“I wasn’t hungry,” I whisper, staring out the window at the blur of palm trees.
“Brit…” He sighs, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “You’re going to make yourself sick.”
“I’m fine, Jas,” I lie.
He doesn’t push, not right now. But I know when we get home, he’ll be hovering, making sure I at least drink a smoothie or nibble at some crackers.
Home. Jasper’s home in Montecito.
When I was released from the hospital, Mom had insisted I come back to the house. “There’s staff to take care of you, darling,” she’d purred. “You’ll be comfortable, and we can start rebuilding your image before the media spins this into something ugly.”
But Jasper had stepped between us. I can still hear his voice, sharp and fierce. “She’s not a campaign prop, Mother. She’s my sister. And she’s coming with me.”
For the first time in a long time, I saw Mom hesitate. But then she’d just plastered on that frozen smile, the one she wears for interviews, and kissed my cheek like nothing had happened.
Now, tucked away in Jasper’s house, the silence feels both comforting and suffocating.
As we pull into the driveway, the sun dips below the hills, casting a golden glow across the garden. Jasper cuts the engine, turning toward me.
“Brit…you know you don’t have to talk to me about it, but…” He exhales. “I’m proud of you. For going to therapy. For trying.”
I force a tight smile. “Thanks, Jas.”
Inside, Sierra is curled up on the couch with a book, her long legs tucked under her, blonde hair in a messy bun. She looks up and smiles softly. “Hey, Brit. How was today?”
“Fine,” I murmur, heading straight for the stairs.
“Brittany,” Jasper calls after me, “at least have some soup, okay?”
I nod without turning around. Lie number two for the day.
In my room, I collapse onto the bed, burying my face in the pillow. My phone buzzes on the nightstand — texts from Mom.
Mom: “Darling, we need to discuss the upcoming charity gala. The press will expect you to make an appearance.”
Mom: “Also, your statement about the accident — the PR team sent a draft for your approval.”
Mom: “I’ve arranged a stylist for next week. We need to remind everyone you’re still the face of beauty and grace.”
I toss the phone aside, my chest tightening.
She doesn’t get it. She never will.
And then there’s Ace.
I don’t know what happened the night of the accident — who stayed, who left, who cared — but I know one thing: Ace hasn’t called. And I’m not sure why that hurts more than it should.
I hear a soft knock on the door, then Jasper’s voice. “Brit?”
I wipe my face quickly. “Yeah?”
He pokes his head in, holding a bowl. “I brought you some soup. Sierra made it.”
My stomach clenches at the sight. “I’m not hungry.”
He walks in anyway, setting it on the nightstand. “Please, Brit. Just a few bites.”
“I said I’m not hungry!” My voice cracks, startling both of us.
