Liam grabs my suitcase without a word, then his, motioning for me to follow.
“You go ahead,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper.
He pauses, brows knitting together. “Feeling sick again?”
I shake my head. No lies this time. No shields.
“No. I have another flight to catch.”
He lets out a short, disbelieving laugh, like he’s sure he misheard me. “A flight. To where?”
I meet his eyes, forcing myself to stay steady.
“I need some time. To figure everything out.”
A muscle ticks in his jaw. He crosses his arms over his chest, nodding once. “I see.”
“I did give you my notice, Liam,” I say softly.
We stare at each other, a thousand words clawing for space between us, none of them making it past our lips.
And then I do the only thing I can. I turn and walk away. Each step feels heavier than the last, but I don’t stop. I don’t look back.
And Liam Stone?
He doesn’t try to stop me, either.
Not once.
20
In Wichita, my parents are waiting just outside security, their familiar faces a balm I didn’t realize I was desperate for. The second my mother pulls me into her arms, the dam inside me breaks. Loud, ugly, gasping sobs tear out of me before I can even think about stopping them.
“Hey, now,” Mom murmurs, kissing the top of my head like she used to when I was little. “It can't be that bad.”
I cling to her tighter, the scent of her perfume wrapping around me like a memory, and somehow manage to choke out, “I've just missed you both so much.” I pull back enough to give them a shaky, watery smile, wiping at my face with trembling fingers. “I was telling someone about Opal, and I guess it just made me really homesick.”
Dad’s face softens, his eyes crinkling with that same patient kindness he’s always shown me.
“Want to visit her?” he asks gently.
I shake my head, fresh tears stinging my eyes. “Not yet. I just want to go home and rest.”
Mom wraps her arm around my shoulders, squeezing me tight against her side.
“We can do that,” she says. “Let's get you home.”
And for the first time in days, I let myself breathe. Because even if everything else is falling apart, this is still real. Still mine. Still home.
I wake up in the soft quiet of my childhood bedroom. The same one I shared with Opal. The morning light slants through the curtains in golden stripes, painting everything in a warm, familiar glow. The room is frozen in time. Mom, bless her, never took down the posters we tacked to the walls, or the photo boards covered in snapshots of sunburned summers, high school dances, and the messy, beautiful chaos of two girls growing up side by side.
I sit up slowly, letting my eyes roam across every little piece of the past. It hurts in that sweet, aching way nostalgia always does. Tears rise fast and hot, stinging as they slip down my cheeks.
“Opal,” I whisper into the stillness. “What would you do?”
But I already know.
Opal, fearless and loud and never one to shrink from a fight, would have stormed back to Broken Heart Creek. She would’ve shoved Liam up against the emotional wall he’s been hiding behind, laid it all out with brutal clarity. Given him a choice. And if he chose wrong, she would’ve walked away without flinching, chin high and fire in her eyes.
