Damon.

Choosing someone and figuring out what that choice means for the life you’ve already built are two very different things.

Atlanta is still waiting.

So is Zaire’s apartment, his career, his clients, and the independence he worked so hard to create.

For the first time since coming home, Zaire isn’t asking himself when it’s time to leave.

He’s beginning to wonder what it might look like to stay.

Of course, Damon and Zaire might have figured themselves out...

Their friends have absolutely no intention of letting them enjoy that revelation in peace. 😂

Welcome back to Open Season. ❤️

Chapter 42

Everybody Knows

Zaire

Cannon has been sitting on Damon’s couch for twelve minutes.

I know because I’ve checked the clock four times.

He hasn’t said anything useful in at least ten of them.

He’s been mostly just smiling; not a normal smile.

It’s the kind of smile somebody wears when they know something you wish they didn’t. The kind of smug, all-knowing grin that makes you want to wipe it right off their face with a well-aimed pillow.

I finally point at him. “You need to stop.”

Cannon looks up, the picture of feigned innocence. “Stop what?”

“That.” I gesture vaguely at his face. “Looking at us like that.”

“I’m just sitting here.”

“You’re enjoying this.”

“You bet your ass I am.” He grins bigger.

Damon comes back from the kitchen, his footsteps soft on the hardwood floor. He’s carrying three bottles of water, the condensation already beading on the plastic.

“I still don’t understand why you let him in,” Damon says, nodding at Cannon.

Cannon takes a bottle from him. “Because he loves me.”

“No, because you would’ve stood outside banging on the door until one of the neighbors called the police.”

“Also true.”

I lean back against the couch cushions, sinking into them.

I’m still wearing Damon’s shirt.

The soft, worn cotton smells like him. I could’ve changed, probably should’ve, but at this point, doing it would only give Cannon something else to talk about, another piece of ammunition for his smug little arsenal.

His eyes drop toward the shirt again.

“Don’t,” I say, not meeting his eyes.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Your face did.”

Damon drops onto the couch beside me.

Close.

His thigh presses against mine, a line of solid warmth that sends a jolt through me. It’s such a small thing, but everything feels different now.

Last night, we crossed the line we’d spent years circling, a line made of fear and history and unspoken what-ifs. This morning, I woke up in his arms, the morning light filtering through the blinds and turning his hair to gold.

Somehow… That felt even bigger.

There was no regret, panic, or desperate need to figure out what came next; I just opened my eyes, and there he was. Exactly where I wanted him.

Cannon looks between us, his eyes bouncing back and forth like he’s watching a tennis match. The teasing finally disappears, replaced by something softer, more genuine.

“So...”

Damon groans. “Here we go.”

“No, seriously.” Cannon looks at me, his expression earnest. “Y’all good?”

There it is again; the real question underneath everything else.

I glance at Damon, and his eyes meet mine, a silent conversation passing between us in a heartbeat.

“Yeah.” I smile, a real, honest-to-God smile that reaches my eyes. “We’re good.”

Cannon nods slowly, a satisfied look on his face. “Good.”

Then, “Because if I had to watch y’all do this stupid shit for another ten years.”

“Get out.”

He laughs, a loud, booming sound that fills the room. “I’m serious! Everybody knew.”

“Everybody did not know.”

“Zaire.”

“What?”

“Everybody.”

Damon points toward himself. “I didn’t know.”

Cannon stares at him, his expression flat. “You’ve been in love with him since we were teenagers. That doesn’t mean you knew what he wanted. You’re an idiot, but you’re not blind.”

“Fair.”

Cannon looks at me again. “You were the confusing one.”

“Thank you.” I smile.

“That wasn’t a compliment.”

“I know.”

He takes a drink of water. “So what happens now?”

The question shouldn’t feel heavy, but it does. It lands in the quiet room like a stone.

Damon doesn’t answer, and neither do I.

Cannon looks between us, his brow furrowed. “What?”

“Nothing,” Damon says, a little too quickly.

“No, that was definitely something.”

I rub my palms against my thighs, the denim rough under my hands. My flight, Atlanta, my apartment, and everything waiting for me there. I haven’t canceled anything.

