Walker laughed.

“It’s not funny! I want her to love me. I need her to love me.”

“She will,” Heather promised, ever the peacemaker. “Sammie, remember those brownies we make? Caitlin taught me how to make them. She also tells the best stories. I used to crawl into her bed at night when I got scared and she’d read to me. You like being read to.”

Sammie remained unconvinced.

“It’s okay,” Caitlin said with false cheer. “I guess I can’t be loved by everyone.”

Everyone but Maze laughed. She was just too aware of Walker standing bedside while Jace was actually in the bed and under the covers with her. Seriously, how did she manage to get herself into these situations? She sighed and forced herself to check into the conversation going on around her.

“I mean, I don’t get why wanting to be a mom with a simple job is so strange,” Cat was saying. “He has a life list, and children are on it.” She turned her head to look at Maze. “What do you think?”

She thought she was currently too busy having a freak-out to speak intelligently. But since Caitlin could spot a freak-out from ten miles away, she smiled and nodded. “You need to follow your dreams. You want to be a mom sooner than later.”

“But that’s not crazy, right? I’d make a good mom. I mean, I really think that raising kids, my own or otherwise, is the most important thing I’ll ever do. Like my parents did.”

“They were good at it,” Heather said. “And you would be too. We learned a lot from them, they’re amazing. I mean, I never thought I’d have a kid, but now I can’t imagine my life any other way.”

“But what if Dillon’s not on board?”

“Cat, you should do what you want,” Maze said.

“Yeah, that’s not exactly how healthy relationships work,” Caitlin said dryly. “Healthy relationships are about the three Cs.”

“Calamity, cluelessness, and catastrophe?” Maze asked.

Jace laughed, and she glared at him.

“Communication, commitment, and compromise,” Caitlin said.

“Well, compromise means he has to give something up as well,” Maze said.

Cat gave her a look. “I’m not sure you understand how these things go. I mean, you barely committed to keeping a plant alive for a week.”

Maze opened her mouth and then shut it. Because what Cat said was true.

“Not everyone’s known since they were a five-year-old what they wanted to be, Cat,” Walker said with a slight censure in his voice.

Surprised by his defense, Maze looked at him. He met her gaze—his unreadable, of course. But he knew her, maybe better than anyone. He certainly knew her better than she knew herself, or so it seemed at times. She had no idea what the hell she wanted out of her life, but she did know one thing for sure. “Very few people get a real shot at happiness,” she said carefully. “I just want to make sure you get a shot at yours.”

Caitlin looked at her, like, really looked at her. “Are you okay?”

At that, everyone craned their necks and stared at her. Awesome. And no, she wasn’t okay. She was never okay. “I’m great. And starving.” She rolled off the bed, not so accidentally kicking Walker in the shins while she was at it.

Five minutes later she was in the kitchen, watching Caitlin working on a huge spread while everyone else showered and dressed for the day. It was shockingly impressive. The girl had been born to take care of people.

Maze was definitely missing that gene. But in spite of Cat liking to do everything herself, she stepped in to make toast.

Cat smiled. “Just like the old days. You making toast.”

“It’s the only thing you’d ever let me do.”

“Because you hate to cook.”

Maze smiled. “But I do love to eat.”

Cat smiled too and set her head on Maze’s shoulder for a beat. “I’m sorry about before. I know sometimes I sound bitchy.”

“Sometimes?”

Caitlin laughed and hugged her. “Missed this,” she whispered. “Missed you. So much.”

Maze wrapped her arms around her. “Me too.”

“Today’s going to be a busy day. Wedding errands and chores, et cetera.”

“We’ll help,” Maze said.

“Thanks.”

They pulled apart.

“Do you ever miss those days?” Cat asked. “When we were little and lived at Mom and Dad’s house and had no worries?”

Maze always had worries. But the answer was simple: “Yes.”

Her eyes fell on the two small framed pics hanging by the fridge. The first one was of Cat sitting at the lake’s edge with a laughing Michael. Maze remembered that day. She and Cat had been tasked with babysitting Michael, which had never been a task in Maze’s eyes. Playing tag with him on the edge of the water had been more fun than anything else, and she’d loved being with him. Caitlin too. Because the two of them had been so . . . normal. They had no idea what the big, bad world was like, and when she was with them, Maze could pretend she didn’t know either.

Hungry for those days, she looked closer at the pic. Cat was laughing too, looking open and happy. And carefree. Seeing it made her realize something: she hadn’t seen carefree Cat since . . . since . . . After Michael’s death, Cat had taken everything on as her personal responsibility. Making sure her parents got through losing their son. Making sure to keep in touch with Walker and Heather and Maze when they’d all been separated. She’d become Head In Charge of Everything, and as a result, carefree Cat had been buried with her brother.

Feeling an ache in her chest for all Cat had been through, Maze turned to the second pic. It was of Cat’s parents, looking vibrant and happy. “I’ve never seen that picture,” she murmured.

“It was two years ago, right before Dad’s diagnosis.”

Maze sucked in a breath. “Diagnosis?”

“Cancer. It appears to all be gone now, though. We’re holding our breath.” Caitlin pointed at her with the whisk. “You’d have heard about it from me before now if you’d asked about them even once.”

Maze cringed. “I know. I’m so sorry. It’s . . . complicated.”

“Complicated how? They loved you and doted on you all the time. Hell, my mom favored you over both me and Michael. You could do no wrong. They did everything they could for you, got you into the same classes as me, offered to help you stay in contact with your mom if you wanted, clothed and fed you, kept you safe—which you didn’t care about, I know, but my point is they cared. So much, Maze.”

Until the fire, that is, after which they’d moved on without her.

Actually, that wasn’t fair. They’d reached out to her just a few months after the fire, asking how she was. She’d responded, and a part of her had hoped it meant they’d be coming for her. But at that point, they still hadn’t had a big enough place. Maze could admit that at the time, she hadn’t understood the depths of what they’d been through. All she’d known or thought about was what she’d been through.

A few years or so later, she’d texted them, just a breezy “hi, thinking of you, hope you’re well” sort of thing. They’d responded sweetly and suggested that they meet up for lunch sometime.