Fuck.
First Kade, now his entire family’s roped me in.
The Archers truly are a cult.
Chapter Fifteen
The Weight of Walls
The house before me is the same one I left behind a decade ago, but it’s painted in different emotions.
Once, it stood proud—clean lines of white shiplap against the green of the pasture, like a daydream for the hopeful.
My dad used to run his hand along the siding and say it was built to last. That no matter what storms came through, we’d made something strong enough to hold steady—
something to keep the love inside safe.
Now? The boards are faded, worn down by weather and time, and I missed every fucking minute.
The porch that wraps and curves around all the edges of my single-story home was designed so I could watch my family grow at every angle. Back then, I imagined sitting out here with a cold beer and a kid on each knee, watching the sun go down to the soundtrack of my wife’s laughter.
Instead, the boards creak under my weight, and parts of the steps are split—not from the pounding of little feet, but from storms and neglect.
Life didn’t grow here.
It stalled.
Got stuck in the same place I did the day I shipped out.
And then it got burned to hell when I chose not to come back.
I swallow hard, my throat tight, because it’s not just wood and siding. It’s him. Every nail, every plank… my dad’s hands wereright here. His voice still echoes in the way the gutters bend, the way the porch slants, just slightly wrong on the northeast corner, because I messed up the measurements and he let me fix it all by myself when I was sixteen.
Part of me feels like he built this for someone else. For a country boy who thought love could fix everything. The one who believed promises made in the sunlight would last forever.
But that boy died a long time ago, somewhere between the sandstorms and sirens, the blood and bone.
Still... some stubborn part of me moves forward anyway. Like maybe, if I just reach for it, there’s still something in me left worth saving.
The key turns easier than I expect.
For a second, I wonder if maybe it won’t work. But the door swings open without a sound. My eyes burn, and my wholegoddamn body starts trembling as I cross the threshold. I force one foot forward, then the next.
And stop cold.
“What the fuck…” I breathe, stumbling over my boots, reaching blindly behind me to shut the door. It closes with aclick, and then it’s just me and this house.
A house that’s not supposed to look like this.
When I left, the house was maybe halfway done. We’d framed the exterior, gotten it sealed up tight so the weather wouldn’t ruin what we’d started. But the inside was just beginnings. All exposed beams and covered in dust. Plans scribbled on the back of anything I could get my hands on.
Now… now it’s so much further along.
I walk forward slowly, like I’m stepping through someone else’s memory. Because that’s what it feels like—familiar and foreign at the same time. Every wall is up, covered in white paint. The kitchen's a blank slate, wires hanging out of the walls, waiting for life. No appliances, but the cabinets and sink are in.
I never picked them, never cared to.
Always thought I’d get to the guts when I had a partner by my side. Figured it wasn’t my home alone, it was always meant for a family.