Yet.

“I’ve been thinking.”

Cannon immediately groans. “Oh, shit.”

I laugh. “Why is that your reaction?”

“Every time one of y’all starts with “I’ve been thinking”, somebody moves, quits a job, falls in love, or ends up in Nashville.”

Damon laughs. “He’s got a point.”

“Whatever.”

I take a breath, the words feeling heavy and important on my tongue. “I’m thinking about moving back.

The room goes silent, dead silence.

Cannon’s bottle stops halfway to his mouth, and Damon turns toward me, his body still.

I look at Cannon first because looking at Damon feels harder. Like looking directly into the sun.

“Back here?”

“Yeah.”

Cannon slowly lowers the bottle, his eyes wide. “Like...” He points toward the floor. “Here?”

“Our hometown, Cannon.”

“I know what back means. I’m making sure you know.”

“I know.”

Damon hasn’t said anything. His face is a mask, and I can’t read it. I finally force myself to look at him.

“You never said that.”

“I know.”

“You said you didn’t know if you were going back to Atlanta.”

“I didn’t.”

“That’s different from moving home.”

“I know.”

Cannon’s eyes bounce between us, a frantic, panicked energy coming off him before he suddenly stands. “I’m hungry.”

I stare at him. “You just got here.”

“Now I’m leaving.”

“You drove over because you thought we were dead.”

“I’ve confirmed you’re alive.” He grins, a wicked, knowing thing. “Clearly very alive.”

“Cannon.” He laughs and heads for the door. “Call me later.”

“Don’t tell anybody.”

He stops, his hand on the doorknob. He turns. “Define anybody.”

“Cannon.”

“Fine.”

His hand reaches for the doorknob. “No group chat?”

“No.”

“Kian?”

“Especially Kian.”

“Roderick?”

“No.”

“Diego?”

“Damnit, Cannon, no!”

“Okay.”

He opens the door. Then looks over his shoulder. “How long does the embargo last?”

“Cannon!”

He disappears, laughing, the door clicking shut behind him.

With the click of the door, it’s just Damon and me.

The silence feels different now, heavy and more intimate.

I stand. “I should’ve told you first.”

Damon shakes his head. “You don’t owe me that.”

“I wanted to.”

“But?”

“I don’t know what I’m doing yet.”

He nods, because that’s Damon: no interrogation or demand.

Just space.

I walk closer, stopping just in front of him. “I’m serious about it.”

“I know.”

“You don’t look happy.”

His eyebrows rise. “You think I’m not happy about the possibility of you moving home?”

“I don’t know.”

“Zaire.” He takes my hand, his thumb moving over my knuckles. “I’m trying very hard not to make this about me.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means...” He exhales, a long, slow breath. “I’ve wanted you here for years.”

My chest tightens, a sweet, painful ache. “I’ve wanted more time with you. More than visits. More than random weekends when our schedules line up.”

His thumb moves over my knuckles. “So if you tell me you’re thinking about moving back, there’s a part of me that wants to say yes before you finish the sentence.”

I smile. “But?”

“I don’t want you uprooting your life because we finally figured our shit out.”

There it is even now.

Even after everything we’ve said, he’s not asking me to choose him at the expense of myself.

“Damon.”

“Atlanta gave you a career. You built something there.”

“I know.”

“You love what you do.”

“I do, and I can do it anywhere.”

“So don’t wake up one morning six months from now and realize you gave something up because of me.”

I stare at him, my heart aching. “You really think that’s what I’m doing?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then ask me.”

His eyes search mine, probing and deep. “Why do you want to move home?”

I take my time, because he deserves the real answer.

“Atlanta taught me how to become the person I thought I wanted to be.”

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There are no last-minute declarations waiting for Diego this morning. No one is asking him to stay. No one is standing between him and Nashville.

Instead, there’s an empty house, a long stretch of highway, a few people making sure he knows he’s loved... and one person who knows exactly what Diego needs to hear.

Keep going.

This week, Diego finally leaves San Antonio behind. But Nashville isn’t asking him to forget who he was or everything that brought him here.

Maybe starting over isn’t about becoming someone new.

