I’ve always heard that coming back to your childhood home, you realize it’s not as big as you thought it was when you were a kid. But to me, this house, this broken, white-walled house, it’s still huge.

And hollow.

I know if I make a sound, my voice will bounce against the walls in an echo. But I don’t make a sound. There’s nothing to say. No one to say it to. I’m alone as I close the door behind me and stand in the foyer of the house I grew up in. The tiles beneath my sandaled feet are terracotta. My heels click with my steps, even though I’m trying to be quiet. My heart is beating faster too, just a little. It’s strange being back here. It’s been seven years.

The narrow corridor of the entrance opens into the large living room. At the far end is the kitchen, and next to that, the dining area. No walls to separate the spaces. Most of the furniture is covered by dust cloths. I pick up the one wooden chair that’s lying on its side, half exposed, and right it before dragging the yellowed cloth off to expose the table and the rest of the dining chairs. I didn’t realize Armen had kept the house as it was.

I walk into the kitchen. Although buried beneath inches of dust, the tea kettle sits in its place on the back burner of the stove. My mom made tea every morning and every evening. She and I were the only ones who drank it. I touch it, smear my finger through the dust. I don’t know if I expect memories to flood back, but they don’t. I don’t know at all what I feel right now.

Wiping off my hands, I turn back around and take in the living room. The carpet with the design I loved now looks old and worn. I look up and what I see makes me smile. My father had a fresco painted on the ceiling like it was the Sistine Chapel. He did it for my mom. I was four then and I remember lying on my back and staring up at it, in awe of it. It’s peeling a little now. Time is taking its toll.

The house was built so the second-floor rooms are situated on the outsides of the large living space of the first floor. Six doors total, three on each side. All the bedroom doors are closed and when I walk to the stairs, I realize I’m holding my breath. My hand closes over the simple metal railing, and I ignore the dust as I climb up. My door is the first one I come to and it takes me a minute to open it.

That’s when emotion slams into me. It’s when I feel the warmth of tears. It’s not even memories. It’s just loss.

Light filters in through the slats of the shutters, just enough of it for me to see. My room looks like it did the day we left. My parents had been gone for months by then. I was fifteen. Some of my old posters hang on the walls, but most are on the floor. My bed isn’t made. I never bothered back then, not after they died. Nothing was the same after they died.

I walk to the window with its broken glass and push the wooden shutters open. Bright sunlight fills the space. I just stand there for a long time, remembering. I have to force my legs to move, but I make my way to the bed, sit on the edge of it, not caring about the cloud of dust that surrounds me as I shift seven years’ worth with my weight. The framed photo of my family is on the nightstand. I pick it up and dust it off. Why didn’t I take this with me when I left? I look at it, touch each of their faces. My parents. My brothers. Me. All of us laughing.

My heart hurts.

“You okay?”

Startled, my gaze snaps to the door where Zach is standing.

“Armen told me you’d come here,” he says.

Armen survived that terrible night. The bullet had missed his heart, but just barely, and although he was badly bruised with multiple broken ribs and a broken leg, he’s healing. And he’s home. He and Julia are living in Dr. Hassan’s house with Hope.

Zach looks around the room before he steps inside. He’s too big for the space and my old bedroom suddenly looks small.

I put the picture frame down and stand up, wiping off the seat of my jeans. “Zach. When did you get back?”

He’s been gone for over four weeks. I guess I’m surprised he’s back, although he told me he would be.

“You look like you didn’t expect to see me.” He gives a little laugh, picks up a poster that’s lying face down on the floor. “Didn’t think I’d come back?” he asks without looking at me.

I shrug. I guess I don’t know what I expected.

He looks up when I don’t reply. “Hannah Montana?” he asks, one eyebrow lifting along with a corner of his mouth.

That’s good. It makes me smile. Helps to turn off the pain, at least for now.

“It’s old.” I walk to him, make to take the poster, but when my hand touches his, there’s a spark of electricity that makes me draw back, gasp. The blue of his eyes are bright, but his gaze is focused, scrutinizing. Being near him, it makes my belly feel like a hundred butterflies take flight at the same instant. It’s not just physical attraction, either. Maybe it’s circumstances that make me feel the way I do. Make me feel safest when he’s near. I don’t know. I can’t explain it, and I’m not trying to. I know what I want. I just don’t know if it’s what he wants.

I lick my lips. I’m waiting for him to kiss me, expecting him to, wondering why he hasn’t already.

But he doesn’t kiss me. Instead, he runs his thumb across my cheek to wipe away a tear. “You okay?” he asks again.

I shake my head, step backward, focus my attention on setting the old poster on the bed. “It’s just weird being back here.” I’m disappointed he hasn’t kissed me. When I straighten, he’s still watching me.

“Eve.”

I know he’s waiting for more, but I’m not sure how to do that without breaking, so instead I just try to keep my eyes on his, even though I know I can’t hide from him. He can see inside my soul. I can’t even control it, stop it. Not with him.

“Are you okay?”

“How okay should I be?” It’s like the floodgates open then. Years of pain, of loss, of living in limbo, of not living at all.

“Not.”

I’m surprised by his answer and have no reply.

“You shouldn’t have come here alone. You should have waited for me to bring you.”

“You left.” He left a few weeks after the night he killed Malik. Once he made sure Armen would be all right, made certain Julia and the baby were safe. That I was safe. He said he needed to take care of old business and disappeared.

