Chapter 1

Hudson Residence – Starling, Michigan Tuesday, 3:12 A.M.

End of July

Luke’s hoodie clung to her arms like a lifeline, its faded fabric damp with the tears that streaked down her red, hollowed cheeks. Dawn Hudson sat curled up on the edge of the lawn chair, her knees pulled tight to her chest.

The backyard was silent except for the soft hum of cicadas and the occasional creak of the wind against the old oak tree. The sky above her was ink-black, scattered with indifferent stars, cold, quiet, distant. Just like him now.

Her fingers clutched the fabric near the collar. It still faintly smelled like him. Or maybe that was just memory playing tricks again.

She hadn’t meant to come out here.

She’d woken up gasping from another dream, the one where she found him in the house, bleeding from the wrist, eyes empty. You were too late, he always whispered, voice cracking like broken glass. She couldn’t scream in the dream. She never could.

So, she’d come outside instead of waking anyone. She thought the stars might calm her down. They didn’t.

Her throat burned from crying, though she made no sound. Tears just slid down without warning. Like they had at work yesterday when she tried briefing the team. Like they had when she dropped her tea mug that morning and stared at the shattered porcelain for ten full minutes.

She loved stargazing. Just like Luke did. She knew that was his thing. But then it became their thing. How could she do this without him? How dare she do this!

“Dawn?”

The voice came soft, groggy, from the deck.

Jacob.

She didn’t turn. Her hands fidgeted now, gripping her own sleeves of her Detroit Tiger’s t-shirt.

He stepped closer, barefoot, wearing sweatpants and a faded T-shirt. His brown hair stuck out at strange angles from sleep. “It’s three in the morning,” he said gently. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” she said automatically. Her voice cracked. She wiped her face. Useless. The tears had already come again.

Jacob sat in the camping chair beside her but didn’t say anything at first. Just watched her from the side.

“I had that dream again,” she finally said. “Same one.”

Jacob swallowed. “Luke?”

She nodded.

“I saw him, Jake. He was bleeding. He looked at me like… like I failed him.”

“You didn’t,” Jacob said, immediate, firm.

“I was late.”

“You couldn’t have changed what happened. None of us could have.”

She looked at him then. Her eyes were red and exhausted. “But I should have. I survived, Jacob. Barely. But I did. And he didn’t. He made it through that gunshot. And then—” Her voice cracked again. “Then I wasn’t there.”

Jacob didn’t speak. He didn’t try to fix it, didn’t say she was strong or brave or any of the things people had tried lately.

“You’ve never come out here before,” he finally said, quieter. “Not in the middle of the night.”

“I don’t know what I’m doing anymore,” she admitted.

He nodded once.

“I can’t sleep. I can’t focus. Work’s falling apart. I’m screwing things up. I missed that meeting yesterday and… I, I forgot to return Chris’s call. I snapped at Rohan for asking if I was okay.” She exhaled hard. “I’m not okay, Jake.”

“I know.”

“I don’t want to keep waking up like this. I don’t want to keep thinking he’s still out there somewhere waiting for me to come back.”

“You don’t have to carry this alone.”

“But I do. It was me he loved. Me he waited for.” Her voice went soft, shattered like her heart. “And I wasn’t enough.”

Jacob’s expression tightened, pain flickering behind his eyes. He wanted to reach for her but knew better than to touch her right now.

“You’re not supposed to be enough for every pain in this world,” he said, voice low. “You just do what you can with what you have left.”

They sat in silence.

Somewhere a coyote howled in the woods. A soft breeze moved the trees above them. The stars kept shining, cold and unaware.

“I miss him every second,” Dawn whispered.

“I know. I miss him too. I sort of blame myself. Luke and I were friends to.” Jacob leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “You don’t have to move on. Not yet. Not all the way. But you can’t lose you, Dawn. He wouldn’t want that.”

She closed her eyes. A tear rolled down her cheek.

“Come back inside,” he offered. “You don’t have to sleep. Just… don’t sit out here alone.”

She hesitated, then stood slowly. The hoodie hung loose on her frame. She looked smaller than usual, like someone still healing from something too deep to name.

Jacob didn’t touch her, but he walked with her. Quietly. Like a shadow. Like someone who knew grief, and love, and the way it changed people.

Inside, the door closed with a soft click.

The stars stayed out. Watching. Unmoved. She finally went to sleep after another twenty minutes of tossing and turning.

Tuesday, 7:46 A.M.

The smell of cinnamon toast drifted through the air as sunlight crawled its way into the kitchen.

Dawn stood at the counter, dressed in slacks and a dark blouse, but she hadn’t touched the mug of tea in front of her. Her hands were wrapped around it like a lifeline. The hoodie from last night lay folded on the edge of the table, Luke’s initials faint on the tag.

Austin padded into the room, his socks making soft shush-shush noises against the floor.

“Hey, Mom,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “You didn’t say good morning like you usually do.”

Dawn blinked and turned to him slowly. “Good morning, son.” Her smile was there, but only barely.

Austin studied her with quiet seriousness far beyond his fourteen years. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.” She bent down to kiss his head, then paused mid-motion. She held him instead. Tight. Longer than she meant to. She hated using that line, I’m fine. Her and Luke always hated it when fictional characters said they were fine after being in an explosion or being shot or whatever hazard. She let out a low chuckle to where Austin couldn’t hear her.

“You’re squeezing me,” he mumbled, muffled by her blouse.

“Sorry,” she whispered, letting go.

He climbed into a chair at the table and poured himself cereal. “You’re really quiet lately.”

Dawn sat across from him, finally sipping the tea. It was lukewarm now. “I know.”

“I heard you outside last night. You were talking to dad.”

She stiffened. “You weren’t supposed to hear that.”

“I wasn’t trying to. I just… I heard you say you missed someone. Was it Luke?”

Dawn’s chest tightened.

Trudy entered, an apron on already, and froze when she saw Dawn’s face. “Everything all right in here?”

Austin glanced up at her. “She’s sad.”

“Austin,” Dawn warned softly.

“It’s okay,” Trudy said gently. She came over and touched Dawn’s shoulder. “You want to talk?”

“I can’t,” Dawn murmured, shaking her head. “Not yet.”

Trudy nodded like she understood. “Then just eat something. You look pale.”

Dawn gave her a tired smile. “I’ll grab something on the way.”

“You said that yesterday.”

“I know.”

Austin stared down at his cereal, then asked, “Did Luke really die, Mom?”

Dawn froze. Her hand trembled on the mug.

Trudy turned to him, gently scolding. “Austin—”

“No, it’s okay,” Dawn said, voice thick. She looked at her son, blinking away sudden tears. “Yes, he did.”

Austin looked down again. “I liked him.”

“I know you did.” She reached across the table and touched his hand. “So did I.”

He looked up. “You don’t have to pretend you’re okay.”

She smiled, a fragile, crooked thing. “I wish I could stop pretending.”

Trudy stepped back and wiped her hands on her apron, visibly emotional. “You don’t have to be strong all the time, Huds. Not for us.”

But Dawn only nodded, pushing back from the table. “I’m going to be late for the precinct.”

“You’ve still got time,” Trudy said.

“I need the drive.” She grabbed her keys. She already had her cuffs and gun holster. “It’s too loud in my head right now.”

She bent and kissed Austin’s forehead again. “I love you.”

“Love you too.”

As she walked out the door, Trudy watched her with a worried gaze. Then she knelt beside Austin and whispered, “She’s carrying more than one heart can hold.”

Austin nodded. “But I think she’s trying really hard not to drop it.”