I must make a sound because Lily’s head snaps toward me.
“Lucky?” she asks, voice sharp now. “What’s wrong?”
But I’m already gone—mentally spiraling, air thinning, that old cage snapping closed around my ribs.
Jett wants me back.
And whatever peace I’ve found here—however small, however fragile—
It’s suddenly at risk of disappearing.
Because in the last weeks, the life I’ve built here….I know it's just temporary.
Chapter 17
Ethan
LilyistrottingacrossLucky’s lawn with the kind of enthusiasm only twelve-year-olds and golden retrievers possess. She insisted she was “collecting” Lucky so we could all go together.
“Lucky!” she calls.
I stay where I am.
From the truck, I have a straight view of Lucky’s porch—something I’m not sure I should take advantage of. Feels intrusive. Feels… personal.
I lean forward slightly, resting my forearms on the steering wheel as I watch her climb the porch steps and knock. She’s practically vibrating with excitement—half about dinner, half about showing off her favorite human to her grandparents. My daughter gets attached fast, but with Lucky? It’s different. Deeper. That part… I haven’t quite figured out yet.
But when the door opens, something in my chest pulls tight anyway.
For a full beat, my brain blanks.
She’s wearing a dress.
Not one of her oversized hoodies, or jumpers, not the enormous sweaters she uses like armor. An actual dress—simple, soft-looking, hitting mid-thigh—and a black leather jacket thrown over it like sherefused to be too dressed up. Her hair is loose tonight, messy in that intentional way she pulls off without trying.
And when she steps out onto the porch, I catch a glimpse of the tattoo on her leg—the same black-ink floral vine I only saw for half a second on her second day in Cedar Lake, right before she got rid of her neon pink hair. A curling line of leaves and flowers winding around her ankle and climbing higher, disappearing under the fabric now. It draws the eye upward before I can stop myself. I look away quickly, pulse flicking in my throat, but the image stays with me—quiet, beautiful, and somehow more intimate than anything she’s actually said to me.
But the thing that hits me hardest:
She’s wearing glasses. Big, round frames. Cute as hell. And I’ve lived next door for weeks and have never seen them before.
Was she hiding them? Or just… hiding parts of herself?
Lily squeals something and throws her arms around Lucky’s waist. Lucky laughs—really laughs—and it hits my chest in a way I’m not prepared for.
Then Lily steps back, still chattering, and Lucky looks up. Her gaze finds my truck instantly, like she knew I’d be watching. She lifts a hand in a small wave, sheepish, almost shy.
I wave back before I can stop myself.
And then she smiles.
Not the guarded, half-ironic smirk she gives most people.
A real one. Warm and a little nervous.
Something sharp twists in my chest.
She says something to Lily and grabs a small bag from just inside the doorway. As she steps out, she tugs the leather jacket a little more firmly around her arms. For a second, I wonder—is she covering something? Bruises? Scars? Or just old habits she can’t shake?
