Walking out of the coffee shop, I realize I don’t just feel like I’m surviving. I feel like I’m beginning to grow again, like roots pressing deeper into the soil, reaching for stability, leaves stretching toward the light.
I can’t wait to see what blooms.
Chapter Forty-Two
Jack-o’-lanterns leer from front porches as I drive through Claremont Shores, their flickering grins cutting through the still darkness. Fallen amber leaves cling to the wet pavement, swirling into storm drains with the rainwater. Tomorrow is Halloween, but tonight belongs to Mason.
The guilt still lingers, sharp in my chest. I hated lying to him, but it was the only way to keep the surprise intact. I told him I was too busy with midterm exams to visit him for his birthday. What he doesn’t know is that I rented out the Old Harbor Tavern for the night—a full-blown spooky, horror-themed party, just for him. After the horrible month he’s had, he deserves this.
When I walk into the bar, I’m greeted with the familiar sight of dusty neon signs and sports equipment hung on the walls as decorations. The place is empty except for the bartender, Luke. He greets me with a tight smile, towel slung over his shoulder.
“Hey,” he calls out, waving me over. “You must be Mason’s… uh—sorry, I don’t know the right term.” He chuckles, like it’s supposed to land as a joke. It doesn’t.
My tongue feels heavy, but I keep my voice even. “The word you’re looking for isboyfriend. My name’s Hunter.”
“Oh, right,” he says with a stiff nod. “We talked on the phone when you made the reservation.”
I force a polite smile, though the sight of him grates. Luke and Mason were friends in high school, so I try to be civil for Mason’s sake, but it’s not easy. A few months ago, he gave Mason one of thosefake olive branches—said he’d “accepted” that Mason was gay, then launched into the wholelove the sinner, hate the sinspiel. He’s the kind of guy who insists he’s fine with queer people, as long as we don’t “shove it in his face.” Which really means he doesn’t think we deserve to exist as openly as straight couples do.
Mason claims they’re not really friends anymore, but that it’s easier to try to get along than to argue. So I bite my tongue.
Luke clears his throat, folding the towel in his hands. “So, uh… is Mason doing okay? After… y’know, his mom passing.” A frown tugs on his lips. “I wanted to be there for the funeral, but work was crazy. I felt bad about missing it.”
I study his face for a beat, but I can’t tell if the guilt is real or just another performance. “He’s doing… okay,” I say carefully. “All things considered. It wasn’t easy, but Anna’s death wasn’t a shock. He had time to prepare.”
He nods, lips pressed tight. “Well, that’s good to hear.”
The silence stretches, and I’m not in the mood to keep dragging it along. I reach for the tote bag I set on the barstool. “I should get started with the decorations,” I say, tugging out a folded banner and a bundle of streamers. “Mason deserves the full haunted-house treatment.”
Luke gives a half-smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Right. Let me know if you need anything.” He drifts back behind the counter, already pretending to polish glasses.
I balance on a chair with a roll of tape in hand, pinning a birthday banner above the bar. It’s personalized—Happy Birthday, Mason!stretched across thin plastic, the letters dripping red like fresh blood. I spend far too long nudging the corners, making sure it hangs straight. Mason wouldn’t care if it was crooked, but it would drive me crazy.
The front door swings open, ushering in a gust of cold autumn air. Relief rushes through me when I spot Landon and Kara stepping inside, arms full—bags of snacks dangling from one hand, a bouquet of skeleton-shaped balloons bobbing from the other.
“Sorry we’re late,” Kara calls, her grin bright. “Landon insisted on the balloons.”
Landon scoffs defensively. “What? You can never have too many decorations.”
“They’re perfect,” I say quickly, climbing down from the chair. “Seriously, thank you both for coming.”
Kara pulls me in her arms. Her auburn hair smells faintly of cherry blossoms, light and sweet.
Then Landon engulfs me in a hug so tight it nearly knocks the breath from my lungs. I smile into his shoulder, his familiar warmth thawing a frost in me that’s been there for too long.
Ever since we made amends in that coffee shop, we’ve talked or texted nearly every day. Having my twin back in my life feels like regenerating a lost limb. After years of tension, slipping back into our easy banter has felt surprisingly natural, like we never lost it.
Together, the three of us spread out across the bar, draping cobwebs over the jukebox, taping bat cutouts to the walls, and arranging candles on the tables. Piece by piece, the Old Harbor Tavern transforms from dingy dive bar to haunted lair.
“The cake has arrived!” a voice bellows, high-pitched and theatrical.
I turn toward the door just in time to see Maddie march in, a white cardboard box clutched tightly to her chest like precious cargo. Stephen trails behind her, shaking his head in amusement.
“Hey, guys,” I greet, nodding toward a table. “You can set the cake over there.”
Maddie sets the box on the counter and lifts the lid, revealing a round cake decorated with an icing portrait of Jason’s hockey mask fromFriday the 13th—Mason’s favorite horror villain. It’s disturbingly realistic and undeniably creepy, but I know Mason will love it.
A few minutes later, Derek, Oliver, and my parents slip through the door. Derek’s carrying a tray of his famous deviled eggs, the yolk filling dyed a garish blood red. They’d all carpooled from Detroit,and the fact that they made the drive just for Mason fills me with a warmth I can’t quite name.
