Page 102 of Fool Me

ATLAS

I stand in the kitchen, staring at the brisket pan like it holds answers, as my parents back out of the driveway, but there’s only a layer of congealed fat and the memory of a dinner that felt almost normal—until it wasn’t. My brother wasn’t here, and he still found a way to ruin things.

Back out on the patio, I find Harlowe staring at the sunset. She’s been playing it cool all evening—asking my dad about work and complimenting my mom’s cobbler—but I know her well enough to recognize when something is bothering her.

She hasn’t met my eyes since dessert.

I reach across the table and wrap my fingers around hers. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

For a second, she just looks at our hands, then she draws in a shaky breath. “I saw your brother tonight, before dinner, at the General Store.”

The back of my neck prickles. “What happened?”

“Canyon.” The name lands heavily between us, like an explanation. “He cornered me.”

That’s all it takes. My pulse surges. I sit up straighter, resisting the instinct to push away from the table and go find him right now.

She keeps going. “I was picking up stuff for the salad and he just . . . showed up. Blocked my cart. Said some messed up things.”

“What kind of things?” My voice is tight as my teeth grind together and my grip on her hand tightens.

She squeezes back, grounding me. “I know they were all bullshit, but he still has this way of getting in my head.”

“What did he say?” he asks again.

“He said our relationship was about payback for Fiona. That you’re trying to make him jealous. That it’s not real.”

I close my eyes. “Jesus.”

“He said you’d fold if your mom asked you to fix things with him—that you moved home for them, and I’m the one standing in the way.” Perfect fucking timing with moving out.

I shake my head, heart hammering. “That’s not true. You know that’s not true, right?”

She nods, but there’s hesitation there—she’s still uneasy.

“What else?”

“He also said . . .” She pauses, looking down at our joined hands. “He said I’m the only one who still blames him—that my dad doesn’t. That they wouldn’t have let him interview for the job if I was right.”

Out of all the things he said, that one bothers me the most. “Fuck, that’s not right.”

“No,” she whispers. “But for a split second . . . I questioned it all. And I hate that he can still do that to me—put even an ounce of doubt in my mind over things I know . . . things I believe.”

I want to punch him for making her doubt us, or herself, for even a second.

“And then your mom said he’s moving out, that she seems to think it’s because he doesn’t want you to feel like you have to tiptoe around them. He made a comment to me about bringing your family back together to make amends for what he’s done.”

My teeth clench. It’s a lie. He’s playing games; I can feel it. “That’s the first I’m hearing of it.”

“I know. That’s what made it worse. Because, for a second, it almost sounded real. Like maybe he’s changing and I’m the one holding onto something that everyone else has let go of.”

She finally looks at me, eyes glassy, but not giving into her emotions. “And I worried about what my issues with him would do to you.”

I slide my chair closer and pull her into me, our foreheads nearly touching.

“Harlowe,” I say, “you don’t owe him forgiveness. Not for me. Not for anyone. What happened on that mountain changed your life, and your dad’s. I don’t care what he tells himself to sleep at night, you get to carry that in whatever way you need to.”

Her breath hitches. “What if I never make peace with him? What does that mean for us and for you?”

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