Chapter 1
Nova
NovaJenningsisnotthe kind of girl who steals money and runs.
Not that I stole it. The loan is in my name, which means the wreckage would be, too. I just emptied our shared account before he could gamble my future away.
I’m also not the kind of girl who signs paperwork because her fiancé smiles and says, “Babe, this is for us.”
So… surprise.
Turns out my big new personality trait is “fleeing the scene,” because now the bus rattles down a two-lane road like it’s personally offended by winter, the heater blasting air that smells like burnt dust and someone’s old peppermint gum.
My knees are pressed together, my backpack wedged between my boots, and my purse sits on my lap like it contains a live grenade.
Which, honestly, feels accurate.
Outside, Montana rolls by in postcard perfection.
Fairytale mountains. Thick forests. Snow clinging to pine branches like powdered sugar. Smoke curling out of chimney pipes on scattered cabins. Everything looks clean and quiet and peaceful, like the universe is trying to convince me nothing terrible has ever happened to anyone here.
I keep my forehead close to the glass and pretend the cold can numb my thoughts.
It doesn’t.
My phone is face down on my thigh.
I do not flip it over.
I do not check the time, the signal, the messages, the missed calls. I do not give myself the chance to see his name and feel my stomach drop through the floor again.
The bus hits a bump and my purse shifts. Something inside it thumps against the lining.
The weight is wrong.
The kind of wrong you can feel in your bones.
My throat tightens.
I swallow, stare harder at the snowy trees, and tell myself I’m fine. I’m breathing. I’m upright. I’m moving forward.
Then my brain does that thing it does when you’re trying very hard not to think about something.
It thinks about it anyway.
The memory slides in so smooth it takes me a second to realize I’m not really looking at the trees anymore.
I’m looking at him. At Chase.
Earlier this week, I was at his place, sitting at his tiny kitchen table, fingers curled around a mug of tea I didn’t even want. He sat across from me, knee bouncing, jaw tight in that way that always made me think he was taking life seriously.
He held a folder from the bank like it was a golden ticket.
“We did it,” he said, eyes bright. “We’re finally doing it.”
My stomach fluttered the way it always did when he talked about our future.
We were engaged. We picked out a ring together. He called me his girl in front of people like he was proud. He talked about a house like it was inevitable. He kissed my temple and said, “Soon,” like he was promising me everything I’d ever wanted.
