Dubs hitches Bri’s U-Haul to Mom’s van on the curb, my stepsister emerges from the front door with two suitcases. And my mother, bless her, observes everything from her seat on the porch like a queen surveying her kingdom.
And she’s waving. Not ahellowave as much as ahere I amsmoke signal you could spot a mile away.
I flash my teeth and speak out the side of my mouth. “Just smile and wave back.”
“I am mortified,” she says through a ventriloquist-doll grin that makes my own cheeks hurt.
She’s not wrong. We look a mess. I’m in my tuxedo, shirt barely buttoned, jacket wrinkled into oblivion, and she’s in her gala dress, last night’s makeup hanging on by a thread, rocking a wild head of all-night sex hair. Because I’m an idiot who didn’t think through the logistics of heading straight to the cabin after the fundraiser.
Mom and Bri keep their inside thoughts to themselves as we make our way across the yard. Can’t say the same for my best friend.
“Sooo…” Dubs drawls, pumping his brows. “How was your night?”
“Fly’s open, man.”
“Oh no, I’m not falling for that old trick ag?—”
“No, it’s actually open,” Bri interrupts, expression bored.
His wide eyes dart to his jeans. I give Bri a passing high-five. Without looking back, I add, “Made ya look.”
Closed up in Hannah’s room, we fix our faces, our hair, and change clothes. She sits on the edge of the mattress, watching me pack up my things. I collect a pile of shirts strewn over a chair in the corner. One by one, I fold and stuff them in my bag.
Near the bottom of the stack, I find my Army hoodie mixed in with everything else. She runs a hand over the fabric, tracing the letters. I can’t see her eyes, but she sniffs and my heart cracks down the middle when she whispers, “Please don’t take this one.”
She already has my heart so what does a damn sweatshirt matter? I want everything of mine to be hers anyway. I offer it to her and she puts it on, pulling the sleeves down over her hands. Hem stretched as far as it can go, she tucks her legs inside and wraps her arms around them, resting a cheek on her knee. The longer I look at her, the heavier my legs feel. I don’t think I can do this.
But I have to.
Thirty minutes later, Mom, Bri, and Dubs say their goodbyes in Hannah’s entryway. They thank her for the hospitality, reminisce fondly over her speech last night. After final hugs are exchanged, they head to the car to give us a few minutes alone.
The door shuts behind them, taking all the air with it.
“How long of a drive do you have?”
“We’re dropping Dubs at the airport in Denver to fly back to post, then down to Dallas to get Bri moved into her new apartment. And then,” I clear my throat, “Mom and I will drive the rest of the way. Probably spread it out over a few days to give her back a break.”
She nods at the ground, mask slipping as she paws at her cheeks.
I fold her into my arms. Love is the only thought in my mind, the only words on the tip of my tongue. But we’re already in quicksand—stuck and sinking deeper with no way out.
For the first time in my life, I don’t know how tofix it. It’s not a leaky faucet or an enemy target in the scope of my rifle. We’re two hearts intertwined, split across thousands of miles and a cruel world that won’t stop turning, not even for a second, to let us get our feet underneath us.
But I refuse to give up.
“You should go,” Hannah says, not meeting my eyes.
I cup her cheek and bring her gaze to mine. “Not until you understand something. We’re not over. I don’t know when or how, but I’m gonna find a way back here. To you.”
She just stares at me like I’m her entire world anddammit, a look like that isn’t supposed to hurt this much.
“I met a woman once who told me to not lose hope,” she says. “Six years later, a wise man told me hope is an anchor for the soul. He said when bad things happen, we can hold on to the hope of what’s to come because there’s joy for usnowif we can see beyond the stuff that hurts.”
I should smile at the memory of our conversation under the stars all those years ago. Only it doesn’t sound so good when I’m headed a thousand miles in the opposite direction of the only woman I’ve ever loved.
Moisture builds in the corner of my eyes. I clear them with my thumb and forefinger. “It’s hard to see the joy right now.”
“I know. But fate brought us together twice already. Maybe the third time’s the charm.”