By the time Loki parks in the driveway of the two-story home we grew up in, I’m so emotionally drained I can barely keep my eyes open.

I yawn, glancing at the clock on the dashboard. “I think the time change is already killing me.”

Kill. You killed her.

My stomach ravels in knots.

“I asked Zhara to clean up your old room and put new sheets and a blanket on, so you should be able to go up and crash if you want.” He reaches for the door handle. “They’ll probably want to talk to you for a bit. You think you’re up for that?”

I nod, letting a shaky breath ease from my lips. “Of course. They’re my siblings.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want you to get too overwhelmed too soon.”

“Is that something the therapist said to you?”

“He did, and I think he’s right. Overwhelming yourself isn’t going to help you recover.”

Frowning, I unbuckle my seatbelt. “You make me sound like an addict.”

“I’m not trying to make you sound like anything,” he promises, pushing open the door. “I just think you need some time to recover.”

“I need to figure stuff out.” Like what the hell I’m going to do if Nolan and Cole do show up. I grab my bag from off the floor. “I spent way too many weeks lying around, doing nothing. It only makes stuff worse.”

His brows arch in surprise. “Really?”

I nod, shoving the door open. “If I lie around in bed, I’m going to sink into a funk again.” And think about that goddamn night.

He sits back in the seat, huffing out a breath. “So, what do you want to do, then?”

“I want you to stop worrying about me.” I hop out of the car and grab one of my suitcases from the backseat. “I’ll figure out stuff. I promise.”

A voice in my head screams that I’m a liar. The text on my phone proves that.

I ignore the voice, hike up the pathway toward the front porch, and push open the front door.

Memories instantly spill over me: the time Annabella and I slid down the banister together and just about broke our arms; when my mom and I hung up the Victorian-style chandelier we bought at an antique store—she was so proud we managed to get it up on the foyer ceiling all by ourselves—all the Christmases we spent around the living room fireplace, opening presents and eating a cake my dad and I baked; practicing cartwheels in the hallway; all the smiles we shared, stories told, tears shed, and the hugs that followed.

I smash my lips together, struggling to keep myself together. I miss all those moments. I want that time back. I want to be happy again. I want to be in a life I feel like I belong in.

“You okay?” Loki steps up behind me.

“Yeah.” I exhale, trying to free the pressure in my chest. “It just looks the same … like they’re still here.”

He gives my shoulder a squeeze, his fingers quivering ever so slightly. “I’ve been meaning to go through their stuff, pack some of it up, and move it to the attic. Mostly just the stuff in their bedroom. I figure you guys can pick out what you want to keep. I just haven’t gotten around to doing any of that yet.”

“I can do it if you want me to.” My voice cracks.

Wariness floods his expression. “Are you sure? Because it might get a little—”

“Please don’t say overwhelming.” I sling my bag over my shoulder. “Where is everyone, anyway? It’s really quiet.”

“Easton texted me about half an hour ago, saying he was taking Nik and Zhara out for ice cream. Alexis is at some art show or something, and Anna’s probably rock climbing. She does that a lot after she closes up the store.” He steps past me, heading for the kitchen. “They should all be back in an hour or so.”

Leaving my suitcases in the foyer, I follow him. “Anna rock climbing? What about her leg?” The idea surprises me. Annabella was in the car accident that killed our parents. Her leg is forever messed up because of it.

“I don’t think the wall’s very steep.” He picks up a stack of mail from the kitchen island and sifts through them. “Luca—the guy she’s dating—got her into it. She seems happy, and Easton gave her the go-ahead.”

“Is Easton her physical therapist now?”

“He was for about three months. She doesn’t need it anymore.” He pulls a face at one of the envelopes then tosses the mail down.

I sink down onto a barstool. “I feel behind, like everyone has these lives I know nothing about.”

He stares at the counter with a pucker in his brow, lost in thought. “I’m sure you’ll get caught up on everything.”

My gaze flickers between him and the abandoned mail. “Is everything okay? You suddenly seem more stressed out.”

He offers me a tight smile. “Everything’s good. I’m just trying to figure out what to do for dinner.”

The little liar. Is he lying not to overwhelm me, or is it something else?

Maybe I’m not the only one with secrets.

“I can cook dinner if you want. I did, after all, almost become a chef.” Admitting the almost part is like taking a kick to the gut.

“Are you sure you want to?” He rubs his hand over his hair. “You said you were tired in the car. I can just have Easton bring back some takeout.”

“No way.” I shoo him to the side as I weave around the kitchen island and open the fridge door.

There’s not much, but after digging around through the drawers, I decide to make some lemon pepper chicken, scalloped potatoes, and a salad. I start piling the ingredients onto the counter while Loki returns to staring at the mail.

