And just like that, another memory surfaces—not sharp like the others, but soft.
Hazy.
I’m young, maybe twelve, and Clover is crying in the dark. I’m whispering through a door, telling her about a place in a book Aunt Vivi read to me. A place where people smile at strangers and no one locks little girls in closets.
“Someday,” I promise, “I’ll take you somewhere happy. Somewhere you don’t have to count.”
I blink, and the memory fades, but the ache remains. I made that promise to her, and somehow, against all odds, she found that place without me.
Her eyes are glued to the window, taking it all in as though it’s her first time here.
This is her home.
Does she feel the tension leaving her body?
Because I sure see it. I watch in silent awe as her shoulders drop away from her ears and her fingers draw lazy designs on my leg instead of tapping the metronome of her fears.
It all happens because we crossed the border into Happiness.
It’s a comfort I’ve never experienced, not even with my cousins, because there’s always been a lingering threat of the unknown for me.
Jesus. That’s been a shitty way to live.
Another fragment surfaces, unbidden.
The night everything ended.
I’m running through the compound in the dark, my heart pounding so hard the metallic taste of copper fills my mouth.
Miriam has Clover—I can see them disappearing through the gap in the fence.
Get her out. Keep her safe. Don’t let them follow.
That was the mantra in my head as I turned back to face Terra’s men who were chasing us.
I remember the first blow to my ribs.
I nearly double over, the phantom pain as fresh as the day it happened.
Does everyone remember their beating like this?
The next hit was to the back of my head, and I stumbled to the ground.
My head throbs in response.
I was fighting the darkness, holding on so Clover could get free. I took the hits, swinging out blindly as my vision blurred, trying to prolong this punishment because Clover needed more time.
She shifts next to me, and I blink this version of her back into focus. She’s safe and loved and home, and I’d do it all again, a thousand times over, because she escaped that night.
“There,” she points again. “The Chug is where we record our podcasts too.” I don’t bother telling her that the guys know all of this. They would have learned all they could from the profile Roman put together when he first arrived in Happiness. “And—” She sits up taller. “Oh, God. That’s Madi. Right there on the steps. Pull over, Roman. Please.”
I follow her finger, and sure enough, her pint-sized ballbuster of a friend is standing next to a ramp with a wagon full of what looks like an entire bakery.
“Seventeen pies,” Clover says faintly. “She actually made seventeen pies because she was worried about me.”
“I call dibs on apple,” Chase says.
“You’ll eat whatever you’re offered and be grateful,” I tell him, surprised by the bite in my tone. It sounded suspiciously like Aunt Vivi.
