51

The boys are still buzzing when they come back in — arms full of takeout, Bear trying to convince Auggie that strawberry ice cream is better that vanilla and he's just too young to understand.

Senna and I are on the couch.

She's under the blanket, tucked into my side. One hand curled around my hoodie, the other buried in the fluff of her curls like she's trying to keep herself anchored. She's not asleep, but she's close. Drowsy. Safe.

I don't move when the front door opens.

I probably should have.

Her dad steps in first, holding the food bag, grumbling at Bear to stop poking his brother. His tie is loose now, jacket tossed over one arm. He's clearly tired.

But he stops the moment he sees us.

Senna half-curled in my arms.

Me not even pretending I don't adore her.

His eyes narrow.

Senna doesn't notice at first.

But I do.

And I know what's coming before he even says it.

"Luca. Step outside with me. Now."

No shouting.

No warning.

Just that deep, cold tone of command.

I gently untangle myself from Senna and whisper, "It's okay."

She blinks up at me, already going stiff. "What did I do?"

"Nothing," I say, brushing a curl from her cheek. "I've got this."

Outside – Night Air, Heavy Silence

The night is cool. The porch light flickers overhead. I hear crickets and the distant hum of traffic.

Senna's father doesn't speak at first.

He closes the door behind him. Then folds his arms. His back straight. Shoulders squared. Like he's standing at attention.

Then, he turns to me.

"What do you think you're doing with my daughter?"

It's not rhetorical.

"Spending time with her," I say quietly. "Because she asked me to stay."

"You think I care what she asked?"

I stay quiet.

"You walk into my home," he continues, "into my house, and make yourself comfortable? You're lying on a couch with my daughter like you've got a ring on her finger."

"Sir, I—"

"Don't interrupt me."

I nod once.

"You don't know this family," he says, voice sharp. "You don't know her. You don't know what she's been through or how hard she's fought to be where she is."

"I do know," I say, not backing down. "I know more than you think."

He glares.

"You think I don't see it?" I add. "The way she flinches when someone raises their voice? The way she goes quiet when she's overwhelmed? The food thing? The silence? I know she's hurting. But I also know she doesn't trust just anyone."

"And what? She trusts you now, so that makes you special?"

"No," I say simply. "It makes me responsible."

That hits him.

Harder than I expect.

His eyes flick away for just a moment.

"You dating my daughter?"

"Yes sir."

"Do you love her?"

"Yes, sir. Very much."

He stares at me. Long and hard.

"You from money?"

"Yes, sir."

"That supposed to impress me?"

"No, sir. I'm just not hiding it."

"You plan on sleeping with her?"

I tense.

"No."

He raises a brow. "No?"

"Not unless she wants that. And not unless she's ready. Which she isn't. And I'd wait forever, if I had to."

He goes quiet.

Then he sighs.

It's not a defeated sigh.

It's a dad sigh.

The kind that means he's thinking way too hard and hating every part of this.

"Senna's the only girl I've ever had to protect," he says. "And I haven't done a perfect job. I travel a lot. Her mom works late. We thought she was fine because she looked fine. And now, suddenly, she has you."

He turns to me again.

Softer now.

But not gentle.

"I don't care how many times she smiled at you. I don't care if she told you her secrets. If you do anything — anything — to hurt her, I will make sure you don't get to be around her again. You hear me?"

"Loud and clear, sir."

He studies me one last time.

Then, strangely, he holds out the takeout bag.

"She likes the chocolate fudge. Don't forget that."

I blink.

Take the bag.

"Yes, sir."

When I step back inside, Senna's on the couch with her knees pulled up to her chest, arms wrapped tight around them.

Her eyes find mine immediately.

"What did he say?"

"A lot," I say, dropping beside her and pulling the blanket back over us.

"Are you—okay?"

"I'm still breathing, so I think we can call it a win."

She chuckles, but it's small. Nervous.

"You're sure?"

"He threatened me," I whisper, grinning. "But in a loving, emotionally-repressed father kind of way."

"Oh my God."

"And then handed me ice cream like a peace offering."

Senna actually smiled

I just might go back and talk to her dad again.

----------------------------------------------------------

Spring came in soft this year.

Everything feels... lighter.

Maybe it's the warmth. The longer days. The way the sun finally decided to kiss the world again.

Or maybe it's the fact that I haven't had a panic attack in weeks.

Luca's sitting at the kitchen counter, tapping through flashcards on his iPad. His hair's messier now - longer curls falling into his eyes - and he's still wearing my fuzzy pink hoodie because he spilled coffee on his shirt this morning and refused to take mine off after.

"What's the difference between endocrine and exocrine again?" he mumbles, half to himself.

"You tell me, stairboy," I tease, walking past him with my bowl of cereal.

He grins, not looking up.

"You're mean."

"You're in my hoodie."

"Your hoodie smells like vanilla and ambition."

"That's my shampoo and trauma recovery."

My mom chuckles from the other side of the kitchen, flipping pancakes like this is just another Saturday morning - like this version of our house has always existed.

Bear and Auggie barrel in, still in pajamas, dragging Nerf guns and yelling something about "secret missions." Luca high-fives them both without even pausing his study session.

It's... normal.

I still don't know how we got here.

My mom likes him now.

Not in the "he's allowed in my house" kind of way.

In the real way.

In the way she asks how his exams are going and makes his tea the way he likes it.

My dad calls him "son" now, which is still deeply unsettling, and also deeply hilarious considering he threatened to dismember Luca on the porch once.

We don't talk about that.

Later that night, Luca and I are sitting on the roof of my house.

Well - he's sitting. I'm lying flat on my back, trying to figure out whether the stars actually look different when you're in love.

They kind of do.

"You know prom's in, like... three weeks?" he says suddenly.

I hum.

"Are you asking me?"

"No," he says. "I'm panicking."

I look over at him.

"Why are you panicking?"

"Because it's prom, Senna. I have to get a new custom made tux, figure out how to dance without dislocating anything, survive a crowd of mean girls who still think you cursed their skin-care routines."

I snort.

"You'll be fine. I'm going with you."

He goes quiet.

Then:

"So that's a yes?"

"Did you ever officially ask?"

He sits up straighter, eyes wide.

"Wait, wait, wait, I want a do-over."

I grin.

He clears his throat, then stands on the roof, hands over his heart like a tragic Victorian boy.

"Senna Catherine McAnthony-"

"Middle name isn't necessary, you chaotic idiot-"

"-will you honor me by accompanying me to the most overhyped social event of our high school careers?"

I toss a pebble at him.

"Yes."

He beams.

"Really?"

"Yes, but you're driving. And I'm not wearing heels."

"Deal."

Later, when we're back in my room and I'm sketching in my notebook with him sprawled on my bed, he asks:

"You ever think about what comes next?"

"Like after prom?"

"Like after school. College. Life."

I pause.

"I've been thinking about nursing."

He perks up. "Really?"

"Yeah. I mean, it makes sense. I want to help people. And I've spent so long in hospitals, it almost feels like a second home."

"You'd be amazing at it."

"You're only saying that because I kissed you this morning."

"I'm saying it because you kissed me and helped Auggie stop choking on a gummy bear. You're halfway to being a superhero."

He leans over and kisses the top of my head.

Soft. Safe.

"You're not scared?" he asks.

"Terrified," I whisper. "But I think... I'm also ready."

So yeah.

Spring came in soft this year.

But I didn't.

I came in with scars, and silence, and shadows.

And now?

Now I have warmth.

A boy with shaky hands and a heart that never ran.

A family who stayed.

And a future that might not be perfect -

-but it's mine.

And I'm finally ready to live it.