I wonder what’s in there that has him so bothered. An overdue bill or something? That seems weird since our parents left behind a decent amount of money.

“So, what’d you tell everyone?” I ask, bumping the fridge door shut with my hip.

“About what?” he asks distractedly.

I swallow my anxiety and guilt before speaking. “About why you went to London.”

He tears open an envelope, takes out a paper, and then his expression plummets further. “I just told them that you needed some help packing up your stuff.”

I open a package of chicken breasts. “Do they think I’m moving back here?”

He shakes his head. “I just told them that you weren’t keeping your place while you were here for the summer to save some money. They already thought you were coming out here next week, so no one really questioned it.”

“Good. I don’t want them to know.” About any of it.

He reads the paper, scratching his brow. “If you don’t want to tell them, that’s fine. But …” He swallows hard then sets down the paper and focuses on me again. “I want you to talk to someone.”

“I already told you I would.” I can’t look him in the eye, worried he’ll see how uneasy I am.

“I know, but I want to get an appointment scheduled ASAP.”

“I already told you I can handle this. This is my mess. You don’t need to fix it. I’ll call a therapist and make an appointment.”

He shakes his head stubbornly. “I’ll make the appointment for you. It’s not that big a deal.”

“Why are you being so persistent about this?” I bend down to grab a mixing bowl from one of the bottom cupboards. “If I say I’ll make the appointment, I will.”

“That’s what Anna used to say about physical therapy. For months, she said she was going, but she hardly ever did. I don’t want that to happen again. I want to know you’re getting better. I can’t …” He works to breathe steadily. “We can’t lose you. Whether you think so or not, this family needs you.”

Tears burn my eyes as sadness, guilt, and regret press against my chest. God, what have I done? He’s already dealing with so much, and now he has to worry about me, too.

“Okay, you can make the appointment,” I utter quietly.

I really don’t know what to tell a therapist. Not the truth. Definitely not the truth.

He nods, his eyes watering up. Then he clears his throat. “So, what’s for dinner? Is it anything I can help with?”

I laugh, but the noise sounds all sorts of wrong. “You cook? Ha! I’d like to see that.”

“Hey, I’ve gotten better,” he protests. “I kind of had to.”

I eye him skeptically. “The only thing you used to know how to make was pot brownies, and even those always turned out burnt.”

He shrugs, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. “I wasn’t eating them because they tasted good.”

I roll my eyes, but a trace of a smile rises at my lips. “You were such a stoner.”

He chuckles, opening the fridge. “Like you’re one to talk.”

“Hey, I only smoked, like, a couple times. Unlike you.”

“Yeah, I was pretty bad back then, wasn’t I?”

“We weren’t that bad. Sure, we got into some trouble, but we did a lot of good things, too, and we had a lot of fun.”

He grabs a bottle of water from the fridge, a faraway look crossing his face as he twists off the lid then takes a swig. “Yeah, we did, didn’t we?”

A quiet moment passes. I wonder when the last time Loki had fun was. When was the last time I had fun?

“We’re going to have some fine,” Cole whispers.

Tears sting my eyes, but I suck them back and open the cupboard to get some seasonings. Instead, I find a few bottles of prescription pills. I put my hand on my tummy, remembering the stale taste of the pills as I swallowed them dry. For a terrifying instant, I didn’t think I was ever going to wake up. And, for a terrifying instant, I felt … relieved. Then reality slapped me across the face and panic set in.

“What’re you looking for?” Loki asks, moving up next me.

I shut the cupboard and turn toward him. “The salt and pepper.”

He points at a cupboard across the kitchen. “Anna moved them over by the stove. She said it made more sense to have them close to the cooking area.”

“Does she cook for you guys a lot?”

“Sometimes. So does Zhara. Even Nik does once in a while, but those are frozen pizza nights.”

“What about Alexis? She used to like to cook with me.”

He presses his lips together. “Alexis is different now.”

“She didn’t seem different the last time I talked to her.” Come to think of it, the last time I actually talked to her was over six months ago. Most of our conversations have been through texts. “Is everything okay with her? She’s not getting into trouble, is she?”

“No, she’s fine.” He backs away from me. “I’m going to bring in the rest of your stuff. Then I’ll help you cook.” He hurries out of the kitchen, tucking the paper he was staring at earlier into his back pocket.

I grab the salt and pepper then head back to where I piled the ingredients. As I pass by the stack of mail, I glance through them, trying to figure out which one upset Loki. The only empty, opened envelope is from Family Services.

Shit. Is Loki in trouble? Are they threatening to take the kids away? Or is it something else?

My phone buzzes in my pocket, drawing my thoughts elsewhere. But I don’t look at it, too afraid of what I’ll read.

Too afraid of everything now.