He zips his bag. “Okay. See you soon.” He swings it over his shoulder, and we lock eyes. There’s an edge and a determination I didn’t expect. “I’m going to fix this, Alana.”
I know all the words in that sentence, but I don’t understand them. “What?”
He exhales. “Rephrase. Do you want me to fix this?” What?
“I fix things. That’s what I do.” I point at myself like he doesn’t know exactly who he’s talking to.
“I know,” he says, softer now. “But do you want me to fix this?”
“Like… help? Are you saying you need help? I’m very confused.”
He shakes his head and tries again. “I’m going to L.A. Would you like me to fix this for us?”
For us.
He is supposed to be breaking up with me. That’s what I would do if I were in his shoes. Right? I cross my arms and tilt my head like a dog trying to interpret a new sound.
“I don’t ask for help. The last time I did, it launched my boyfriend’s career, and a year later I was stuck picking up the pieces.”
“Jesus Christ. You haven’t asked for help since prom? I need to catch a plane and don’t have time to unpack that right now.” He steps closer and places his hands on my shoulders. “Alana, you don’t have to do everything alone.”
“History begs to differ.”
“I have a plan,” he says. What the hell is happening? This is a trap. I would push his hands away, but he steps closer and cups my cheeks instead.
“I kept a journal, even through my blackouts. I don't know why I would have ever said that to you, but I'm willing to bet the answer is in there, or my phone from that time. I'm going back to L.A. to go through my storage lockers to find it. To get an explanation for us.”
That is… an actual plan. Grand-gesture, rom-com nonsense. My stomach twists into a knitted blanket of knots. I’m not used to feeling confused but also cautiously optimistic.
“I’m going to find them, because you deserve an explanation. If I can’t give you anything else, I’m giving you this.” He kisses me before I can argue with his logic, and my traitorous mouth kisses him back. What he’s offering can’t fix the past, but it can give me a future with clarity. When the kiss breaks, he keeps me close, “I’m definitely catching feelings,” he whispers. “And I’m willing to dig through multiple storage units to find what we both need, even if you can’t return them after learning the truth.”
Despite every red flag and warning, I nod. He lights up like ten thousand fireworks, finally letting me go. He shifts his bag and opens the door. “Stay as long as you want, just lock the door behind you. I’ll text you when I land.”
Seconds later the front door closes, and I’m left in his apartment like I just belong there. As I replay the last ten minutes I catch a new detail. Did he say he’s buying two label makers and a mountain of totes to organize his storage units? Be still, my beating heart.
What the hell did I get myself into? And… am I happy about it?
CHAPTER 23
Grae
Day 6
I spent my early twenties out in L.A., and most of my stuff from that time is in storage. I have three units of my possessions and five filled with fucking pens. I’ve called in every intern and assistant I’ve ever had to do me this one last solid. I only have one goal here: solve the problem.
Six hours into searching the units, we finally found a box filled with journals. I remember this, Mom was cleaning out my room and sent it to me. My hope swells. I can get some answers, put Alana and me on the right path and start our lives together.
Sitting in the hallway of the storage units, I pull out each of the journals. They’re all different colors and sizes, cataloging different parts of my life. I wade through dreams, feelings, and what I once considered deep thoughts.
When I find a stack of black-and-white marble notebooks from elementary school, the rounded edges are all frayed. Under that is a red marble journal with a vampire drawn on the front cover. Middle school me was really into that shit. Once I hit high school, the journals become sturdier. Hardcover. Sometimes leather. The navy-blue one with water stains is from sophomore year. The green one with gold embossing marks the beginning of junior year.
Black.
Slowly I thumb through the pages. Mostly the spring of junior year. Summer stuff. But at the end, Kinsley. All Kinsley. Our first kiss in the park. Hooking up in my dad’s auto shop. It was still his at the time, but he lost it in the wake of the divorce and Dino took over.
Running down memory lane comes with Dad-sized speed bumps.
Focus.
