God, we were happy.
I shake it off and keep walking.
Frankie gave me Cole’s new address. A house. With Noah. A real one. Somewhere safe. Somewhere theirs.
What would Cole say if he saw where I’m sleeping? Frankie’s garage backroom, packed with broken furniture and old tools. Things that once mattered but now gather dust. Like me.
Boo-fucking-hoo, I tell myself. I didn’t come back to wallow. I came back to finish what Baywood started.
I round the corner, and there it is; a tidy two-story with a porch and a swing.
Bought with the royalties ofOne Last Kiss. I’m glad he got something out of the mess I left. But he shouldn’t have had to write that heartbreak in the first place.
Two cars sit out front: the old Volvo I know is his, and the Audi RS5 gleaming beside it. Exactly the kind of car Caspian would drive. Fast, flashy, twin-turbo V6.
I sigh. Why not a clown car? Or a pimped tricycle? Something I could laugh at instead of hate.That Audi goes zero to sixty in just over three seconds.
Probably the same time it takes Caspian to finish anything else.
Jealous much? Hell yes.
I should be happy Cole found someone safe. Newsflash: I’m not.
I dig my nails into my palms, telling myself it doesn’t matter, even as the thought of Cole with someone else slices me open.
I hover at the curb. Turn. Walk halfway back. Stop. Turn again.
Like the goddamnTotal Eclipse of the Heart, minus the fog machine.
In the end, I just go back to Frankie’s and try to get some sleep.
Not like I would’ve known what to say to him anyway.
COLE
Morning comes whether you want it to or not. Or whether you slept or not. A new week of preschool summer activities, Noah’s endless energy and — I groan when I remember — a dinner at my parents. With guests.
Somehow I get through Noah’s morning routines: cereal, juice, sunscreen, sunhat that he immediately takes off. He chatters the whole time, bouncing with the kind of joy only four-year-olds and golden retrievers are capable of.
“…and the man gave me two scoops, Daddy, because he said I had ‘good manners,’ and Ann-Sabrina wore a cape and said we must bow tothe Fae kingdom, and I did because, Daddy, what if Ann-Sabrina really is the queen?”
“It was a smart move, buddy,” I murmur, helping him tug on his little Velcro sandals.
We make it out the door. Buckle the seatbelt.
I drive Noah to the park where Earl is already waiting, ready to take Noah’s class for their Monday Monster Bug Safari.
Regular preschool is on summer break, but the kids can take part in the madness that is Summer Activity Standard Premium Deluxe Package. (Yes, Earl named it.) The activities are organized by volunteers like Earl, Ann-Sabrina, Henry, and Juniper Thorne, our lovely librarian.
Earl is helping the kids form a line, wearing elbow shields and kneepads over his cargo shorts.
“Listen to the great Wilderness beckoning us!” he exclaims, gesturing toward the park as if it’s a dense rainforest instead of a moderate-sized area of freshly cut grass.
The kids totter after him, all wearing binoculars made of two empty paper rolls glued together.
I grab my water bottle and go wait by the picnic tables.
I’m pretending to scroll through my phone, but actually I’m tuned into the Xaden gossip channel, courtesy of six moms in pastel cardigans.
