Aria

I’m sitting cross-legged on the edge of the stiff motel bed, phone pressed between my shoulder and ear, staring at the faded floral pattern on the carpet as if it might suddenly make sense of my life.

It doesn’t.

Nothing has since Mom died.

“Aria?” Hazel’s voice crackles through the phone. “You still there?”

“Yeah.” My voice comes out quieter than I mean it to. “Sorry. Just… thinking.”

“Thinking or spiraling?” she asks gently.

I let out a weak laugh. “Probably both.”

Hazel has always been the kind of friend who hears the things people don’t say. We met while working in a coffeehouse on the upper wet side of the city. Nothing says trying to find my way like making floral designs in overpriced Colombian roasts. The moment we met, we clicked. Just two girls trying to make their way away from a past we didn’t want to be reminded of.

She’s been my emotional bodyguard ever since. She knows when I’m pretending to be fine, when I’m about to cry, and when I’m lying to myself.

Right now, it’s definitely the third one.

“So,” she says carefully, “how are you actually doing today?”

I lean back against the wall behind the bed and stare at the popcorn ceiling.

The motel room smells faintly like cheap cleaning supplies and burnt coffee drifting from the lobby downstairs. It’s not exactly comforting, but it’s quiet. Quiet enough that my thoughts feel louder than they should.

“I keep thinking he’s going to call,” I admit.

The words slip out before I can stop them.

Hazel doesn’t interrupt.

“I mean… I know he won’t,” I continue, rubbing my forehead. “But my brain still expects it. Like any minute my phone’s going to buzz, and he’ll say he’s sorry, that he wants to start over or make up for lost time or something.”

Silence fills the line for a second.

“That’s normal,” she says softly. “He’s family and as mad or disappointed we are with them, a small part of us loves them.”

“I know.”

But knowing doesn’t make it easier.

I exhale slowly.

“And then there’s everything else.”

“What else?”

I hesitate, staring at the door across the room.

“Mom,” I say finally.

Hazel sighs softly.

“Yeah,” she says. “How is that coming?”

I give a humorless smile.

“You know what the worst part is?” I say. “She was the one who kicked me out. That forced me to leave. And know I’ll never really know why. I mean, sure, we didnt really get along at the end, but it wasn’t enough, you know. In fact, the more I think about it, the more I know there had to be something else. And now I’m just supposed to accept that a robbery gone wrong stole her life. In this town. Something doesn’t feel right, Hayes.”

She doesn’t argue.

Because she knows I’m right.

“I tried to ask Liam about the break-in, and he’s just agreeing with the police assessment,” I continue. “Can you believe it. “

Hazel snorts.

“That man strikes me as many things,” she says, “but stupid was never one of them.”

Exactly.

“That’s what I mean,” I say, frustration creeping into my voice. “It’s like he’s trying to keep information from me.”

I can still see it in my mind.

The way Liam’s jaw tightened.

How his smile faded just enough to signal the conversation was over.

It was time I realized loving Liam meant accepting the walls he built.

Or at least that’s what I told myself.

“I figured he’d tell me when he was ready,” I say. “Everyone has stuff they don’t want to talk about.”

“Sure,” Hazel says.

“But this?” I laugh bitterly. “Now I’m dealing with paperwork and lawyers and half the time they’re asking me questions I can’t even answer.”

“What kind of questions?”

I pick at the loose thread on the motel blanket.

“Mom’s employer. Her benefits. Contacts. Emergency numbers.” I shake my head. “I don’t even know who she worked with since I left.”

Hazel goes quiet again.

“That’s… not normal, Ari.”

“I know.”

The words taste like defeat.

“And I hate that part of me is still mad at him, mad at her,” I admit. “I swear, if it wasn’t for you, I’d be alone. That’s so pathetic, isn’t it?”

“If it is, then I’m right there with you.”

“Oh great, maybe we should start prepping our house with litter boxes now because in a few years were going to be surrounded by,” I argue weakly.

“No, thank you,” Hazel finishes bluntly. “Keeping myself alive is enough of a task as it is.”

I roll my eyes.

She’s right.

Hazel always is.

“You love your brother,” she states steadily. “But sometimes love isn’t enough.”

I swallow.

The word secrets lands heavier than I expect.

Before I can respond, Hazel shifts gears.

“So,” she says in her no-nonsense voice, “when are you meeting with the lawyer?”

I huff out a small laugh.

“Nice subject change.”

“You’re welcome.”

I glance at the clock on the nightstand.

“Monday,” I say. “That’s when we go over the estate stuff and the house.”

“And after that?”

I let out a slow breath.

“I should be on my way home by Tuesday.”

Home.

The word feels strange now.

The town I grew up in suddenly feels smaller than ever.

“Good,” Hazel says. “Because hiding in a motel, eating vending machine snacks is not a long-term life plan.”

“I resent that.”

“You should.”

I smile faintly.

“But until then,” I continue, “I’m basically stuck here trying to avoid everyone in town.”

Hazel laughs.

“The condolences brigade?”

“You have no idea,” I groan. “I tried to grab coffee this morning and got trapped by Mrs. Donnelly for twenty minutes.”

“Oh no.”

“She cried. I cried. Then she told me Liam was ‘such a good young man.’”

Hazel snorts again.

“Well… at least he’s got something going for him.”

“Thanks,” I mutter.

We both laugh quietly.

For a moment, the heaviness in my chest lifts just a little.

Then—

Knock. Knock. Knock.

The sharp sound hits the door behind me.

I freeze.

Hazel notices immediately.

“What was that?”

“Someone just knocked,” I whisper.

“Room service?”

I frown.

“This place barely has breakfast,” I say. “It’s not exactly a room service kind of place.”

Another knock.

Louder this time.

I slide off the bed and walk slowly toward the door.

“Hang on a second,” I tell Hazel.

“Don’t hang up,” she says quickly.

“I won’t.”

My heart beats a little faster as I step onto the cold tile by the door.

Something about the knock feels… wrong.

Too deliberate.

I lean forward and peer through the peephole.

Two men stand outside.