“Life is going to break your heart.
Remember to say thank you.”
—Maya Luna
My weight sinks into something hard, a chest rising and falling against my cheek. My eyes are so heavy I want to keep them closed forever. But soft bumps vibrate beneath our bodies, rocking me, and I force my eyes open to take in my surroundings. My hazy gaze takes a second to focus on the blacked-out window across from me. The backs of leather seats to my left.
I’m in a car.
Blond hair moves into my line of vision, and Frankie’s glossy brown eyes meet mine. “Emmy,” she whispers, a fresh tear spilling over her lashes. “It’s okay now. We’re going home.”
She scoots closer and curls an arm around my waist. I want to respond. I feel like I should. But I’m disconnected from my body, the images in my brain so fragmented and overcrowded that exhaustion whirs through me at just the thought of trying.
Pieces still flood me in waves. Some connected to voices. Others drowned out by bold colors. None stringing together in the clear path I need.
After shifting my gaze up, my heart squeezes when I find Adam staring down at me. His deep blue eyes are intense but tired as they scan my face. His thick hair is tousled in all directions, his body tense beneath mine. Behind those distressed yet piercing eyes is a soul that speaks to parts of me I don’t quite understand, but I certainly feel.
I see a man.
I see a boy.
I hear sweet words and feel the way a smile once played on my lips for him as he sat behind bars and gave me things no one ever had.
Friendship. Hope. Trust.
But then the betrayal sinks in. He didn’t just earn my trust. He ripped it straight from my five-year-old chest.
My eyes flutter shut as I fall back against him, the weight of a thousand bricks pressing on my heart. As I drift away, I wonder what’s going through his head when he looks at me.
I wonder if he sees them.
The bruises he left on my soul.
I shift my head against the pillow, the mattress dipping as movement stirs beside me. A sigh pours from my lips while I stretch my arms. I feel like I’ve been sleeping for days. My brows knit as my sister’s face materializes in front of me again. Except this time, it’s comforting. This time, I reach for her hand, and a soft smile lifts her lips. My body relaxes when she strokes my hair with her free hand, and I think my eyes are wet.
“Frankie,” I whisper, my throat dry. “I’m so sorry. Everything that happened, it was all because of me. Because of who I am. None of this would have happened to you if I didn’t show up at your door that day—”
“Shhh.” Her smile spreads, but her eyes are wistful. “You don’t ever need to apologize to me. I should never have let Mama treat you the way she did.” She swallows, her gaze darting between my eyes. “There are so many things I wish I could go back and do differently. So many things I wish happened differently or didn’t happen at all. But not one of them involves you becoming my sister. I’ll happily sneak you paint and canvases for the rest of our lives.” I choke out a laugh, and her eyes water. “No, fuck that. No more sneaking around. I’ll cover Mama’s trailer walls with blank canvases and fill the floors with buckets of red paint for you.”
A sob strangles my chuckle, and she smiles, wiping a tear from my cheek with her thumb.
“Frankie?”
“Yeah?”
“Where the hell are we?”
She snickers, her shoulders shaking softly. “Well, we’re back in Mississippi. Remember that inn? Buffalo Creek?”
My nose scrunches, and she laughs.
“Yeah, it’s crappy, but it’s quiet too. I think we all needed a little time to ourselves anyway. Two days was just right.”
“Two days?”
She shrugs. “A day of straight driving, then a day here—”
My eyes widen, and I start to sit up, but she pulls me back down. “Adam—”
“Adam’s here.” She tips her chin toward the bedroom door. “He’s barely left your side since we arrived, except to pace through the living room. And let me tell you, the man looks like he’s about to punch something. I tried talking to him, but . . . he’s not much of a talker, is he?” I swallow back a laugh, and I hate that my body vibrates with the deep-rooted need to see him. I don’t want to want him after what he did to me. “He’s kinda scary, actually. But, like, in a highly fuckable way.” She grins.
After a few seconds of silence, though, reality creeps back in and our faces go somber again.
“So,” I whisper, “what are you gonna do now?”
“Me?” She rolls onto her back, staring up at the ceiling. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think I found a new appreciation for home. I’ll probably stay for a little while, make Mama suffer before I head back to New York.”
“You’re leaving again?” As I say the words I’ve said so many times before, they sound different to my ears. There’s nothing hollow in my chest. No desperation. No fear of being alone.
It’s just a question. A question whose answer no longer has the power to hurt me.
I glance away, letting the unfamiliar sensation soak in. My time at the Matthews House was many things. I’d never truly been on my own before, and the broken pieces of my soul ache to be mended. Still, all I can feel is stronger.
“Yeah, I think so.” Frankie’s lips tip up. “I made some great friends before signing up with the Matthews, and I think I can really get far there. But maybe I’ll let Mama take me to church a few times first—after having Priest Henry cleanse her of her demons.” She winks, and we both chuckle. When she turns back to me, she whispers, “What about you?”
I let out a long sigh. “I’m not going home.” My brows furrow. “I don’t think I really have a home. But I think . . . maybe that’s okay. Maybe home isn’t a place anyway.”
I hold a hand over my chest and take a breath, absorbing the strange feeling of my broken pieces trying to sew themselves back together.
“Yeah.” Frankie’s hand squeezes mine, and she nods. “It’s so much more.”