Maybe it’s finally having the freedom to figure out who you are now.

Chapter 52

The Road Ahead

Diego

At five forty-three in the morning, my house doesn’t feel like mine anymore. Maybe that’s because most of what made it mine is sitting in boxes. Maybe it’s because I’ve already turned off the lights in rooms I’ll never sleep in again. Or maybe I’ve been leaving this place for longer than I realized.

I stand in the middle of the living room with my keys in my hand. Nothing hangs on the walls; the couch is gone, the TV is gone. Everything I’m taking with me is either packed into the moving truck that’ll arrive in Nashville after me or stuffed into my SUV. All that’s left is empty space and a few marks on the walls where furniture used to be.

I thought I’d feel something bigger, like sadness, fear, and maybe regret. Instead, I just feel tired.

My phone buzzes, and I don’t have to look to know who it is.

I do anyway.

Alejandro

“You awake?”

I laugh.

Me

“I’m literally leaving in fifteen minutes.”

His response comes immediately.

Alejandro

“That wasn’t my question.”

I shake my head.

Me

“Yes. I’m awake.”

Alejandro

“Coffee?”

I stare at the message. Then toward the front door. There’s no way.

Me

“Alejandro.”

Alejandro

“What?”

A knock comes from the door, and I close my eyes. “Son of a bitch.”

Alejandro said goodbye last night.

Diego leaves San Antonio in fifteen minutes.

So why is someone knocking on his door before six in the morning?

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A snowstorm. A stranded truck driver. A cedar chest that needed to make it home.

None of them knew that a few days together would become phone calls, video chats, stolen coffee mugs, unfinished aquariums, music, and eventually... a reason to come back.

This week, Santiago returns to Colorado, but everything is different this time.

He’s not stranded.

He’s not waiting for the roads to clear.

Alejandro is sitting beside him with a cooler full of tamales and several states’ worth of stories.

For the first time, the people who’ve slowly become part of one another’s lives are about to share the same room.

Sometimes you don’t realize your family has grown until you look around the table and realize you might need a bigger one.

Chapter 31

Coming Back

Santiago

The Colorado state line shouldn’t mean anything. I’ve crossed it more times than I can count for deliveries, pickups, weather delays, and fuel stops. Colorado has always been another state on a route.

Today, Alejandro takes a picture of the sign as we pass it, and I glance over. “You know you can find that on Google.”

“It’s not the same.”

“It’s literally the same sign.”

“No.” He looks down at the picture. “This one means we’re here.”

I don’t answer. Mostly because I know what he means.

The highway stretches ahead beneath a clear blue sky, mountains rising in the distance. Last time I came this way, I was watching weather reports for snow, road closures, and warnings; I was trying to beat a storm.

Today there’s a cooler full of tamales strapped behind Alejandro’s seat, two bags shoved into my sleeper, a speaker he insisted on bringing, and enough anticipation in the cab to make the miles feel longer.

Alejandro looks over. “How much farther?”

“Hour and a half.”

“You said that forty minutes ago.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“You did.”

“I said two hours.”

“Same thing.”

“That’s not how time works.”

He sighs dramatically and looks out the window. Five seconds later;

“So what’s Mateo really like?”

I glance over. “You talked to him for almost two hours.”

“Video isn’t the same.”

“He’s exactly like that.”

“Seriously?”

“Worse.”

Alejandro laughs. “And Rico?”

I think about the question longer. “Quieter.”

“Than Mateo?”

“Everybody’s quieter than Mateo.”

“Fair.”

I smile. “Rico watches.”

“What do you mean?”

“He notices things.”

Alejandro waits.

“He’ll make sure you’ve eaten before you realize you’re hungry. If you’re cold, a blanket appears. If something breaks, he’ll probably have it fixed before you know it was broken.”

“Sounds like Mom.”

“A little.”

“He’s the one with the aquarium?”

“Yeah.”

“The marine biology thing.”

“Yeah.”

Alejandro looks toward me. “You talk about him a lot.”

My hands tighten slightly around the wheel. “I talk about both of them.”

“I didn’t say you didn’t.”

I glance over, and he’s smiling.

