Her house.She’s inviting methere?
I swallow hard, trying to process it, trying to breathe normally. “Uh—”
She tilts her head, smiling again, softer this time. “Come on. You can follow me. It’s close.”
I don’t even get a chance to answer before she’s already heading for her green Subaru Outback. For a second, I stand there, watching her taillights flare red as she pulls out. Then I exhale sharply, like I’ve been holding my breath for seven goddamn years.
I walk back to the Audi, hands trembling. My gaze snaps down to where the coke is hidden, and I exhale slowly. I want to remember as much as I can tonight. I want to be as present as I can. So I start the car and follow her home, chasing the one person who ever made me feel alive.
The drive to her house feels like a dream. It’s crazy...I shouldn’t even be here. If it weren’t for my recent spiraling, Iwouldn’t even be in Seaside. My pulse won’t settle, my palms sweat against the wheel, and every red light feels like it’s mocking me for ever letting her go.
When she finally turns into a small neighborhood tucked behind the trees, I slow and follow her onto a gravel driveway. The cottage in front of me looks like something out of a movie—soft porch light, ivy crawling up the sides, flower boxes under the windows. It reminds me of a place someone builds when they’ve found peace. I am suddenly even more uncomfortable. She’s got it good, and here I am, threatening all of it.
Just because I miss her. Just because I have a desperate hope that somehow, she can help us get out. I park beside her and kill the engine.
She steps out of her car, brushing a hand over her braid. “This is me,” she says quietly, like she’s almost embarrassed by how beautiful it is.
“It’s...perfect,” I manage. And it is. Everything about it feelsher.
Before she can respond, she opens the front door, and a black German Shepherd bounds out, barking once before stopping short, ears perked.
“Nova,” she calls softly, smiling. “It’s okay, girl. He’s a friend.”
Nova eyes me warily, then trots closer, tail wagging. I kneel, letting her sniff my hand before she licks my scarred knuckles. I swallow, finding it more difficult than I should that she’s just created this beautiful little life. “She’s gorgeous,” I murmur.
Emma watches me with that familiar tenderness that used to make me tackle her to the bed. “She’s been my girl since college. Rescue.”
“Of course she is,” I say. “You always had a thing for saving strays.”
Her smile falters just slightly, but she turns and gestures for me to follow her inside.
The place smells like vanilla and old wood. There’s arteverywhere—canvases propped along walls, half-finished sketches on the dining table. Books stacked in messy piles. It’salive.And yet somehow calm.
I look around, jaw tight. “You did all this?”
She nods, hugging herself. “Mostlyme. Some help from friends. I...needed somewhere quiet after school. Living alone after being with Heather for a few years was a little rough at first, but I adjusted.”
“I’m proud of you,” I say before I can stop myself.
Her eyes widen slightly, then soften. “Thanks, Jude.”
I move toward one of the paintings—the lake, maybe the one where we used to sneak out at night. The brushstrokes are familiar, the way she captures reflection and movement.I remember how she paints.
“It’s wild,” I say quietly. “You always said art was therapy. Guess you were right.”
“It helps,” she murmurs. Then, after a pause, “Are you hungry? I could order pizza. I don’t feel like cooking.”
I blink, almost laugh.Pizza. Like we’re just two normal people just catching up. “Yeah. Pizza sounds good.”
She pulls her phone out and scrolls through options.
I watch her, feeling really...weird about being in her presence right now.
“You still hate mushrooms?” she asks with a tilt of her head.
“Despisethem entirely.”
“Some things never change,” she snorts softly, smiling again.
