Page 1 of I’ll Find You

Prologue

Rose

The first time I understood what love could do to a person, I watched it destroy my mother. I remember very little of her, only faint pieces of memory that surface from time to time. The images come without warning and disappear just as fast, leaving me unsure whether they truly belong to the past or if my mind created them to soften the absence she left behind.

Then there are others I can’t question. They return with a clarity that leaves no room for doubt. My mother, afraid in a way that seemed to consume her from within, worn down until there was almost nothing left but the instinct to endure, until even that gave way to pleading for an end she was never granted.

When my father’s attention turned to me, something in her changed. What remained of her gathered itself in a final act of defiance, not out of hope that anything would change, but out of a desperate need to keep me from becoming what she already was. She fought until her body could no longer sustain her, until there was nothing left for him to take, until every last resistance gave way.

I watched devotion become possession. I watched hope rot into despair. That was when I understood a truth most people spend their lives avoiding.

Love doesn’t make you stronger. When it was over, I made myself a promise. I would never love someone enough to let them destroy me.

Chapter

One

Alexander

Twenty Years Old

The doorbell rings. My mother’s voice carries from downstairs. “Alexander, can you get that, please?”

I freeze mid-thrust. Lizah is pinned between me and the wall. Her breath catches as I pull away before either of us can finish. She lets out a frustrated sigh, and if I’m being honest, I’m just as irritated. She unwraps her legs from around my waist and drops to the floor a little harder than intended, stumbling before catching her balance as I remove the condom and adjust myself.

“Shit.” The word comes out more of a growl than a curse born purely of frustration. I know my mother heard it because the woman hears everything. Nothing gets past her.

The room smells of sweat and sex, the air thick with it. Lizah’s clothes are scattered across the floor, discarded in our rush to use each other for a quick fuck. I gather them up one by one—a pair of lace panties, a matching bra, something denim. I hand them to her, and my fingers brush against hers. I pull back immediately. The contact lingers longer than it should, and it’s too close to something that I have no interest in pursuing. The act feels too intimate, much like kissing, something I also don’t do. She glares at me from the floor, making no move to get dressed. Whether it’s out of defiance or expectation, I don't care enough to figure it out.

I rake a hand through my hair before grabbing my shirt from where it lies crumpled beneath the window. The fabric clings stubbornly to my damp skin as I pull it over my head. Crossing the room, I crack the window open, letting the stale air escape. The lingering scent of sex doesn’t belong in my room anymore than Lizah does.

“Get dressed.” My voice comes out rougher than I intend, edged with irritation, as I watch her continue sitting, clutching her garments. “I need to help my mom.” I hold out a hand to help her up, but she ignores it. My jaw tightens. I withdraw it, pinching the bridge of my nose as a dull pressure begins to build behind my eyes. “This is why I don’t do relationships.”

Her expression hardens, but she stands anyway, pulling on her clothes with perfunctory movements that reflect her resistance to comply with my demands. There’s nothing left in the room but the silence that hangs between us once she’s dressed. Only the dull reminder remains, as she glares up at me like this was supposed to mean something. It doesn’t.

People have a habit of mistaking proximity for connection, or sex for intimacy. I never have. I told Lizah exactly what this was before it started. No feelings. No expectations. Nothing beyond convenience. Sex scratches an itch. That's all it's ever been. Love has always seemed like an unnecessary complication, something that makes otherwise intelligent people forget themselves. Frankly, I've never understood the appeal.

“Don’t act like you won’t be back with your boyfriend next week.” My tongue presses against the inside of my cheek as the corner of my mouth lifts. If it gets her out of my house faster, it's worth the jab.

She scoffs, but it does the job. “Dick,” she mutters at my retreating back.

“Truth,” I throw back without looking at her. A low chuckle slips out despite myself. She knows I’m right. I pull the bedroom door shut behind me a little harder than intended and head downstairs. When my mother asks me something, I don’t make her wait. I’ve already kept her waiting longer than I should have because of Lizah.

It isn't fear of my father's wrath that has me moving so quickly. I'd do anything for my mother. My combat boots thud against the hardwood as I descend the stairs. She’s waiting at the bottom, one hand resting on her hip, a look on her face that says “Really?” I flash her the guilty grin she can never stay mad at, the dimple she loves so much making an appearance.

“I don’t want to know,” she says, and I laugh as I reach for the doorknob, because she really doesn’t. The moment I pull the door open, the laughter dies in my throat. Everything inside me stills. My breath catches as my eyes find the woman standing on the other side of the storm door. My body locks in place, my mouth parting slightly as though I've forgotten how words are meant to form. A strange awareness settles over me, sending a shiver through me that seems to awaken something buried deep beneath the surface. Behind me, I hear my mom push back her chair. It scrapes across the floor, followed by the sharp clatter of something dropping, but the sounds barely register. I don’t turn. I can’t look away.

She appears to be somewhere in her mid-twenties, and she's staring at me with the same silent confusion I know is reflected in my own expression. There's recognition in the way she holds my gaze, something that feels impossible because I've never seen her before. It isn't simply that she's beautiful. It's the unsettling certainty that some forgotten part of me already knows her, reaching toward her long before my mind can make sense of why.

When she notices my mother beside me, her gaze drops, and she offers a small, nervous smile. My hand twitches at my side with the sudden, inexplicable urge to reach for her—to reassure her, though I have no idea why. She looks back at me, and whatever passed between us before returns with startling force. Something unfurls beneath my ribs, slow and relentless, unraveling a part of me that has always remained tightly bound. My body responds before my mind can catch up, every instinct drawing me toward her as though she'd always been meant to stand before me.

Brown hair falls loosely around her face, softening the delicate lines of her features, but it's her eyes that hold me captive. Wide and warm, they seem to carry more life than I've ever seen reflected in another person, and for one impossible moment, I find myself wondering what it would take to be the reason they shine that way. The thought is so foreign it's unnerving. I drag my gaze from hers with a slight frown, trying to convince myself I've imagined whatever this is, yet unable to shake the feeling that something inside me has recognized her long before my mind ever could.

“You may not remember me,” she says carefully, her attention turning toward my mother. “I’m⁠—”

“Rose,” my mother cuts in, recognition lighting her face. “My God, Rose. Look at you, honey.” She steps past me, and I move aside without thinking as she opens the storm door and pulls Rose into a hug. “Come in, please. Vic is here. Let me get him.” Then she disappears up the stairs, leaving the two of us alone.

For a long moment, neither of us speaks. Something unspoken passes between us as our eyes remain locked. My breathing slows, then catches again when her gaze wanders over me, studying me with open curiosity. My hand twitches at my side as I fight the urge to close the distance between us, to stand close enough that I could convince myself this strange pull isn't all in my head.