Running Towards the Light

Chapter 40 - Connection

Chris turned onto our street, and my stomach twisted into knots almost immediately.

The house loomed in the distance, its peeling paint and sagging porch all too familiar. The front yard was littered with random junk — bike parts, an old tire, a plastic lawn chair that had been broken for years but never thrown out. The porch light flickered weakly, casting a dim glow over the uneven steps.

Before we even pulled into the driveway, I could see movement through the front window. Shadows pacing back and forth, figures shifting restlessly. The boys were waiting. Chris had said he hadn't told our younger brothers much but he must have called a family meeting of sorts. I'm just afraid of what they're going to think when they find out what happened — if some haven't already guessed. Or if Ben ratted me out.

Chris barely had the truck in park before I turned towards the closed front door. My heart started to beat so hurt it physically hurt and breathing began to be hard.

I gripped the seat belt tighter, my heart pounding. My fingers felt numb. I wasn't ready. I wasn't ready to face them, to explain, to deal with whatever this night was about to become.

Chris must have noticed my hesitation because he reached over, resting a firm hand on my tight. "Beetle," he said softly, his voice steady, like he was grounding me. "We're home. We've gotta go inside."

Home.

I swallowed hard, staring at the front door. The weight of everything pressed down on my chest — Dylan, the trip, what I had found out ... everything. Even though I really had an answer to nothing.

The house was always loud, overwhelming, and I knew the second I stepped inside, it would all come crashing down. But I couldn't stay in the truck forever.

I forced myself to take a breath, gripping the door handle.

"Okay," I whispered, more to myself than to Chris.

But I didn't make any moves. Chris shuffled and got out — I assumed — from the left of me. I really didn't see what he was doing, nor did I hear it. My mind was spinning, thinking up all of the possibilities of what could happen when I walked through that door. My ears felt like they had the ocean waves crashing and falling and crashing and falling at each sudden moment. I'm not ready.

I sat frozen, staring at the dashboard, my breath coming too fast, too uneven. My hands had clenched into fists on my lap, my nails pressing into my palms, but I couldn't loosen them. My mind was running a thousand miles per hour, flipping through every possible outcome of walking through that door, and none of them felt good.

What if they were all furious? What if Dylan wouldn't even look at me? What if I had broken something between us that I couldn't fix?

The waves in my ears roared, drowning out everything else. Crashing and falling. Crashing and falling.

I barely registered the shift in the truck as Chris got out. I barely noticed the soft thud of his boots against the driveway.

Then, suddenly, my door swung open.

A rush of cool night air hit me, and then Chris was there, gently gripping my shoulders and turning me so my legs dangled out of the truck. His hands were firm but steady, grounding me before I could spin even further into panic. My eyes wouldn't find him, instead settling on his chest and rooting myself there instead. His hands were pressed firmly on my upper thighs as if to ground me.

"Beetle," he said softly, crouching down slightly to my level. His bright blue eyes studied me, searching, and something in his expression tightened. "Hey. You with me?"