By the Book

Chapter Thirty-Seven: Facing the Truth

The kitchen was quiet, the kind of quiet that felt intentional, heavy with everything unsaid. My mom moved between the stove and the counter with measured steps, her slippers whispering against the tile. She hadn't said much since I came downstairs, just the occasional clipped acknowledgment when I asked if she needed help.

I sat at the table with my laptop, the screen casting a pale glow over the half-finished toast on my plate. Across from me, Tyler sipped his coffee, the steam curling lazily around his face as he scrolled through his own screen. The soft click of keys filled the space between us, along with the faint hum of the furnace.

The Christmas tree blinked softly in the living room, visible from where I sat. It looked so much smaller than I remembered, its ornaments sparse and crooked, but the sight of it still tugged at something deep in my chest. The snowman I'd made when I was six hung near the middle, tilted to one side like it might fall any second.

"You should eat that," Tyler said, nodding toward my untouched toast. His voice was light, but the look he gave me over his mug was anything but.

"I'm not hungry," I muttered, typing another search term into the database. The search bar blinked mockingly at me, its results frustratingly empty.

Tyler sighed but didn't press. Instead, he set his mug down with a soft clink and leaned back in his chair, watching me carefully. "How long are you planning to keep this up?"

"Keep what up?" I asked without looking at him, though I could feel the weight of his gaze.

He gestured vaguely at the laptop, the scattered papers next to it. "This. The whole 'burying yourself in work and pretending you're fine' thing. It's not exactly subtle, Kara."

I clenched my jaw, my fingers tightening on the trackpad. "I'm just trying to stay on top of things."

"Right," he said, dragging the word out. "And by 'things,' you mean what? Eleanor's mess? Dad? Ben? Miles?"

The sound of my mom's knife hitting the cutting board grew louder, and I glanced toward her instinctively. She didn't look up, but her shoulders stiffened slightly, her movements a fraction slower. I turned back to Tyler, lowering my voice.

"I'm handling it," I said firmly, though even I didn't believe it.

Tyler raised an eyebrow, his skepticism painfully clear. "Uh-huh. And how's that going for you?"

"Tyler—"

"Have you told Miles yet?" he asked, cutting me off.

The question hit like a punch to the gut. I closed my laptop slowly, staring at the blank cover as if it held the answers I couldn't find. "No," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Why not?" he asked, his tone softer now but no less direct. "He deserves to know, Kara. Hiding this isn't going to make it any easier—for you or for him."

I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat making it difficult to respond. "I just... I don't know how," I said finally. "It's not like I can sit him down and say, 'Hey, by the way, your aunt left you a mountain of debt with loan sharks.' How do I even begin that conversation?"

"You start by trusting him," Tyler said simply. "Miles isn't Eli, Kara. He's not going to run the second things get hard."

I flinched at the name, the sharp sting of old wounds rising to the surface. "That's not—" I started, but Tyler gave me a pointed look, cutting me off.

"Don't," he said firmly. "Eli bailed, okay? We both know it. But Miles? The guy's been nothing but solid. He's been here for you through all of this. He's not going anywhere."