Page 58 of Pastel Kisses

I step inside and sure enough, four sets of eyes land on me instantly—Dan’s included. He’s standing near the kitchen, stacking paper plates while the others sprawl across the couch and chairs. Jaxton lifts his chin, beer in hand. “Well?”

“It’s done,” I say simply, sliding my keys onto the hook by the door and grabbing the first cold beer I see. “Signed, sealed, and completely out of my hands.”

Liam leans back with a low whistle. “Damn. Just like that?”

“Just like that,” I nod, cracking open the bottle and taking a long drink. “Honestly, it was easier than I expected. Once I realized I’d already made the choice—months ago—it was just about following through. No regrets.”

Lennox raises a slice of pepperoni pizza in salute. “Here’s to doing what matters.”

We clink bottles and cans together before we settle in, the living room full of warmth, even with Avery’s absence clinging to the corners like a shadow. Dan tosses me a grin as he carries over a stack of napkins.

“You boys are something else,” he says, voice a little rough. “Giving up your careers like that... sticking around for her... I hope she knows, wherever she is, how damn loved she is.”

“She will,” Jaxton says with quiet conviction, his eyes locked on the television, but his mind clearly somewhere else. “We’ll make sure she knows.”

That silence follows again, the kind that settles whenever her name is spoken aloud. It’s heavy—but not hopeless.

To shift the mood, I raise a brow and throw out a joke that’s been floating around since we started renovating Avery’s yard. “You know, once she’s home, we’ll probably all end up roped into her landscaping projects. No more concerts, no more movie sets, no more fine dining—just dirt and boulders.”

Lennox snorts. “Speak for yourself. I’ll be the official boulder relocator. My back’s already prepped.”

“Right,” Liam chuckles. “And I’ll be the guy responsible for making sure we’re all hydrated. You know, in case someone forgets to drink water while digging out half the backyard.”

Dan perks up at that, a twinkle of mischief in his eye. “Hell, I’ll come out of retirement. I’ll be the water boy. Show up every day just to hang around and pester you slackers.”

“Deal,” I laugh. “But only if you wear the little visor and carry the cooler.”

“Only if someone gets me a name badge,” he grins. “Dan ‘The Hydration Station.’”

We all burst into laughter, the first genuine kind that doesn’t feel forced or dulled by grief. It rolls through the room, echoing off the walls and into the corners where silence used to live.

It’s nights like this that keep us grounded. Nights where we let ourselves hope. Where we plan not for the worst, but for the day she walks back through the door and into the life that’s still waiting for her.

And maybe that’s why I let go of the restaurants so easily. Because this—this life we’ve built here, as messy and uncertain and painful as it is—is the one that feels like it matters now. Sitting in Dan’s living room, surrounded by my brothers, planning imaginary job titles for when Avery returns home... it reminds me of what we’re really fighting for.

Dan sets the last pizza box down in the center of the table with a quiet grunt, grease spots already soaking through the bottom of the cardboard. He grabs his beer, takes a long pull like it’s been a day longer than it has—like it’s been years instead of just one more aching day without her—and gruffly announces, “Alright, boys. Eat up. Drink up.”

We barely move. It’s not that we’re not hungry—we just know better by now. These nights are about pretending things are okay, not actually believing it.

The familiar buzz of a phone vibrating on the counter breaks the moment.

Dan’s brows knit together as he steps toward the counter, his entire posture weighted with exhaustion. He picks up the phone and answers in that same voice we’ve all come to expect—gritty, frayed at the edges.

“Yeah,” he mutters—short, sharp, worn to the bone.

It’s the kind of tone you use when you’ve already braced for disappointment. When you’ve stopped hoping it might be anything else.

It’s usually the detectives. Another dead end. Another false lead. Another I'm sorry, we’re still doing everything we can. But tonight… something’s different. Somethingshifts.

My heart kicks once—then again, harder—pounding a beat so loud it drowns out the rest of the room. Call it intuition, or divine intervention, or just months of praying and begging the universe for one damn miracle. But the moment Dan says hello, Iknowsomething is coming.

His face drains of color. Beer bottle slips from his hand, clattering against the tile in a sharp explosion of glass and foam. The sound snaps us out of our zombie-like fog.

Liam is the first to react, standing so quickly his chair topples behind him. Jaxton’s on his heels, knocking over his own drink, while Lennox and I freeze in place—every muscle tight, breath locked in our lungs.

Dan doesn’t speak. Just stares at the floor like the words are trying to pull themselves together inside his chest.

My jaw clenches, and I nearly lose it. “Dan—what is it?” I bark, voice sharper than I intend, but the silence is unbearable. The air is thick with expectation, heavy and trembling with possibilities.

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