me again. Not as tight this time. Just holding me, but I still held on, tighter. Didn’t want to let go.

"Next time you can't feel it," he said quietly. Almost a whisper. "Remember this feeling. The one you just said, right now. That you love me."

I nodded against him, slow. Unsure. 

"You can feel how much you love me," he said softly. "I know you can. So when your brain's lying to you and telling you I don't love you? You think about this. Right now. How you feel about me. Because that's how I feel about you."

He pressed a kiss to the top of my head.

“Maybe even a little more.” I felt his grin on my head. Just for a second. "That feeling doesn't go away just because you're struggling. Just because you're depressed. Just because you made a mistake. It's still there. Always. Got it?"

I nodded. "Got it," I whispered.

"Good."

He held me there. Quiet. Just holding me.

And I clung to him. Finally let myself feel it.

“Can you…stay with me. For a little bit?” The words were barely there, but he heard them. 

"Of course, Jos.” His arms tightened. Just a little. Enough to make the point. “I'm not going anywhere."

I let go—all the exhaustion, all the pain—I just…let it go. Let it sink me. Not in a bad way this time—this time, I felt…peaceful. 

“Matt?” I whispered against his shoulder. 

“Yeah?” 

“Thank you. For not giving up on me.” 

His breath hitched. Just once. Then his arms tightened more.

"Never," he said. Voice rough. "I'll never give up on you."

He pressed another kiss to the top of my head. Held me there.

"Get some rest. I've got you."

Finally—finally—I did.