“Don’t start.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Your face and tone did.”

He laughs and turns toward the window, and I shake my head.

Kids.

Even when they’re grown, they’re annoying as hell.

My phone connects through the truck. A message from Mateo, and Alejandro reaches toward the dashboard.

“Don’t.”

“I’m just reading it.”

“You’re not touching my phone.”

“It’s on the screen.”

He reads aloud. “’Where are you?’”

Another message appears. “’Don’t lie because I know how long it takes to get here.’”

Alejandro laughs. “I love him.”

“You haven’t met him.”

“I’ve met enough.”

I tap the voice response. “About an hour and twenty minutes.”

Before I can finish, Alejandro leans toward the microphone. “And we have tamales!”

I shove him back. “Sit down.”

Mateo’s reply comes almost immediately.

“THE TAMALES MADE IT???”

Alejandro looks offended. “He cares more about the food than us.”

“I tried to warn you.”

Then another message:

“Rico says drive safe.”

I stare at those three words, and Alejandro sees it. He doesn’t say anything this time. I appreciate that.

I turn my attention back to the road.

We make the delivery first. Alejandro waits at a nearby diner while I handle the paperwork, and by the time I return, he’s ordered enough food for three people despite the cooler behind us.

“You know we’re about to eat.”

“I’m hungry now.”

“You’re always hungry.”

“High metabolism.”

“Greed.”

He steals one of my fries. “Family.”

I laugh, and then we’re moving again.

This time... there are no stops left. No warehouse. No signature. No freight between me and where I’m going. Just the house.

I recognize the road before the GPS tells me to turn. That surprises me. The gas station on the corner. The small church. The fence leaning slightly toward the highway. Then the trees.

Last time, they were covered in snow. Today they’re green. Everything looks different, and somehow... exactly the same.

Alejandro leans forward. “This is it?”

“Almost.”

He looks around. “I get why you liked it.”

“I never said I liked it.”

“Sure.” He laughs.

“You’re getting on my nerves.”

“You’ve said that for six states.”

“It’s been true for six states.”

He laughs.

Then the house appears, and my chest tightens.

Rico’s truck sits in the driveway with the garage door open, and Mateo is standing on the porch.

I smile before I can stop myself.

Alejandro notices. “One.”

I look over. “What?”

“Smile number one.”

“Oh, hell no. Don’t start that.”

He laughs. “We’re starting over.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“Too late.” He giggles with satisfaction.

I pull into the driveway, and before the truck is completely settled, Mateo starts down the porch steps. Rico appears behind him. Immediately, one hand reaches toward Mateo’s arm.

Mateo waves him away.

Even from here I can see the exchange.

“I can do it.”

“I know.”

“Then stop.”

I smile; some things haven’t changed, but other things have.

Mateo looks thinner.

I see it before I even open the door.

His clothes hang differently and his steps are slower.

Last time, he walked through snow to tell Rico and me what to do.

Today, each porch step requires thought.

I look toward Rico, and he’s already looking at me.

For one second, neither of us smiles.

We don’t need to say it.

I see it, and he knows I see it.

Then Mateo throws both arms into the air.

“Are y’all going to sit in that truck all day?”

Alejandro laughs. “Oh, yeah. I like him.”

I climb down.

Mateo reaches me first. “Look who decided to come back.”

“You invited me.”

“Details.”

He hugs me, and I hug him carefully.

Too carefully.

He pulls back.

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Hug me like I’m made of glass.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

He pulls me back in. “Tighter.”

“Mateo.”

“Tighter.”

I laugh and hug him properly.

“There.”

“Better.”

When we separate, he studies me.

“You look good.”

“So do you.”

His expression tells me he knows I’m lying, but he lets me have it anyway.

Then Rico reaches us.

For half a second, I don’t know what we’re supposed to do.

Shake hands or hug?

Apparently Rico makes the decision for both of us.

He pulls me in.

It isn’t as dramatic as Mateo.

Just solid, warm, and familiar.

“Good to see you,” he says.

“You too.”

He steps back.

His hand stays on my shoulder a second longer.

Then Mateo looks toward the truck. “Where is he?”

Alejandro is standing beside the passenger door holding the cooler.

