Page 5 of By Your Side
I ran a hand down my face and poured the rest of my tea in the sink. The cup clinked gently, the sound echoing in the quiet like a reminder of how alone I had become. This house wasn’t empty; I had Ozzy, but it sure as hell was lonely.
Shit.
I shook my head to clear it. I needed sleep. That’s all this was, so I scooped Ozzy up and went to bed.
I woke up to my phone blowing up with texts—more than I usually got on my birthdays. Apparently, turning forty was a huge deal. The messages came in bursts—old friends from high school, acquaintances from town, even some of my regular customers from Cassidy’s Automotive. I thumbed through them, bleary-eyed, not sure whether to laugh or groan at the exclamation-pointed well wishes and blurry memes.
The calendar was relentless: another year older, and I was still circling the same questions like a moth at a porch light. Still alone, still lonely, and still unsure what to do about it.
Outside, early-morning light pressed pale and insistent at the window. I should get up and get moving, but the thought of facing the day—my fucking birthday, of all days—felt heavier than usual. I wanted to stay wrapped up in the borrowed warmth of sleep, but Ozzy was sitting in the middle of my chest, glaring at me, ready for breakfast and attention. The house was quiet, but the world outside was already awake—neighbor’s car doors slamming, birds skittering across the roof, but all I wanted to do was go back to sleep.
My phone buzzed again, this time with a message from Paige.
Paige: Happy birthday, you old fart. Don’t get out of bed. I’ll be there in ten minutes to drop off your birthday coffee.
Me: Thanks. How do you know I’m still in bed?
Paige: We share common enemies: insomnia and mornings. I made an educated guess.
Gently, I shifted Ozzy to my side and rolled over. “Ten more minutes,” I mumbled as he headbutted my chin.
Chapter 3
Paige
Today was supposed to be quiet. A soft reset after the chaos I’d experienced yesterday. I’d earned a peaceful day, damn it—the kind of day where nothing broke, no one cried, and the biggest emergency would be running out of lime wedges before happy hour.
Naturally, that’s not how my day started off.
First up: Briar. My thirteen-year-old champion of passive resistance. I stood in her doorway like a worn-out general surveying the battlefield—hands on hips, voice already tired.
“You’re going to be late. We have to get Lark to your father’s house, you to dance class, and I have to be at the bar for the beer delivery.”
She didn’t even look at me. “I’m too tired to care.”
“You need to care, or we’re all going to be late, and then it’s total anarchy. Is that what you want? Chaos? Mutiny in the ranks?”
“Ten minutes,” she muttered, already burrowed deeper under the covers like a disgruntled groundhog. Briar’s room was a cute mess: mismatched throw pillows, tangled fairy lights, and a sprawl of books and half-folded laundry that made it look less like a disaster and more like a teenage girl’s version of cozy.
I nudged aside a stray sock with my toe and tried again. “Briar, please. We have to get going. You have dance class and you can’t be late. Then, after, your dad will pick you up.”
Unintelligible grumbling came from beneath her pillow. I took a deep breath. Counted to five. Walked away before I said something I couldn’t unsay. Like how sometimes I wanted ten more freaking minutes, too.
In the hallway, Lark drifted past like a hoodie-clad ghost. Earbuds in, expression unreadable, eyes only halfway open.
“Don’t forget your chemistry notes,” I reminded her, trying to keep my voice light. “Your dad said he’d work with you today, then I’ll work with you in the morning tomorrow if we can manage to get up a bit earlier. The beer delivery changed. I’m sorry for the rush, sweetheart.”
She didn’t say anything, just gave me a sleepy smile and wrapped me in a quick, warm hug before heading into the kitchen.
And just like that, the morning had begun. Not with peace. Not with quiet. But with the usual chaos wrapped in teenage moods and giant hoodies.
By the time I wrangled Briar out the door—with a smoothie, mismatched leg warmers, and a half-hearted apology for her tone—we were officially behind schedule. Again.
I dropped Briar at dance and Lark at Eli’s place and waved goodbye like I hadn’t just barely survived the morning. I rested my head on the steering wheel. I finally had a moment to breathe.
Then I remembered Hunter’s birthday. I sent him a text, then headed to Coffee Cabin to procure his usual birthday latte before I had to meet the beer man at Twilight Tavern. And by the way, I did all of thiswithoutthinking about our stupid pact.
Hunter Cassidy didn’t like birthdays. He claimed he didn’t want anyone making a big deal out of them, which was a lie, because hedefinitelywanted someone to make a big deal. Just not in a balloons-and-cake kind of way. More like a “coffee delivered with a smirk that said I’m thinking about you” kind of way. Quiet, just like him.
