But the silence inside me is deafening.
No matter how fast I move, I can’t outpace the nagging sensation in my chest. The one whispering that going back to LA at the end of the week might be the wrong decision.
The longer I stay, the harder it becomes to tell myself I still belong out there. In a high-rise apartment. In front of a ring light. In a life that feels curated instead of lived.
If I don’t leave soon, I won’t just lose momentum, I’ll lose myself. The empire I built. The career I clawed into existence. My entire sense of autonomy.
Because this place? It’s a vortex.
Dad’s hospitalization. Mom’s fragile shell of a life. Jasper’s quiet resignation. Brooks’ steady, unshakable presence all tugging at me, piece by piece, until I’m not sure what would be left to take back.
And the scariest part? I’m starting to wonder if being pulled under would really be so bad.
I reach the final wooden deck with a loud thud as the attendant smiles and asks how the experience was. I mumble something like "It was fun," though the word tastes hollow in my mouth.
"Hey, you’re Elowen," she says as she begins unfastening my harness.
"Did we—uh—go to high school together?" I blurt, hoping this time I’m getting it right.
Brooks arrives just in time to witness my awkward spiral. Great.
"No," the woman laughs. "I think I’ve seen a few of your videos on Highlight."
"Oh." I exhale as I remove my helmet. "That tracks."
"I liked the one you did about the waterproof mascara," she continues as I step out of the harness. "You influenced me. I bought it. I’m even wearing it right now."
I smile. "It looks great on you."
"Thank you," she replies.
Brooks steps forward, letting the woman help him next. She takes her sweet time. I watch her beam up at him, tucking her hair behind her ear as she unhooks the loops on his harness. She definitely has a thing for him. Honestly, I wouldn't even be surprised if she hasn't seen his Lumberjack Hottie thirst traps on my social media.
But while she's trying to capture Brooks' attention, he's looking straight at me.
He scrunches his nose as he unbuckles his helmet, and his hair stands straight up. "You have helmet hair."
I glare at him. "So do you."
He reaches out and ruffles my hair, smirking. "There. Better." Then, he motions to the frown I can’t hide. "Why is your face doing that?"
"Why is your face doingthat?" I shoot back. He has a goofy look, like he's amused by whatever it is going on inside my head. "Oh my god," I gasp, pointing. "Is that sweat on your brow?"
His eyes widen in horror. "No. No!" He quickly wipes his face. "Where?!"
I laugh. A little too hard.
"You know how I feel about sweat," he grumbles. "Don’t tease me. It’s rude."
"There you go," the woman says as she steps back and gives Brooks a pretty smile. "Listen, I think you’re cute. Want to grab a drink sometime?"
He doesn’t miss a beat. He grabs me by the waist and pulls me against him. "I’m flattered, but I’ve got a girlfriend. We’re kind of on a date."
It’s a lie. My heartbeat doesn’t care.
"Oh," the woman says, clearly flustered. "Sorry. I should have figured that out."
Brooks kisses the side of my face, and I quickly wipe his slobber off my skin. "It’s okay." He smiles—genuinely smiles—at me like he’s won the lottery. And for a second, I wonder if he really believes that.
