Page 47 of The Way We Swing Back

I’d slept in Tanner’s bed before—more times than I could count, really. I’d crashed here after late-night batting practice, team dinners, and when movie marathons went too long. Sometimes I’d woken to the sound of Tanner brushing his teeth across the hall or flipping pancakes downstairs and more than a few times with his arm draped over my chest, holding me tight.

But this time was different. This time, the room was mine.

At least for now.

His bed was made with fresh sheets, probably by Mrs. Quinn, and the desk had been cleared of most of his stuff. A few framed pictures sat on the shelf: one of the three brothers as kids on a Little League field, another from senior prom, and one of Tanner and Calvin with arms around each other in front of a Christmas tree.

I looked away from that one fast, but the image had already burned: Tanner with Calvin’s arm looped around him, both smiling like it had always been easy. I hated how much space that picture took up in my head, but I wasn’t going to move it out of Tanner’s room.

The house had silenced an hour ago. Zach had disappeared into his room in the afternoon and only come out for food. A conversation needed to happen, but I didn’t want to start it and had zero clue how I’d end it.

Mr. and Mrs. Quinn had said goodnight with that casual, practiced warmth that was more parental than anything I’d known in years. Even the fridge downstairs had stopped purring.

I rolled onto my side and grabbed the edge of Tanner’s pillowcase. How many times had I lain here and wished—only for a second—that I didn’t have to leave? How many times had I stared at the ceiling pretending it was my ceiling? How many times had I pretended this wasn’t a temporary stop between the silence of my grandparents’ house and the ache I kept bottled inside?

And now... it was real. And I didn’t know what to do with that.

I was still caught in thought—hovering somewhere between comfort and disbelief—when I heard footsteps outside the door. A gentle knock.

“You awake?” Gavin’s voice was made softer by the door.

“Yeah.”

The door creaked open, and Gavin stepped in, barefoot and squinting in the dim light. He wore that tie-dye hoodie with the fraying sleeves that was three years too old for him, and his hair was flattened awkwardly on one side as if he’d already been asleep.

He looked around the room like he expected Tanner to be in it. “You look weird in here,” he said, half-smiling.

“I feel weird in here.”

Gavin leaned against the dresser. “I always forget how tall his bed is.”

“It’s like climbing a mountain,” I said, pulling the blanket up tighter. “Bet he did that on purpose. Power move.”

“Wouldn’t put it past him.” A beat passed. Gavin didn’t move to leave. “You alright?”

I nodded, not sure how to explain the tangle of gratitude, anxiety, and sheer exhaustion washing over me. “I keep thinking I’ll wake up back in my room,” I admitted. “And this’ll be... like a movie dream montage.”

Gavin nodded. He walked over and sat on the edge of the bed—not too close but enough to remind me I wasn’t alone. “I’m glad you’re here,” he said after a pause.

“Yeah. But... yeah.”

“Dude, stop overthinking. Just... exist. Like, breathe and stuff.”

“Philosophy by Gavin Quinn,” I muttered. “Inspiring.”

He grinned. “Volume Two comes with a breakfast coupon.”

I laughed to myself, and that settled my brain.

“You gonna be okay?” he asked.

I nodded slowly. “I think so.”

Gavin stood and ruffled my hair like I was ten then backed away as I swatted his hand. Had he forgotten I was older than him? “Get some sleep,” he said. “Big day tomorrow.”

“Is there really a big day tomorrow, or do you keep saying that so I don’t bolt in the night?”

“Well, you do have a habit of running from us,” he said, smiling, and he was gone—the door closing with a quiet click behind him.