Jackie had always had this edge to her. Dirty blonde hair pulled up into a loose bun, strands falling around her face, and big hazel eyes that never missed much. She had full lips curved in an easy, don’t-fuck-with-me smile. When we first met, she had blue streaks at the ends of her hair and wore black combat boots with every outfit. She still had that vibe now—fewer sharp edges maybe, but still entirely herself.
And Elliott—well, he was a fucking silver fox. Eighteen years older than Jackie, with broad shoulders, a dimpled chin, and that salt-and-pepper hair that made him even more insanely attractive. He didn’t say much at first, but when he did, it was always quick and dead-on. Therapist’s instinct, probably.
Jackie once called him her emotional support Thor; with his frame, I couldn’t even argue. Built like a superhero, broad enough to make a doorway look small. Yet soft-spoken and kind, he was the opposite of what you’d expect.
Together, they made kind of an intimidating pair. But really, they were both the sweetest people in the entire world.
Jackie’s eyes locked with mine and immediately lit up, her whole face transforming with that familiar, radiant smile.
“Hana,” she breathed, already stepping toward me like she couldn’t get close fast enough.
I was smiling so hard it hurt as I rushed out onto the snowy porch. The cold bit at my cheeks, but I didn’t care—she was already wrapping me in a tight hug.
“God, it’s been too long,” she said into my ear. “I was starting to think you were just a hallucination.”
I laughed, hugging her even tighter. “I’m real. And warm. And you’re slightly frozen,” I teased.
She pulled back just enough to look at me, her hands still on my arms. “Still the most unfairly beautiful person in the world.”
I rolled my eyes. “Flatter me again and I’ll let you stay in the good room,” I said, my heart fluttering at how natural this felt, like no time had passed at all.
We both laughed, her hand brushing mine as we stepped into the house together. The snow melted in our hair, the warmth of the cabin suddenly nothing compared to the warmth blooming in my chest.
Elliott followed close behind, carrying both of their bags like it was nothing. “This place is gorgeous,” he said, scanning the space as he stepped inside.
“Isn’t it?” I agreed, closing the door behind them. “It makes you wonder who actually owns it. Like, are they royalty? Tech billionaires? Mafia? It has a sauna and a wine fridge bigger than my first apartment.”
Jack was already in the kitchen when we walked in, leaning casually against the counter with a glass of whiskey in hand. “You made good time,” he said, then nodded at Elliott. “Hey, mate.”
Elliott stepped forward and clasped his hand. “Good to see you.”
It was brief, but they made solid eye contact, and there was a quiet respect between them. They didn’t talk about what had happened back then. None of us really did. But I knew Jack trusted Elliott. Probably more than most people. And I knew part of that came from the fact that when it had mattered most—when everything with Michael came to a head—Elliott hadn’t hesitated. He helped us plan. He made it go away.
He looked at Jackie, offering a glass. “Drink?”
She paused for a beat, then she shook her head with a soft smile. “I’m good.” She looked up at Elliott. “But I don’t mind if you do, babe.”
He glanced at her, and there was another pause. He gave her a small nod before turning back to Jack. “I’ll take a whiskey, if you’ve got it.”
Jack was already moving. “Always.”
I knew Jackie had an ongoing, difficult relationship with alcohol. I hoped we weren’t being a bad influence, drinking around her and all.
I clasped Jackie’s arm with mine. “Want the tour?”
Her face lit up. “Obviously.”
3
Jackie
The cabin looked like something off a magazine cover—vaulted ceilings, warm wood beams, massive windows overlooking the snow-drenched trees. Everything smelled like cedar and something sweet, like someone had lit a fancy candle before we arrived.
Hana led me down the hallway like she owned the place, beaming. “This is your room,” she said, throwing open a door with a dramatic sweep of her arm. “King bed, forest view, a bathtub bigger than our SUVs parked in the front.”
I stepped inside and took the room in—soft gray bedding, rustic furniture, a huge window framing the trees like a painting. “This is insane. You really know how to pick them.”
“Jack does. He has a thing for snowy getaways that make you feel like you’ve lost all communication with the world,” she joked.
