The morning sun bled weak light through the thin curtains of the small house on Granger Street, casting a dusty glow over the worn living room. The floor creaked with every step, as if the house itself were tired of holding up. A pot of lukewarm coffee simmered on the stove—more habit than luxury.
Jake pulled on his faded hoodie, the cuffs frayed, the logo on the chest nearly gone. He could hear his mother coughing in the next room, the sound dry and brittle like autumn leaves underfoot. It had been worse lately. Each cough felt like it rattled the walls.
"Jake?" came a soft voice behind him.
He turned to see his little sister, Anna, standing in the hallway with her arms wrapped around a tattered stuffed rabbit. Her dark hair was a mess from sleep, but her eyes—wide and worried—were awake long before the rest of her.
"Hey, munchkin," Jake said, forcing a smile. "You sleep okay?"
She shrugged, looking toward their mother's door. "She was coughing all night again."
"I know." He knelt down and fixed a strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm gonna pick up some more medicine after school, alright?"
Anna nodded. She was only eight, but sometimes Jake swore she carried the same weight he did. Maybe more. She'd never known the version of their mom who laughed and danced in the kitchen to old vinyl records. That was before the illness. Before their dad disappeared.
Jake stood and walked to the kitchen, pouring himself a cup of bitter coffee. There was no milk left, and sugar had been a luxury for weeks. He glanced at the calendar tacked to the fridge with a magnet shaped like a sunflower. It was April. Their dad had been gone for almost a year.
The official word was "missing." Jonathan Cross had vanished during a supply run with his old military unit—retired but still answering calls here and there. There had been no body. No goodbye. Just silence.
What remained were the things he'd left behind: an old duffel bag in the closet, a collection of medals gathering dust on a shelf, and memories that clung to Jake like second skin. Especially the training.
Jake still remembered the feel of his father's hands guiding his fists, steadying his stance.
"Keep your feet grounded," Jonathan would say. "A good fighter doesn't just swing—he studies. He waits. Then he strikes with purpose."
Jake hadn't been in a real fight since middle school, but the lessons stuck. Balance. Patience. Strength when it mattered.
A sudden coughing fit from the bedroom made him wince.
He dropped his cup in the sink, grabbed his backpack, and checked on his mom. The room was dim, the blinds drawn. Samantha lay curled beneath a mound of blankets, her cheeks pale and hollow. She looked up with watery eyes and tried to smile.
"You heading out?" she rasped.
"Yeah. You need anything before I go?"
"Just take care of your sister," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "And yourself."
Jake nodded. "I'll be back by three. I'll make that soup you like."
She closed her eyes, the effort of speaking clearly draining her.
Jake stepped out into the hallway again and found Anna sitting quietly on the floor, reading a book with the rabbit tucked under one arm.
He walked over and kissed the top of her head. "You gonna be okay until I get back?"
She looked up at him and gave a brave little nod.
Jake opened the door and stepped outside. The morning air was crisp, the sky gray with the threat of rain. He zipped up his hoodie and started down the cracked sidewalk, his shoulders heavy.
He wasn't just going to school. He was walking a tightrope between the life he had and the one he was trying to build, threadbare and uncertain.
Behind him, the house sagged in silence.
The sidewalk was cracked and uneven, just like most things in town. It hadn't rained in days, but the air still smelled damp, like wet pavement and rust. Jake shoved his hands deep into his hoodie pocket and kept his eyes down as he walked, backpack heavy with more responsibilities than textbooks.
He was halfway down Granger Street when a familiar voice called out.
"Hey! Wait up!"
Jake turned to see William jogging to catch up, his usual lopsided grin in place and a cinnamon roll clutched in one hand.
"You ever not run late?" Jake asked, smirking a little.
William shrugged, still catching his breath. "Time is a concept. Also, I had to stop for fuel." He held up the pastry like it was a trophy. "Breakfast of champions."
Jake chuckled under his breath. William had a way of bringing some light into the day, like someone had handed him a flashlight and he decided to just shine it on everyone else.
They fell into an easy pace together, the silence between them comfortable.
"Your mom any better?" William asked quietly after a few blocks.
Jake paused before answering. "Some days are worse than others. Last night was... not great."
William nodded, his expression shifting to something more serious. He had known the Cross family since they were kids. Knew what it meant that Samantha barely left her bed anymore. Knew that Anna looked up to Jake like he was the only stable thing in her world. He also knew Jake wouldn't ask for help, not even if he was drowning.
"You need anything, man... you'd tell me, right?" William asked.
Jake didn't answer right away. "Yeah," he lied gently. "Of course."
William didn't push. He never did.
They turned the corner near the bakery and saw the familiar brick outline of Westbridge High in the distance, just peeking through the trees like it was hiding from the town it belonged to.
That's when Jake saw her.
Kate Foster. Long auburn hair catching the morning light like fire, headphones in, a notebook tucked under one arm. She always walked a few blocks ahead of them, but somehow the world seemed to pause a little when she passed.
"She's got that main-character energy," William said with a smirk, nudging Jake. "You gonna say something today?"
Jake gave him a look. "Yeah, sure. Right after I win the lottery and grow six inches."
"She likes you. Or she used to. Back when we were kids, she'd always ask where you were."
"Yeah, before Rick happened."
Right on cue, Rick Granger rounded the corner, slipping an arm around Kate's shoulder like he owned her. He had that effortless smile, teeth perfect, hair just messy enough to look intentional. His jacket probably cost more than Jake's whole wardrobe.
"Morning, babe," Rick said to Kate, leaning in with faux tenderness. She smiled politely, clearly distracted.
When Kate glanced behind her and caught Jake's eye, she gave a small wave. Jake's heart kicked up. He raised his hand halfway, unsure what to do with it.
Then Rick turned. Smile still on, but his eyes found Jake's with razor precision.
"Well if it isn't Charity Case Cross," he said with a laugh loud enough for Kate to miss the tone. "Still coming to school, huh? I figured you'd be too busy playing nurse at home."
Jake felt the hit, but he didn't flinch. He'd learned early that reacting only fed the fire.
William bristled beside him. "Back off, Rick."
"Easy, Will. Just making conversation." Rick's grin didn't falter. "Gotta say though, man… it's impressive. Still showing up with your head high and everything. I don't think I could do it. I mean, knowing everyone is just waiting for the Cross family to finally fold."
Jake stared him down, calm and steady. "You're right, Rick. You couldn't do it."
Rick's smile wavered for just a split second before he turned back to Kate, slipping into soft words and fake laughter.
William exhaled slowly as they walked up the steps of the school.
"You know," he said, "one day, his little perfect world is gonna crack."
Jake said nothing. He just stared ahead, jaw tight, eyes fixed not on Rick—but on Kate. How she looked when she laughed. How she didn't see the storm swirling around her.
Maybe today wouldn't be the day he said something.
But someday? Maybe.