Just Glad You're Home
By the time the train finally pulls into Ashgrove, the sky is beginning to lighten at the edges. Not sunrise yet, just that strange grey softness that comes before it.
My body feels stiff and heavy in a way that goes beyond tired. It’s a relief to stand.
The carriage has emptied to only a handful of passengers. Someone boards carrying a takeaway coffee, the little plastic wheels of their travel case clattering against the metal lip of the doorway as they wrestle it aboard. I step onto the quiet platform, the doors hissing shut behind me.
Dad’s ute waits near the edge of the station carpark beneath one of the flickering lamps. Relief hits so suddenly it almost hurts. He climbs out the second he spots me.
“There she is.”
I manage a small smile as I step toward him, feeling his eyes flick over me.
The wrinkled uniform.
The tired makeup.
The complete absence of luggage.
One dark eyebrow lifts slightly.
“You look wrecked.”
“Thanks.”
“Come on, let’s get you home.”
I smile despite myself as he reaches over to squeeze my shoulder once before opening the passenger door for me.
He turns the heater on full blast the second he starts the engine.
We drive in comfortable silence, leaving the quiet streets of Ashgrove behind.
Country roads stretch dark and empty ahead while the heater hums softly through the cab. I rest my forehead against the cool window and watch familiar paddocks slide past in faded blue-grey shapes.
We stop at the last traffic light on the road home when Dad glances across at me.
“New fashion statement?”
I blink before realising he means the tie still tight around my throat.
“Oh.” I tug uselessly at it again.
“C’mere.”
He reaches across easily, rough fingers working the knot loose in seconds.
“There.”
The relief is immediate and I exhale harder than I mean to.
Dad pretends not to notice.
Home smells like eucalyptus and woodsmoke and something sweet Mum must’ve baked yesterday. For the first time in what feels like forever, I can breathe.
I barely remember showering. Or changing clothes.
Just the overwhelming relief of climbing into my old bed while the house creaks softly around me.
When I wake again properly, sunlight spills warm across my bedroom carpet.
For a few disoriented seconds, I forget everything. Then it all rushes back at once.
Jo. Our fight.
Bennett. The look on his face when I told him to go to hell.
The train. Running before I could change my mind.
I roll over and squint at my phone on the charger beside the bed.
Still nothing.
Something sharp twists low in my stomach before I lock the screen again.
Outside, the rhythmic clang of tools carries faintly through the open window. Dad’s already moving around in the yard.
I stay in bed for another ten minutes staring at the ceiling before finally forcing myself up. I wander into the kitchen in one of my old jumpers and a pair of leggings.
“Hey Mum.” My voice comes out rough from sleep. “Sorry I called so late.”
Mum waves the apology away immediately.
“Oh sweetheart, I’m just glad you’re home.” She makes a face. “I tried to wait up to greet you properly, didn’t mean to fall back asleep.”
“You needed sleep, so did I.”
I stifle a yawn that tells us both that the few hours this morning wasn’t nearly enough.
Mum reaches automatically for the bread beside the toaster.
“A little something to eat?”
“You don’t have to—”
“Everly.”
The warning is gentle but familiar.
I give up immediately, sliding onto one of the stools instead while she fusses quietly around the kitchen.
“Honestly,” she says after a moment, slicing thin strips of butter with extra concentration, “a little extra pain is hardly going to stop me looking after my baby while she’s home.”
“I could’ve waited until next weekend.”
“Mm.” Mum glances over her shoulder briefly. “And missed the surprise bonus Everly time? Absolutely not.”
Dad appears a minute later in faded blue overalls, his work boots already dusty with dry grass.
“Look who decided to rejoin the land of the living,” he says, popping a quick kiss on Mum’s cheek, reaching past her in the cramped space for the kettle.
I just squint at him over heavily buttered toast.
He grins unapologetically.
“Fence came apart near the dam last week, give me a hand rolling wire?”
Honestly, the idea of doing something physical sounds infinitely better than sitting alone with my own thoughts.
“Sure.”
“Good girl.”
Outside, the air feels crisp and cool against my skin.
The property stretches quiet and familiar around us beneath pale morning sun as we climb the slope up the dusty path to the dam. Somewhere nearby a magpie chatters noisily from a gnarled pear tree in the old orchard.
Dad works mostly without talking while I help hold wire in place beside him. I’m grateful for it.
There’s comfort in the simplicity of the task.
Pull.
Hold.
Tie off.
Done.
At one point, Dad mutters under his breath as the wire suddenly snaps back out of his grip again.
“For fuck’s sake.”
I instinctively step back well out of swinging range.
Dad looks over sharply.
“Did you just flinch?”
“Experience,” I say honestly, trying to hold back a smile.
His offended expression makes me snort unexpectedly.
“I am not that bad.”
“You threw the last fence stretcher into the dam.”
