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Before either of us could say another word, my bedroom door creaked open. I glanced over and rushed to sit up when I saw Jude in the doorway. His hoodie was pulled low over his face, his eyes were swollen, and he had that blank, exhausted look people got when they’ve cried past the point of having anything left.

Neither Wyatt nor I moved as he shut the door and crossed the room. He dropped onto the bed next to me, and I instantly scooted over to make room for him as he flopped back. He tossed one arm over his face, hiding in his elbow.

Wyatt caught my gaze with a questioning look, and I shrugged because I didn’t know any more than he had about why Jude had shown up. I was just grateful to see him. I settled back down and just waited, giving him the space to speak—or not.

“He won’t stop yelling,” Jude muttered finally, his voice muffled beneath his arm. He didn’t move as he spoke, and I turned slightly toward him as I waited for him to say more. “At Mom. At me. At the fucking house. He keeps saying Rhodes did this. That if Rhodes had just kept his mouth shut, Mom wouldn’t have gotten all worked up—like he wasn’t the one who was a dick at dinner.”

My chest constricted painfully with anger, but I kept my mouth shut. Jude didn’t need me telling him what I thought of his father right now.

“He only stops when people come by to drop shit off. I tried to ignore him, but I can’t listen to him anymore. Not after everything… not with him sitting there blaming Rhodes when Rhodes is already…” His voice caught, and he faltered for a moment. “I just had to get out for a while.”

“That’s okay,” I whispered.

As I said it, Wyatt shifted in his spot. His expression was uncertain, like he was debating whether asking anything at all was a bad idea.

“Does your dad yell a lot?” he asked finally.

Jude didn’t answer right away. I was curious what he’d say. Before the last year, I’d never thought much about Mr. Kennedy beyond the obvious. He was strict, opinionated, and said homophobic shit whenever he got the chance. I’d always assumed he was an otherwise decent father. Jude had never given me a reason to think differently.

Rhodes had, though.

The more I learned about their childhood through him, the more that picture had started to change. Little comments along the way had broadened my understanding about the kind of man Mr. Kennedy really was.

It made me curious to know what it was really like for Jude in that house—what his childhood was like. What had he hidden from me all these years? Or brushed off with a joke?

Jude stayed quiet long enough for me to think that Wyatt had asked the wrong question. He finally lowered his arm, but his gaze remained fixated on the ceiling.

“Yeah,” he admitted eventually. He rubbed his palms over his eyes as he sighed. “He’s always been… intense. It wasn’t constant. It wasn’t like we were walking around terrified every second of the day or anything, but when he was pissed, everybody knew it. He has a short fuse, you know? We learned pretty quickly when to shut up, you know?”

My stomach twisted.

“Mom was good at calming him down, but now she’s not here, and it’s just me…” he said, his voice so quiet I almost didn’t hear him. “He has this way of making you feel like you screwed up just by looking at you, even when you haven’t done anything.”

He paused. Something about how he’d said it made my heart break, like he was finally giving a voice to things he never talked about.

“Rhodes had it worse. I remember that much growing up. Mom was different after he left… I think him leaving broke something in her,” he whispered. “She got… meaner with Dad. She pushed back more. Dad was never as hard on me as he was on Rhodes.”

The admission broke my heart. I knew Rhodes and his father had a complicated relationship, but hearing Jude talk about it—hearing him put it like that—hurt. Rhodes made a little more sense, and I hated it. I hated knowing his childhood had looked like that.

“I don’t want to go back home,” Jude told us, his voice breaking. “I can’t take any more.”

Wyatt and I looked at each other, both of us ready to be whatever Jude needed us to be. If that meant just staying here with him so he didn’t have to go home, then that’s what we’d do. I shifted a little closer until our shoulders touched—just enough for him to know I was here. Neither of us told him to stay. We didn’t need to. The three of us settled into silence, the TV rambling uselessly in the background, just loud enough to fill the space.

CHAPTER 74

Rhodes

Ididn’t talk to anyone for four days. I didn’t have the energy. Jude texted me occasionally. Conversations started simple—a check-in here and a check-in there. They evolved as our father became more unmanageable without Mom there to challenge and practically control him. Every message made me more nauseous. I hated knowing Jude was still in that house with him, absorbing the anger Dad didn’t know what else to do with. Part of me wanted to march over there, drag Jude out, and make it clear that our father didn’t get to take his grief out on anyone else.

But I knew better.

My presence would only make it worse for him. For the first time in a very long time, Dad and I agreed on something: I was the reason Mom was gone. If I showed up, whatever fury he was carrying would have somewhere new to go, and Jude would be caught in the middle all over again. I hated that protecting my brother meant staying away from him.

I offered Jude my spare bedroom more than once. He never outright refused, but he never came over either. He said he wanted to stay close to the house in case something happened with Dad, but he couldn’t bring himself to spend all his time under the same roof either. Instead, he spent most of his time across the street at Theo’s. Knowing that helped—at least a little bit. I knew Theo and Wyatt would keep an eye on him.

Hell, Theo was quietly keeping me updated on Jude. He sent random texts here and there to let me know Jude had eaten, slept, showered, or whatever. Sometimes, Theo added a dumb comment to lighten the mood. I read every single message, but I answered none of them. Not because I didn’t care. Because I didn’t know what to say without opening a door I wasn’t ready to walk through. I knew I’d have to make it up to him later. Theo deserved more than my silence.

For now, though, I trusted Sariah to fill in the gaps for him with her own texts. She’d made that a part of her job. Less than twelve hours after I told her what happened, she showed up in Maine without me asking. She showed up at my rental with a bag over her shoulder and enough determination to make it clear I wasn’t getting rid of her. She made herself at home, stocked my fridge, answered the door when I couldn’t deal with people, and quietly tracked whether I’d eaten or slept without making any of it feel like pity.