I grab a cookie, break off a piece, and pop it into my mouth. “Okay, these are dangerously good. I was not expecting that.”
She glares at me. “Rude.”
I shrug, smiling around the bite. “Just being honest.”
The conversation flows easy—catching up, talking about the camp, laughing over something Harper said in the groupchat. But my mind is already starting to drift. Not away from her—just deeper. Past the surface.
Because underneath the jokes and cookies and comfort of this couch…I know there’s something I need to tell her.
Something I haven’t said out loud in a long time.
Something that changed everything.
And maybe it’s time she knew.
Ivy’s laughter fades as she curls her legs under her, one hand wrapped around her mug, the other tugging the sleeve of my hoodie down past her knuckles.
She looks up at me like she sees something deeper.
And maybe she does.
“You’ve been quiet. What’s on your mind?” She asks.
I stare at the coffee table for a second, the edge of my boot tapping a silent rhythm against the rug. “You really wanna know?”
Her head tilts just slightly. “Gray. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t.”
I nod, my fingers dragging across my thigh. “I wasn’t always…this. The guy you know. The one who plays guitar and talks about grace like I didn’t used to drown in everything opposite of it.”
She doesn’t move. Doesn’t flinch. Just watches me, steady and open.
I clear my throat. “I never knew my dad. Not even a photo. My mom…she was around, but not really. Alcohol always came first. Some nights I made my own dinner, put myself to bed, figured out how to be invisible. Most nights, she didn’t even notice.”
Ivy’s hand shifts like she wants to reach for me, but she waits. Lets me talk.
“I got good at disappearing. Good at pretending I didn’t care. Fell in with the wrong crowd—guys who wore thesame numb look I had. We didn’t talk about much. Just music. And eventually…the band.”
A soft breath escapes me. “We thought we were gonna make it. Toured through the southeast—nothing big. Dive bars, low-rent venues. Some towns I don’t even remember. The others…I try not to.”
I glance at her, and her eyes haven’t left mine.
“They partied hard,” I continue. “Drugs, alcohol, all of it. For a while, I stayed sober. Told myself I was different. Told myself I was in control. Not wanting to be anything like my mom. But eventually I caved.”
A pause.
“Then we hit Dallas.”
I don’t realize how hard I’m gripping the edge of the cushion until my knuckles ache. “It was our last stop. Everything had gone wrong—equipment issues, fights in the van, our lead guitarist threatening to quit mid-set. And something just…snapped. I couldn’t fake being okay anymore. I drank more than I ever had and got high on…I don’t even remember what, actually. I woke up on the steps of a church downtown with vomit on my shirt and the worst headache of my life.”
I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “I thought I was hallucinating when a guy sat down next to me. Turns out, his name was Jack.”
Ivy’s brows lift slightly. “Pastor Jack?”
I nod. “Yeah. He didn’t ask what I’d done. Didn’t ask if I deserved help. Just looked at me and said, ‘You look like someone who’s trying to outrun something big. Want to come inside?’”
I breathe in slowly. “He meant the church. I didn’t go that first time. But he gave me his number. Told me he’d be there next Sunday. And the one after that.”
A beat passes.
