Big Queen Energy

Chapter 1

Teresa

Ben’s text pops up just as I’m settling into the couch with a glass of wine and a half-eaten bowl of popcorn. The screen lights up, and I tap it with the side of my thumb.

Heading out tomorrow for the Andes. His text is casual, like he’s just going for a stroll through the park and not halfway across the world. I’ll send pics when I can.

I stare at the message, already feeling that familiar knot of anxiety tightening in my chest. My brother might be a free spirit—always moving, always chasing the next adventure—but me? I’m the one glued to the ground, holding my breath every time he takes off into the unknown.

You better be careful, I type back quickly, then delete it. I hate sounding like a nag, even though I can’t help it sometimes. After a few seconds of internal debate, I type again:

Promise you’ll check in?

The little dots appear on the screen, then stop. A full thirty seconds pass before they pop up again.

Promise.

Short. Simple. Classic Ben. I exhale slowly, holding the phone tightly, and sip my wine as if that’ll stop the buzzing in my head.

“Seriously,” I mutter to no one. “Couldn’t you just go to a normal place like...I don’t know, Miami?”

The phone vibrates again. This time it’s a photo—a breathtaking shot of snow-capped mountains meeting a sky so blue it looks fake. A caption follows: See you in a few weeks!

A few weeks.

That’s the thing with Ben—he’s always bouncing from one far-flung place to another. But no matter how many times he does it, that knot never fully loosens. My fingers hover over the screen, debating whether to call him just to hear his voice one more time. Instead, I toss the phone onto the coffee table and try to convince myself that he’ll be fine. He always is.

But it’s not Ben I keep thinking about as I sink deeper into the couch. It’s Max.

I don’t even know why—maybe because wherever Ben is, Max isn’t far behind in my thoughts.

Max Peterson. Rugged, confident, annoyingly handsome Max. My brother’s best friend since middle school. The same guy who spent most of my childhood teasing me mercilessly and yet somehow always showing up when I needed him most.

He’s been around for everything—Christmas mornings, family barbecues, random Tuesday dinners when he’d crash on our couch like he belonged there.

I press my lips together and shake my head, ignoring the way my stomach flips at the thought of him.

I should have outgrown this by now.

It’s stupid, really. We’ve always had this push-and-pull—banter that teeters right on the edge of something else. But it’s never crossed that line. He’s always been untouchable, this frustratingly perfect combination of protector and troublemaker. And yet, no matter how much I try to ignore it, he’s the one person I always want to call when things feel shaky.

Like now.

Without thinking, I grab my phone and scroll through my contacts until his name appears. My thumb hovers over the call button, hesitating. This is dumb. I shouldn’t need Max to reassure me that my grown-ass brother will survive his latest adventure.

But I hit call anyway.

It rings once, then twice, before his voice comes through the line, rough and familiar. “Hey, T.”

His voice is like a warm blanket, low and calm. I sink back into the cushions, the knot in my chest loosening just a little.

“Hey,” I say, trying to sound casual. “Got a minute?”

“For you? I have two.”

I can practically hear the grin in his voice. It’s the kind of thing he says easily, but it hits differently tonight. Maybe it’s the wine or the fact that I’ve spent too much time alone lately, but I feel that flutter in my chest again.

I shake it off. “Ben’s heading to the Andes.”

A pause. “The Andes?”

“Yup. Backpacking through the mountains.”

Max lets out a low whistle. “That’s ambitious, even for him.”

“Right? He sent me a picture of the mountains, and they look insane. But he promised to check in, so...”

“Ben’s always been good about keeping his word.” His voice softens, the teasing edge giving way to something more serious. “You know he’ll be fine, right?”

I nod, even though he can’t see me. “Yeah, I know. It’s just... I hate waiting for that first check-in. Until then, I feel like I can’t breathe.”

He’s quiet for a second, and when he speaks again, there’s a gentleness in his tone that makes my chest tighten all over again. “You’re allowed to worry, T. But he’s a survivor. He’s got this.”

It’s nothing I haven’t told myself a hundred times, but somehow, hearing it from Max makes it feel real. Solid.

“Thanks,” I whisper.

“Anytime.”