Mateo’s entire face changes.

“¡Alejandro!”

Alejandro laughs. “That’s me.”

Mateo walks toward him, and Alejandro puts the cooler down just in time to get pulled into a hug.

“Finally!”

“It’s good to meet you too.”

Mateo holds him at arm’s length.

“You’re handsome.”

Alejandro looks toward me. “I told you I’d be the favorite.”

“You’ve been here thirty seconds.”

Rico shakes his head. “Don’t encourage either of them.”

Alejandro looks at him. “Rico?”

“Yeah.”

Alejandro sets the cooler aside and hugs him too.

Rico clearly isn’t expecting it, and neither am I.

Alejandro steps back. “Thank you.”

Rico frowns. “For what?”

“For taking care of him.”

His eyes move toward me, and the driveway goes quiet.

I look at Alejandro.

He shrugs.

“What? Somebody needed to say it.”

Rico looks at me.

Then back at Alejandro.

“He took care of us too.”

Something catches in my chest, and Mateo claps his hands.

“Okay. Enough emotions.” He points toward the cooler. “Tamales.”

Alejandro laughs. “My mother sent enough for everybody.”

“I already love your mother.”

“She said the same thing when I told her about you.”

Mateo freezes. “She knows about me?”

“Everybody knows about you.”

Mateo looks delighted.

Rico groans. “God help us.”

Inside, the house smells the same as before; coffee, wood, and whatever Rico cooked earlier, but there are changes like the blanket on the couch, different flowers near the window, and a new medication organizer on the counter.

Small things.

Then I see the blue mug, sitting beside the coffee maker.

I stop.

Rico catches me. “You brought mine back?”

I look down at the bag in my hand. The stolen mug is wrapped inside.

“I considered it.”

He folds his arms. “Santiago.”

“I got attached.”

“To my mug?”

“It’s been through a lot.”

“It’s ceramic.”

“It has character.”

Alejandro walks past us. “He’s been drinking out of that thing every morning.”

“Traitor.”

“You didn’t tell me it was classified.”

Rico laughs; the sound hits me harder in person than it ever does through the phone.

Mateo watches us; I catch him smiling.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Rico and I answer together.

“That’s my line,” Rico says.

“Apparently it’s contagious.”

Mateo looks entirely too satisfied.

Alejandro and I bring everything inside.

When I carry my bag toward the guest room, I pass the garage. The door is open, and I stop.

The aquarium stand looks different. There is more trim; it’s sanded, the corners cleaner, and one side completely finished.

Rico appears behind me. “You noticed.”

“Yeah.”

I step inside.

“You’re getting there.”

“Slowly.”

I run my hand across the wood. “You used my tape measure?”

“Technically it’s mine now.”

I look at him. “Excuse me?”

“Possession is nine-tenths of the law.”

I laugh. “You’ve been waiting to say that.”

“Absolutely.”

I look at the stand again. “You’ve done good.”

Rico’s smile fades into something quieter. “We’ve done good.”

I turn, and he nods toward the tape measure.

“You helped.”

Before I can answer, Mateo calls from inside. “If y’all are hiding in that garage, I’m eating without you!”

Rico closes his eyes. “Welcome back.”

I laugh, and there it is.

Back.

Not here.

Back.

I follow him into the house and think about the word… it doesn’t scare me.

Chapter 32

More Room at the Table

Rico

Alejandro fits; that’s the first thing I notice. Not gradually, but immediately; within an hour, he’s helping Mateo heat tamales, arguing with Santiago about how many he’s allowed to eat before dinner, and telling me a story about Santiago getting lost somewhere in Arizona, despite having driven professionally for most of his adult life.

“I wasn’t lost,” Santiago smirks.

“You called me.”

“For directions.”

“Because you were lost, tío.”

“I knew where I was.”

“You literally said, “I don’t know where the hell I am.”

Mateo nearly drops his fork laughing, and I look across the table at Santiago.

“You got lost?”

“No.”

Alejandro points at him. “Liar.”

“GPS malfunction.”

“Your GPS was fine.”

“I hate this family.”

Mateo raises his glass. “Too late. You’re stuck with us.”

