Page 79 of After All This Time

She steps forward, her hands gripping my shoulders, pulling me into a brief hug before she steps back just far enough to study me. "How was the drive? Was it long? Did you stay somewhere decent? Did you eat?"

My eyes land on Tobias, silently begging for backup. But the smug bastard just leans against the doorframe with his arms crossed, smirking like he's thoroughly enjoying the show. He knows damn well he's next in line, but for now, he's basking in my misery.

"I'm fine, Mom," I manage to say, my voice tight as I force a smile.

"You look like you've lost weight. Are you eating enough? I told you to take care of yourself. You know you—"

"Mom," I cut in, holding up a hand to stop the onslaught. "The drive was fine. The motel was fine. The food was fine. Everything's fine. Super fine. All the fines."

She doesn't look convinced, but she nods, gripping my arms for a second too long when Tobias clears his throat behind me.

My mom redirects her focus to him, and I take the opportunity to exhale and step back, watching as Tobias becomes her next target.

She pulls back from me and moves to embrace him. It's more of athis is what polite people dohug than anything heartfelt. My mom never tried to fill the role of replacement mom, and Tobias has never been interested in opening himself up to that kind of dynamic. Not that I blame him.

"You look really well, Tobias."

"So do you, Kayla. You got your hair done?" There he is—the smooth, complimentary Tobias I know so well. Charming just enough to disarm any hot-blooded woman.

"I have, actually," she replies, her hand instinctively touching her hair. "You know, your father didn't even notice."

"Want me to tell him to get his head out of his ass and start paying some attention to his wife?" My mom arches a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at him, and Tobias raises his hands in mock surrender, the picture of innocence—well, almost. "Alright, alright, my mouth stays shut. But you know I'm right, Kayla. You could do so much better," he adds with a grin as he grabs most of our bags and starts up the stairs.

"Wow, look at you," I call after him. "A gentleman and a home-wrecker all in one."

He pauses mid-step, glancing over his shoulder with a cocky smirk that could set fire to the air between us. "Multitasking is a gift, Firefly. And trust me, I'm well-equipped to handle more than one thing at a time."

"Go get settled, then come meet me for tea," my mom says, and I nod, plastering on a polite smile that feels more like a mask, before turning and following Tobias up the stairs.

Our rooms are exactly as we left them. Untouched and cleaned regularly, as if time has stood still within these walls. We're at the opposite end of the house from our parents, but still right next to each other, just like always. Tobias drops my bags outside the door, his hand brushing the handle before pushing it open and stepping aside to let me go in first.

The sight of the room hits me hard, the way it always does.

Pink walls. Too much fucking pink. A place frozen in time, holding onto memories I wish I could erase. Right here is where my world imploded. It's where I was when I found out my dad had died. The same walls closed in on me when my mom sat on my bed, trembling, telling me about my dad's plane crash and how no one survived. The memory punches me square in the chest like it does every time. I'd stared at these walls for hours afterward—days, even—trying to make sense of it and failing.

I begged my mom to repaint it, to redecorate it, and do anything that might make this room feel different. But my mom is nothing if not self-centered. This room isn't about me or my grief—it's about her. It's about preserving the perfect little dollhouse version of her daughter.

I don't even realize I've stopped moving until I feel the warmth of Tobias behind me. His arms wrap around me, and his chin rests lightly on top of my head. He pulls me back against his chest, and he doesn't say a word because he doesn't need to. He knows everything this room represents for me, and for a moment, I just let myself melt into him, taking whatever peace he's offering.

"Wanna come to my room?"

I nod, carefully stepping around my bags as he holds the door open. As we enter his room, a wave of memories washes overme. The nights we spent lying side by side on his bed, talking until sleep blurred our words. Tobias telling me about his dad, about the pressure he hated and the expectations he couldn't stand. The friends he trusted and the ones he didn't. The girls who never meant enough to mention twice. Back then, he told me everything.

I sit on his bed, folding my legs beneath me as he unzips his bag.

"I wonder if these bedrooms just stay locked until we come home," I muse, glancing around Tobias's room. Shades of gray dominate the space, like even his childhood wanted to rebel against the idea of color.

"Do you think they ever go in our rooms?"

"No, probably not. That's why they still look like they belong to a fourteen and sixteen-year-old." I gesture to the shelves filled with dusty trophies and books he outgrew almost a decade ago.

"I was happy then, you know. I was happy when we lived here." His voice is quiet, as if he's speaking more to himself than to me.

"No, you weren't." I laugh, turning my face to his. "You couldn't wait to get out of here."

He always told me how much he wanted out, and I hated it. I dreaded every moment he spent preparing to leave, selfishly clinging to the thought of him being here, of not losing the one person who made this house feel less suffocating.

"I couldn't wait to get away from my dad." Those blue eyes meet mine, saying more than his words ever could.

---