JACK
Parker says it like she’s announcing rain on the forecast. Like it’s not the single most electric thing I’ve ever heard.
I open my mouth. Nothing comes out.
Gavin is stone-still. Harrison shifts beside me, like he’s physically grounding himself. But me? I’m floating. For all of two seconds, I feel like I’ve left the floor. Heart hammering, brain stuttering, muscles frozen.
Because it might be mine. No—because I want it to be. “Okay,” I say finally, because someone has to speak. “Okay. We can…we’ll figure it out.”
Parker doesn’t move. She’s not crying. Not smiling. Just waiting, like the weight of what she’s holding might pull her into the floor. She didn’t say it to manipulate us. She said it because she couldn’t carry it alone anymore.
“We don’t have to decide anything tonight,