“That was one time.”
As I move back in beside him, I realise the tightness in my chest has eased, if only a little.
By the time we wind up the last length of wire, the sun sits higher in the sky. Dad gathers the leftover wire and tools, heading for the shed, while I drift toward the small goat paddock beside it.
Tabitha lifts her head immediately the second she sees me approaching. Tall grass brushes softly against my borrowed gumboots as I step through the gate.
“There’s my girl,” I murmur automatically.
She ambles over without hesitation, pressing her head firmly against my hip while I scratch absentmindedly behind her ears.
Dad leans against the fence nearby watching us.
“She’s been carrying on at the neighbour’s goat for weeks,” he says casually. “Little tart.”
A laugh huffs softly out of me.
“He escaped through the back fence the other week,” Dad continues. “But I reckon I caught him before anything happened.”
I rest my hand lightly against Tabitha’s side. Warmth hums faintly beneath my palm. And something else, not movement exactly, just—
Knowing.
“Oh,” I say quietly.
Dad glances over.
“What?”
I look up at him.
“I bet you didn’t catch him in time.”
His eyebrows shoot upward.
“No way.”
He looks suspiciously at the goat.
Tabitha blinks back at him without shame.
“Traitor,” he mutters.
Later that evening, after dinner dishes have been cleared and Mum’s settled carefully into one of the dining chairs with her heat pack tucked against her side, Dad disappears down the hall before returning with the old poker tin balanced beneath one arm.
He rattles it meaningfully at me.
“You in?”
Normally, I’d say yes automatically. Dad taught me to play years ago during drought seasons and storm outages and long quiet weekends when there wasn’t much else to do.
Apparently I inherited his poker face and Mum’s deeply unsettling ability to somehow know when everyone else is bluffing.
Unfortunately tonight my brain feels like wet cement.
“I think I’m too tired to think that hard.”
“Coward,” Dad says.
“Your daughter’s running on next to no sleep. Be nice,” Mum murmurs from the table.
Then, flexing one hand carefully: “Also my joints are already complaining at the thought of holding cards all night while you two quietly destroy each other.”
“Fair point.”
Dad considers for a second before disappearing again and returning with another box instead.
“Rummikub?”
“That I can do.”
Mum nods approvingly.
“Excellent. Something lower stakes.”
The familiar rhythm of the game settles around us slowly. Tiles clack softly against the table.
Dad plays the same slow, methodical way he does everything else. Long silences while he studies the board like he’s mentally calculating every possible combination in existence.
If he suddenly starts dismantling half the runs already on the table, you know it’s over.
Mum’s the complete opposite. She plays like chaos theory. Tiles everywhere. Half-finished runs. Complete nonsense that somehow keeps becoming functional at the very last second.
Watching her turns is genuinely stressful.
On my turn, I study the tiles on my rack until the pattern finally clicks. One tile refuses to cooperate. I could do what Mum does and start rearranging half the board, but one quick scan tells me I’d probably make things worse. I draw instead.
Dad watches Mum reorganise half the table with growing alarm.
“You make the board look like a crime scene.”
“And yet,” Mum replies serenely, placing her final tile down, “I still win.”
Dad stares at the board like he’s been personally betrayed.
I catch myself laughing before the sound even fully registers.
It feels strange after the last twenty-four hours.
Outside, night settles softly over the property while the kitchen glows warm around us.
For a little while, everything else stays quiet.
No Jo.
No Bennett.
No replaying conversations until my chest hurts.
Just Mum humming absently while reorganising her tiles.
Dad trying to bluff everyone into believing he’s just about out.
Home.
Later, after the game’s been packed away and Dad’s wandered off to shower, I curl beneath the blankets in my old bed listening to the familiar creaks of the house settling around me.
A soft knock sounds against the doorframe.
Mum stands there in her dressing gown holding two mugs of tea.
I shift upright enough for her to sit beside me against the headboard, careful with her joints as she settles one of the mugs into my hands.
Peppermint. My favourite.
For a few minutes, neither of us says much.
The lamp beside my bed casts everything gold and soft while crickets hum faintly beyond the open window.
Mum waits me out patiently.
I stare down into my tea for a long moment before speaking.
“Jo and I... we had a fight.”
Author Note:
Hello, welcome to Book 2! 💚
Whether you’ve been with Everly since the beginning or you’ve just stumbled across her story, I’m so glad you’re here.
If this is your first visit to the Cross My Heart series, I’d definitely recommend starting with Book 1, At the Crossroads. While I’ll do my best to make this story enjoyable on its own, Book 2 builds on the relationships, mysteries, and emotional journey that began there.
New chapters will be posted weekly, and I can’t wait to share the next part of Everly’s journey with you.
As always, thank you so much for reading. Every comment, reaction, and favourite means more than you know. I hope you enjoy returning to Silvern. E xxx
