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July 2 - July 7, 2025
Xander “I’m a Living, Breathing Rube Goldberg Machine” Hawthorne poked his head into the library.
Xander, my self-appointed BHFF—Best Hawthorne Friend Forever—considered
“Emily?” Grayson Hawthorne was staring at a ghost.
“And I will do anything—anything—to get what I want, even if that means begging for your help.
“When I have a baby,” came the deep, heart-shattering reply, “she’ll be my whole world.”
Even in the darkest of times, Xander was Xander.
“No one could possibly hate you, Xander,” I told him, my heart twisting. “Avery, people have hated me my whole life.”
Hawthornes aren’t supposed to break. His voice spoke deep in my memory. Especially me.
Jameson and I lived for those two words. What if?
Jameson, get ready to break out those dance moves because this stage is calling your name, and we all know that your hips are utterly incapable of falsehood.
For you.”
DON’T TRUST ANYONE.
“Just this once,” he said, an aching tone in his voice, “let me be the one who protects you, Avery.”
“I taught you to fight because I trust you to think, kid.”
You’re saying that you wanted me? The question echoed all around us.
“Nash. Grayson. Jameson. Xander.” He said their names one at a time. “You were the clay, and I was the sculptor, and it has been the joy and honor of my life to make you better men than I will ever be. Men who may curse my name but will never forget it.” My hand found its way to Jameson’s, and he held on to me for dear life. “On your marks, boys,” Tobias Hawthorne said on the recording. “Get set. Go.”
the other words he’d left me. You may be tested by the flames, but you need not burn.
“Not that you need another nickname,” Xander commented, “but I’m liking Sherlock.
Hannah, the same backward as forward—and
There was no feeling in the world like being seen by Jameson Hawthorne.
“I’m going to need an anagram for the word everything.”
“No,” I replied, staring her down. “You have no idea what I’m doing.
This was his very risky gamble—and mine.
made you something, horrible girl.”
You have a daughter. I have two.
This was it. This was the night. This was everything. This was us.
“I’m glad,” Grayson told me, the words slow and deliberate, “that it was you.”
Those games hadn’t made us extraordinary. They’d showed us that we already were.
“The game,” I said, my voice ripe with promise, “starts right now.”