More laughter. Mom fans herself dramatically, as if reliving those hormone-soaked teenage days. Dad's chuckle rumbles beside me, his arm tightening around my shoulders.
The word "off-limits" echoes in my head like a bell I can't unhear. I force my lips into what I hope passes for amusement, but my chest constricts with something between embarrassment and... disappointment?
Blake hooks an arm around Warren’s neck, yanking him sideways. “Damn right she was. Still is, pal.”
Warren straightens, smoothing his collar before tipping his head in a mock bow. “Rules always followed, sir.”
Laughter ripples as glasses are raised. I lift mine too, though the bubbles taste flat on my tongue.
“Here’s to Janie,” Warren toasts, his voice smooth and sure. “From braces and soccer sidelines to Chicago’s finest hospital administrator. We couldn’t be prouder. Love you like a sister. Cheers.”
The crowd laughs, glasses clinking. I laugh too, but it catches halfway up my throat. Like a sister. That’s who I’ve always been to him: safe, protected, untouchable. Blake’s kid sister. Perpetual tagalong.
When he steps past me to set his glass down, the brush of his sleeve catches my bare arm—warm, faintly citrus and cedar. For a split second, the noise fades, and I forget how to breathe.
For once, I wish I could break that image, just shatter it and see what’s underneath.
But that’s ridiculous. He’s nine years older, my brother’s best friend. The champagne’s just making me sentimental.
“To Janie!” The chorus swells, warm and familiar and somehow too tight.
"Thanks, everyone." My smile holds, but it doesn’t quite reach my eyes.
I slip through the French doors, escaping the cacophony of well-wishes and advice. The old wooden porch creaks beneath my heels as I make my way to therailing. My glass dangles between my fingers, cool against my skin, while the night air wraps around me like a familiar blanket.
From here, the street is quiet, lined with palms swaying in the breeze. Beyond the rooftops, the faint roar of the ocean carries on the wind, steady as a heartbeat. It’s close enough to smell the salt, close enough that it's a part of me, even if I can’t see the waves from here.
How many nights have I stood on this porch, pretending the whole island was within reach? Hundreds, maybe thousands. But this could be the last time I’ll stand here before I officially move out and start my own life away from here.
I take a deep breath, filling my lungs with humid air tinged with salt and jasmine. It calms me the way the ocean always has, even when my thoughts whip around like hurricane winds.
The door slides open behind me. I don’t need to turn to know it’s Blake.
"Found the escape artist." His footsteps thud across the porch. "Mom’s looking for you. Something about Mrs. Delaney wanting your new address."
"I’m heading back to the backyard. Just wanted some quiet for a minute."
He leans against the railing beside me, his shoulder bumping mine. "Don’t cry on the porch. Chicago’ll eat you alive if they smell weakness."
"I’m not crying." I flick his arm. "Don't you worry about me in Chicago. I'm going to be just fine."
"I know you will." He ruffles my hair, messing up my carefully styled waves. "But I'll always be your big brother and will always worry."
I duck away, swatting at his hand. "Would you stop? I'm twenty-two, not twelve."
"Blake!" Cile's voice calls from inside. "Tyler's climbing the bookshelf again! We need to get these kids in bed."
"Coming!" He straightens, giving my shoulder a squeeze. "Duty calls. The boy's part monkey, I swear." He starts toward the door, then turns back. "Hey. I love you. You're a rockstar."
A small lump forms in my throat. "I love you, too."
He nods once, then disappears inside, leaving me alone with the sounds of the ocean and my thoughts.
Car doors slam out front, voices calling their goodbyes. One by one, the laughter and footsteps fade as neighbors head down the walk. I slip back inside, weaving through the foyer just in time to see the last cluster of friends waving from the door.
In the kitchen, Mom stacks stray dessert plates with a sigh. "That’s it for me. I don’t have the stamina for these parties anymore."
Dad kisses her temple. "We’re turning in. Firepit’s still going if you two want to sit a while."