The laughter comes easily, and that matters, because I’ve spent the last few weeks measuring good days differently. Not by pain or medication, but by laughter. How much Mateo talks, how much he eats, whether he wants music, and whether he argues.

Tonight... he does all of it, and I let myself enjoy it.

Alejandro’s mother’s tamales are incredible. Mateo closes his eyes after the first bite.

“Oh.”

Alejandro laughs. “Good?”

Mateo points his fork at him. “Call your mother.”

“Right now?”

“Right now.”

Alejandro pulls out his phone. “She’s probably busy.”

“I don’t care.”

A minute later, a woman appears on the screen. Alejandro speaks rapidly in Spanish. I catch pieces: Mateo, tamales, Colorado, and then he turns the phone.

Mateo waves. “Hola!”

She laughs, and they talk for several minutes, Alejandro translating when needed. At one point, Mateo places a hand against his chest.

“Tell her thank you.”

Alejandro does.

His mother’s expression softens.

For a second, the whole table becomes quiet. Different languages and states. People who would’ve never known each other if a snowstorm hadn’t shut down a highway.

Somehow... here we are.

After dinner, Mateo insists on music. Of course he does. Alejandro brought the speaker as instructed, and he sets it on the kitchen counter.

Mateo looks toward him. “Did you do your homework?”

Alejandro glances at Santiago. “You didn’t tell me there’d actually be a test.”

“I warned you.”

Mateo folds his arms. “Favorite Aaliyah song.”

Alejandro thinks. “Can I say “Are You That Somebody?”

Mateo’s face lights up. “You can stay.”

Santiago laughs. “That’s all it takes?”

“Your turn.”

Santiago looks at me, and I already know his answer.

“At Your Best.”

Mateo goes quiet; he’s not sad, he’s touched.

“Really?”

Santiago nods. “Yeah.”

Mateo smiles. “You understood.”

“I told you I was learning.”

Santiago passed Mateo’s test.

He finally understands why the music matters.

As the night continues, laughter gives way to something quieter. Rico notices the changes in Mateo that are becoming harder to ignore, Alejandro recognizes something familiar in the way two men talk about the people who changed their lives, and Mateo reminds everyone of something important:

He’s still here.

Before the night ends, Rico finally begins to understand why Mateo has been making room for more people in their lives.

Sometimes family doesn’t replace what you’ve lost.

It simply makes the table bigger.

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What he should study.

What career he should pursue.

What kind of relationship made sense.

What being a good son was supposed to look like.

And even after Julian finally walked away, his father found one more way to speak for him.

But there’s a difference between disappearing and leaving.

There’s a difference between being lost and finally choosing where you want to go.

Tonight, Julian gets to tell his own story.

And this time, nobody else gets to decide how it ends.

Chapter Forty-Three

The Story He Chose

Julian

My father looks tired. That's the first thing I notice. Not the podium, the cameras, or the reporters crowded into the room behind him. My father. He looks tired and older somehow.

The television volume is low enough that I can hear Bruno moving around in the kitchen behind me. Casey sits beside me on the couch, his thigh pressed against mine. Neither of them speaks. They’ve barely spoken since Brian called. I haven’t either. There wasn’t much to say after someone tells you your father is preparing to announce to the world that you’ve been kidnapped.

I didn’t believe it at first, not really. Even knowing my father. Even knowing what he’s capable of when he thinks he’s protecting something. This felt different. Too far, public, and ridiculous.

Then Brian sent me one message this morning.

“Turn on the news.”

So here we are, watching.

My father adjusts the microphone. I know that movement, because I’ve seen him do it a hundred times. Company announcements, charity events, interviews, and award ceremonies. He always straightens the microphone even when it doesn’t need straightening. Something to do with his hands before he becomes the man everyone expects him to be. Composed, confident, and certain.

The room quiets, and my stomach turns. Casey’s hand moves toward mine. He doesn’t grab it. He leaves his palm open between us, waiting. I slide my hand into his, and his fingers close around mine.

Then my father begins.

“Our family is asking for the public’s help in bringing our son home.”

I stop breathing; Bruno comes out of the kitchen.

