We drive in silence for a few minutes before Stella turns to me with a wry grin. “So after everything we’ve been through, you’re ditching me for your hot doctor?”
“It’s not like that,” I mutter, cheeks heating. “At all.”
“Isn’t it, though?” She grins, making it clear she caught the blush, and I shoot her a look.
“I’mthinkingabout ditching yourcouchfor a room with a door.”
Stella doesn’t respond right away. Then she sighs, deep and slow. “You trust him?”
I think of the way Nash explains things without talking down to me, how he shows up even when he’s bone-tired, how he doesn’t try to control me but somehow makes me feel steadier just by being near. For all his gruffness, for every time I’ve doubted his intentions, he’s proven me wrong.
“Weirdly, yeah.”
“Then I trust your gut.” She flicks on the turn signal. “Even if your gut’s totally distracted by biceps.”
A laugh bursts out of me. “Shut up.”
Another few blocks pass in quiet before she murmurs, “That’s messed up about Trish though.”
“Right? Speaking of, I need to call her.” I open my messages and pull up Trish’s contact.
“You doin’ it now?” Stella asks, glancing my way with a mixture of concern and admiration.
I nod. “If not now, when?”
My thumb hovers. My stomach flips.
“You got this,” she says. “Channel your inner badass.”
I hit call.
It rings. Once. Twice.
“Yeah?” Trish answers, sharp and dismissive, like she doesn’t owe me at least one conversation after what she’s done and how’s she’s treated me.
“Yeah?” I snap back. “That’s all you’ve got?”
Stella mouthsget her.
I breathe. Center myself. “I saw your text about my stuff and look, you’ve got your own thing going, and I’m not there, and maybe that makes it easier to pretend I’m not an actual human being that you’ve already screwed over once. But you don’t get to just throw away my life. That’s super villain territory.”
Trish huffs and I continue before she has a chance to speak.
“I let a lot slide, Trish. I made excuses for you, backed you up, gave you grace when no one else would. I believed in you when people warned me not to. So now I’m asking you to return the favor. Don’t sell my stuff. I’ll send you money to ship what I can’t lose—my clothes, my journals, my gear. Box it up and send it to me. You owe me that much.”
Stella holds up a fist in silent victory while I worry about my bank account. How much does it cost to ship things across the country?
My voice softens. “I know there’s a part of you that cares, even if you’d rather pretend otherwise. That’s the part I’m talking to right now. Just… do the right thing.”
A beat of silence, then a grudging, “Fine.”
I hang up before she can change her mind, blowing a puff of air past my lips. I can’t believe I just did that.
Stella whoops, one hand slapping the steering wheel. “Hell yes! Now just channel that energy right into talking to your dad.”
“I don’t think that would go quite as well,” I whisper, grimacing at the thought.
Holiday Coffee & Cake smells like heaven. The pastry shelves are stacked with cinnamon rolls, iced sugar cookies, and honey-vanilla bloom bars as a seasonal spring offering. Simon Holiday stands behind the espresso machine wearing a cardigan with elbow patches, gray streaking the dark hair at his temples. When he sees me, he smiles, and let me tell you, it isthe bestsmile. It feels like homecoming and happiness.