“I told you I’d be back.”

My gaze falls to the floor and I drop onto the bed. The poster in my hand wrinkles, but I don’t drop it. I need to hold onto something, need to keep my hands busy. My gaze on something—anything—other than him.

“I don’t know who I am,” I start. I know this, have known it for a long time. But to voice it, it’s almost frightening. Like it’s more real because I do.

The bed strains beneath Zach’s weight as he sits beside me. He doesn’t speak, but I can feel him watching me.

“I was fifteen when my parents died. That was when my world began to fall apart. It wasn’t long after that Rafi and Seth disappeared, and Armen went to work for Malik. I never even graduated high school,” I say, glancing at him. I don’t think he knew that. “I think I could have survived my parents’ deaths, but then Rafi and Seth, and then after that, Armen… Everything changed. That night two years ago was the final straw. The last thing that broke me. For two years I’ve lived in limbo. Numb. Existing, really, not living.” I wipe my eyes on my sleeve and force myself to face him. “Now that I know they’re gone, Rafi and Seth, now that I know Armen will be all right, that Malik didn’t turn him into a monster. That I have a niece…” That makes me smile. “Hope. It’s appropriate, her name, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is.” His big hand is at my back, rubbing circles.

“Well, now that I know, I can move on. I just don’t really know how.” My chest heaves with a deep sigh. These are my cards. It’s where I stand.

“The house is in your name,” Zach says.

I nod. “Armen did that.” He and Julia are together, trying to heal after her losses. She’s only just started to meet my gaze when we speak, but I know she has a lot to work through, and in spite of everything, my brother loves her and I’m trying to give her a chance.

“That’s a starting point, isn’t it? The house?” Zach says.

I look at him.

“Or do you want to go back to Denver?”

“Denver? I have nothing to tie me to Denver. Devon is probably the only person who noticed I left.” I chuckle, but it’s not really funny. It’s sad, actually. That day I was packing to outrun Zach, I realized how little of the things around me were even mine. “I talked to him again yesterday. They sold the McKinney property,” I say, teasing.

“That’s too bad,” he smiles. “But I didn’t have any intention of going back to Denver. I only went looking for you in the first place.”

His eyes are intense, like he’s trying to say a thousand things. And the way he tells me that last part, that he went to Denver for me, it feels strange, makes me feel…hope.

“Where did you go?” I ask. I have no idea where he’s been.

“I went to see someone who was in special ops while I was there.”

“Who?”

He takes a deep breath and stands, paces to the window before turning back to look at me. “The man who headed up the group searching for Malik. His name is James Jordan. James is the man who had initially questioned me, questioned everything that happened the night I shot my commanding officer. He left abruptly and I never got an answer as to why, where he’d gone. I guess I didn’t ask enough questions because I didn’t know him and the facts of the night of the shooting were so confused by then. What they told me, what I remembered…it was all mixed up. They had me on drugs and I just couldn’t get it right.”

I shake my head. “Malik was under your nose the whole time.”

Zach nods.

“What happened?”

“Well, after he got over the fact that I was alive, we talked. He lives in the States. Miami.”

“You flew to Miami?”

He nods. “I told him everything and it turns out they had figured out the truth at the end. That Malik was Commander Maliki Remi. That the traitor was someone he had trusted. Who had fooled him. When I’d thought there was a cover-up after I shot Malik—my commander back then—I was right. There was. And explaining it would have been problematic, not to mention a huge embarrassment to the military. To Jordan. That’s why they covered it up. Decorated Malik as a hero, didn’t investigate me for the shooting. Jordan left after that.”

“Why did you come back to Beirut?”

He looks confused. “What do you mean, why did I come back?”

I stand. “You didn’t have to. It’s finished. You killed him. You got your revenge.”

“I told you I’d be back, Eve.”

“Why? What brought you back?”

He steps to me, sighs, takes hold of my hands. “What do you think brought me back?”

I study him, search his eyes.

“Who do you think?” He rubs the back of his neck and smiles. “You’re the only honest, real thing in my life, Eve. You matter to me.”

My heart races, my mouth goes dry.

“And when you say you don’t know where to start, well, I’ve been living in limbo too these last years. I don’t belong anywhere, I have no ties to anything. My brothers are in Tuscany with their wives, Raphael with a family, Damon I’m sure isn’t too far behind. I don’t belong there. I guess I could go back, but I don’t fit there. Not on my own.”

“What are you saying?”

“The States?” He shrugs, continuing as if I haven’t spoken at all. “Nothing holds me there. But here, Beirut, it’s where my life, the parts that mattered most, were,” he pauses for a long time, his eyes never leaving mine. “Where the people that matter most are.”

“You’re staying?” I feel a huge weight lifted, a relief of sorts. It’s the same feeling I’ve had a few times with him. That feeling of not being alone.

“Did you hear me?”

I nod slowly. I did hear him, am hearing him, but I’m slow to process his meaning because it’s too much. Too good. And I haven’t had good in too long.

Zach’s hands travel up along my arms, circle them, pull me closer so we’re just inches apart. He searches my face, and there’s a look in his eyes, something strange, different, hopeful?

“I want to stay here. I want to stay here with you. I love you, Eve. I love you. I have for a long time.”

I laugh. It’s a strange sound, almost manic. I touch his face, take it into my hands and I feel my smile stretching wide. “I love you too, Zach.” How haven’t I said those words before? “You don’t know how happy I am that you came back.”