POV: Jasmine
Leo looked healthier than I'd ever seen him—skin clear, eyes bright, the desperate energy of his addiction replaced by quiet stability.
The café he'd chosen was small and unpretentious, tucked into a corner of the city I'd never explored. No fancy espresso machines or artisanal pastries—just good coffee and worn wooden tables that had absorbed decades of conversations. The kind of place where people came to actually talk, not to be seen talking.
My brother sat across from me, and for the first time in years, I didn't feel the familiar clench of worry in my chest when I looked at him. The hollowed-out desperation that had defined him for so long was gone, replaced by something solid. Grounded. Real.
"You look good," I said, and meant it more than I'd meant anything in weeks. "Like, actually good. Not 'I'm pretending to be okay' good."
"Thanks for the ringing endorsement." But he smiled when he said it, and the expression reached his eyes in a way it hadn't since before the drugs, before the debt, before everything went sideways. "I got a job. Nothing glamorous. Working with horses on a ranch upstate. Turns out I'm good with traumatized animals."
"Takes one to know one?"
His laugh was genuine—warm and unguarded in a way that made my throat tight. "Something like that. There's this mare named Shadow who wouldn't let anyone near her for the first three months. Now she follows me around like a puppy. The owner says I have a gift."
"You always did." I wrapped my hands around my coffee cup, absorbing its warmth. "Remember that stray cat you rescued when we were kids? The one Mom said would never trust anyone?"
"Mr. Whiskers." Leo's smile turned nostalgic. "That cat slept on my pillow every night until we got moved to the next foster home. I cried for a week when they wouldn't let me take him."
"I remember." I'd held him through those tears, twelve years old and already learning that loving things meant eventually losing them. "You've always known how to reach the unreachable."
We talked for hours—really talked, without accusations or guilt or the defensive walls we'd both learned to build. Leo explained his journey through recovery, the slow process of rebuilding himself into someone he could respect. The ninety meetings in ninety days. The sponsor who'd kicked his ass when he needed it and held his hand when he didn't. The ranch that had given him purpose when he'd forgotten what that word even meant.
"The hardest part wasn't the physical withdrawal," he said, stirring his third cup of coffee. "It was facing all the shit I'd been running from. All the ways I'd fucked up, all the people I'd hurt." His eyes found mine. "Especially you. I put you through hell, Jas. Made you responsible for saving me when you were barely holding yourself together."
"Leo—"
"Let me finish." He held up a hand. "I've been working on this speech for months. Practicing it with my therapist. If I don't get it out now, I'm going to chicken out and we'll just keep pretending everything's fine." He took a breath. "I was a terrible brother. I was selfish and destructive and I took advantage of your love for me. You deserved better. You've always deserved better."
The words landed somewhere deep, in places I hadn't let myself examine too closely. All those years of covering for him, cleaning up his messes, sacrificing pieces of myself to keep him afloat. I'd told myself it was love. Maybe it was. But maybe it was also a cage we'd both built together.
"I'm working on forgiving myself," I said quietly. "For not being able to fix you. For eventually having to let go."
"There was nothing to fix." Leo reached across the table and took my hand. "I wasn't broken, Jas. I was sick. And you couldn't cure me any more than I could cure myself. The only person who could save me was me. It just took me way too fucking long to figure that out."
The conversation shifted naturally after that, the heavy confessions giving way to lighter territory. I told him about the pregnancy—the complicated paternity situation, the way my body had transformed into something I barely recognized.
"Wait, back up." Leo nearly choked on his coffee. "Baby? You're having a baby?"
"A girl. Due in about four months."
"Jesus Christ." He shook his head in amazement, a grin spreading across his face. "My sister. A mom. Of an actual human."
"Terrifying, right? I can barely keep a houseplant alive, and now I'm supposed to be responsible for an actual child."
"Actually, no." Leo's expression softened into something tender. "You've been a mom since we were kids. You raised me when our parents couldn't. Changed my diapers, made my lunches, stayed up with me when I had nightmares. This is just... making it official. Getting the title you've already earned."
The words unlocked something I didn't know I was carrying—guilt about not being enough, about failing him despite everything I'd sacrificed, about choosing the brothers over our bond when he'd needed me most.
"I'm sorry," I said, and the tears came before I could stop them. "For everything. For leaving you at the farm, for choosing them, for not being there when you were going through recovery, for—"
"Stop." His grip tightened on my hand, grounding me. "You didn't do anything wrong. You fell in love. You built a life. That's what you were supposed to do—what I wanted you to do, even if I was too fucked up to say it at the time." He squeezed harder. "I had to figure out my own path, and that meant letting you go. Letting you stop saving me so you could finally save yourself."
"When did you get so wise?" I laughed through my tears, grabbing a napkin to dab at my face.
"Therapy. Lots and lots of therapy." His grin was self-deprecating but genuine. "Turns out talking about your feelings is actually useful. Who knew?"
"I told you about Liam," I said, trying to pull myself together. "About Asher and Finn leaving. Everything's changed so fast. I feel like I'm standing in the middle of a life I don't recognize anymore."
"Change isn't always bad." Leo leaned back in his chair, studying me with clear eyes. "Sometimes things have to fall apart so they can come back together in a better shape. That's what my sponsor says, anyway. I thought it was bullshit at first, but turns out she was right."
"And now?" I asked, almost afraid to hope. "Where does this leave us?"
Leo's smile was the same one I remembered from childhood—before the addiction, before the chaos, before we'd both learned that loving people meant watching them destroy themselves.
"Now I'm back. And I want to be part of whatever comes next."