My father’s voice continues. “For some time, Julian has been absent from his normal responsibilities and has had no meaningful contact with members of his immediate family.”

“That’s bullshit,” Bruno mutters.

I don’t respond.

“His behavior is completely unlike the son, friend, and professional those closest to him know.”

I almost laugh; there it is. The version of me he knows. The one who showed up, who agreed, who wore whatever suit was waiting in my closet and sat through whatever meeting appeared on my calendar. The one who smiled beside Brian, who stopped talking about pharmacy.

The good son.

My father’s expression shifts to a perfectly measured concern. “We have been attempting to handle this matter privately out of respect for Julian. However, recent information has caused us to become increasingly concerned that his continued absence may not be voluntary.”

Bruno curses, and Casey’s grip tightens, but mine doesn’t.

I can’t move.

“We are working with private investigators and appropriate authorities to determine whether Julian may have been taken, manipulated, or otherwise prevented from returning home.”

Taken. Manipulated. Prevented. Each word removes another piece of me. Not once does he say, “Julian left.” Not once does he acknowledge that I might’ve made a decision he didn’t like.

A reporter raises her hand. “Do you have evidence he was kidnapped?”

My father pauses. “We have evidence that his recent behavior is inconsistent with the man we know.”

That’s it? That’s his evidence? I changed. So somebody must’ve done something to me.

“Motherfucker,” Bruno says.

“Bruno.”

“No, Julian.” He points toward the television. “He’s telling people somebody took you because he can’t admit you left?”

I look at my father. The man who taught me how to tie a tie came to every school ceremony, sat in the front row when I graduated, told everyone I was his greatest accomplishment, and planned my future before I understood what a future was.

I loved him, and I still do. Maybe that’s the part nobody tells you. Standing up to someone doesn’t magically erase the love. Sometimes it makes everything hurt more.

Another reporter asks, “Have you spoken directly with your son?”

My father’s jaw tightens. “We have been unable to establish meaningful communication.”

Unable, I shake my head. “He means I won’t answer him.”

Casey looks at me, and I laugh quietly. “He makes it sound like I’m tied to a chair somewhere.”

Bruno doesn’t laugh. Neither does Casey.

The press conference continues. Questions about the company and Brian. My father’s team refuses to discuss either. Then someone asks the question I knew was coming. “Is it true Julian recently requested academic transcripts?”

My father’s expression changes, barely, but I see it. “That is a private family matter.”

My stomach drops because I know he knows. Of course he knows. Pharmacy is one thing that finally felt entirely mine. He found that too.

Casey turns toward me. “You okay?”

“No.”

It’s the truth. I’m angry, embarrassed, scared, and underneath all of that... Sad. Some stupid part of me still hoped that eventually my father would understand. That he’d realize I wasn’t trying to punish him. I wasn’t trying to embarrass the family. I wasn’t rejecting everything he ever gave me. I just wanted my life. That’s all.

My father finishes the statement. “If Julian can hear me...” He looks directly into the camera. For one terrible second, it feels like he’s looking at me. “Come home.”

My throat tightens. “We can fix this.”

There it is. Not “I love you.” Not “I want to know you’re safe.” Not even “I’m sorry.” “We can fix this.”

To him... I’m still the thing that’s broken.

The broadcast ends, and the room goes silent. Bruno reaches for the remote and turns off the television. I stare at the black screen. My reflection stares back.

“Julian.” Casey’s voice is quiet.

I stand. “I need some air.”

“I’ll come.”

“No.”

He stops immediately, and I look at him. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“I just...” I swallow. “I need a minute.”

Casey nods. “Take one.”

That’s it; he doesn’t argue, force himself into my space, or challenge me. He’s really too good to be true sometimes.

I step onto the balcony and close the door behind me. The air is warm. Traffic moves below, people walk down the sidewalk, somebody laughs, somebody honks, and life continues.

My entire world feels like it’s splitting open, and somewhere nearby someone is probably trying to decide what to order for dinner.

I grip the railing. My father thinks I’ve been manipulated. Maybe by Bruno. Maybe by Casey if he knows about him. Maybe by some imaginary person who convinced me to destroy my life, but nobody convinced me. Bruno didn’t. Casey didn’t. Brian didn’t. For the first time in years... nobody did.

