“Every day,” she says, then shrugs. “But I’m proud of him. He’s a good man now.” Her voice softens like she’s flipping through specific memories. “If he says he’ll be there to help, he’ll be there. He’ll carry the heaviest stuff without making you feel weak about it. He’ll fix anything that breaks. He’ll make sure no one tries to take advantage of you.”
“He doesn’t have to do all that.”
“He wants to, trust me. He’s always loved being helpful. Besides, at least now you’ll know one person in Denver.”
We finish the gyros and drain the glasses, letting the comfortable quiet stretch. Snow starts to drift outside our window like little fairies in the streetlight.
I am excited for Denver, for this amazing new job and a new life, but the thought of leaving my entire world behind in Illinois has me wishing I wouldn’t have spent so much time growing up, wishing to be older.
It’s after midnight when the apartment finally quiets. The music’s off, the candle’s burned low, and Maddie’s breathing has evened into soft little snores on the air mattress we’re sharing in the middle of the living room.
All of Maddie’s furniture’s gone, our keys sit in an envelope by the door, and everything else that made this place ours is sealed away in a stack of boxes labeled with a Sharpie.
I roll onto my side, unable to sleep. I unlock my phone, maneuver to the photo album, and slide my thumb across my phone screen, flipping to another photo. It’s Maddie and me in matching ugly Christmas sweaters from a party five years ago. There’s another of the two of us holding take-out containers on the floor of our first apartment, and one that’s a group shot at the lake last summer, our hair wild from the wind and our smiles the kind that come easy when you think everything stays the same forever.
The snow outside has finally stopped. I tuck my phone under my pillow and stare at the ceiling, tracing the faint outlines of the shadows. Tomorrow we’ll wake up, load the car, and start driving west. A new job. A new city. A version of me I haven’t met yet.
I take one last deep breath of peppermint and cardboard and whisper into the quiet, “Here goes everything.”
CHAPTER 3
Cole
Inose my F-250 up to the curb in front of a brick mid-rise with a lobby that screams “overpriced rent.”
Then I see it. A little hatchback that looks like it’s one pothole away from giving up on life, packed so full the rear windshield could double as a diorama of Hailey’s entire existence. There are blankets wedged under a hanging plant and a colander pressed to the glass like it’s trying to breathe. A cat tower?
Does she even have a cat?
I huff a laugh. “Women pack like they’re fleeing the damn apocalypse.”
“COLE!” The lobby doors burst open and a red scarf comes flying at me attached to five-foot-nothing chaos. My little sister Maddie barrels in, cheeks pink, hair frizzing from the snow, and slams into my chest like she’s still eight and I’m still the hero who can reach the top cupboard.
I wrap her in my arms, hugging her tighter than necessary, but it’s been two years since I’ve seen the kids. “Hey, pest.”
She swats my arm. “You look… lumberjacky. Very on brand for Denver.”
“Occupational hazard.” I tip my chin toward the hatchback. “You two rob a HomeGoods?”
“Ha. That took incredible skill by the way, years of playing Tetris finally paid off. Come in.”
She drags me by the sleeve toward the glass doors, and that’s when Hailey steps out behind her.
It’s a stupid thing to notice first, but her mouth is the exact shape of a perfectly smashed heart. Her lips look soft, pink, parted on a small puff of air when the cold hits her. She tugs her beanie down over dark hair and offers me a shy smile.
“Hey, Cole.” Her voice is lower than I remember. A little raspy even. “Thanks for?—”
“Sure.” I nod once and she looks away fast like she got caught doing something.
Maddie claps, businesslike. “Okay, team, here’s the plan. The elevator’s being a diva, so we’re taking the stairs. Fourth floor. There’s a loading zone out front for the truck. Cole, can you please be the one to parallel park the U-Haul?”
“I’ll deal with it.” I look outside. “Where is it?”
“Umm.” She looks from me to Hailey. “We left it parked in the alley.”
“Jesus—okay, give me the keys.” She drops them into my palm as we walk back outside. “Why don’t you girls start with the car?” I pop the hatch on the hatchback. A lamp tries to decapitate me on the way out. “Which boxes first?”
Hailey fumbles for a list on her phone. “Oh, I organized everything it’s um—kitchen, then books, then?—”