I chose this. I chose to leave. I chose pharmacy. I chose Casey. I chose myself.

My phone buzzes: Brian’s name appears on the screen, and I stare at his name before answering. “Hey.”

“I’m sorry.”

I close my eyes. “You warned me.”

“I was hoping he’d reconsider.”

“You know my father.”

A quiet laugh. “I thought I did.”

Something about the way he says it catches me. “Brian...”

“Yeah?”

“What aren’t you telling me?”

He’s quiet for a moment. “I quit.”

I straighten. “What?”

“I resigned.”

“When?”

“Yesterday.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because it wasn’t your problem.”

I turn toward the glass doors. Casey is still sitting on the couch. He isn’t watching me. He’s deliberately giving me privacy.

“You quit the company?”

“Yeah.”

“Because of me?”

“No.” The answer comes immediately. “Julian, listen to me. I didn’t leave because you left.” Brian pauses. “I left because watching you finally choose yourself made me realize I hadn’t chosen myself in a long time either.”

My eyes burn. “This isn’t another thing you need to carry.”

He knows me too well. Maybe he always did in certain ways.

“I made my choice.”

I swallow. “Are you okay?”

Brian laughs. “No idea.”

For some reason, that makes me smile. “But I think I will be.”

The words feel familiar. Maybe because we’re all learning the same thing in different ways.

“I need to ask you something,” I say.

“Anything.”

“Did you tell him where I am?”

“No.”

“About Casey?”

“No.”

“That you saw me in New York?”

“No.”

I close my eyes. “Thank you.”

“You don’t owe me thanks for respecting your privacy.”

Maybe not, but once... That would’ve been enough to surprise me.

“Brian?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m proud of you.”

His voice softens. “I’m proud of you too. You taught me to be ok with walking away from a life I don’t want.”

“Take care of yourself.” I smile.

“You too.”

We hang up, and I stay outside another minute before I go back in.

Casey looks up. “Better?”

“No.”

He nods. “Okay.”

I sit beside him. Bruno drops into the chair across from us. For a few seconds, nobody speaks.

Then I say: “I want to respond.”

Casey studies me. “How?”

“I don’t know yet.”

Bruno leans forward. “Publicly?”

“Not exactly.” I look at the television. At my reflection, still faintly visible in the dark screen. “He told everyone his version.” I take a breath. “Now they get mine.”

Chapter Forty-Four

I Left

Julian

The phone costs forty-three dollars, so I pay cash. The cashier doesn’t look at me twice. That’s strangely disappointing. My face has been on television all morning, and apparently I’m still not important enough to interrupt a teenager watching videos behind a convenience store counter. Maybe that’s good.

Casey waits outside; Bruno stayed at the apartment. We argued about that. Not because he wanted to stop me, but because he wanted to come. “If your father has somebody watching me, all three of us leaving together isn’t exactly subtle,” he said. I hated that he was right.

So Bruno stayed, and Casey drove. Now I’m sitting in the passenger seat of his truck with a prepaid phone in my hand.

“You don’t have to do this.”

I look at him. “Yes, I do.”

Casey shakes his head. “No.”

I frown.

“You don’t.” He turns slightly toward me. “You want to.”

I stare at him. There’s a difference. Of course there is.

“Yeah.” I nod. “I want to.”

“Then do it.”

I look down at the number written on the piece of paper in my lap. One of the local news outlets that carried my father’s press conference. I’d considered several different ones: national outlets, business publications, or a reporter who has covered my father’s company before. In the end, I chose the one that asked him the question he didn’t want to answer. “Do you have evidence your son was kidnapped?”

I punched the number in and hit call.

The phone rings. Once. Twice. Three times.

“News desk.”

My mouth goes dry. “Hi.”

Casey looks straight ahead. “I need to speak with someone about the Julian… story.”

“Do you have information regarding his whereabouts?”

“Yes.”

There’s movement on the other end. “May I ask who I’m speaking with?”

I look at Casey. He doesn’t turn. Doesn’t nod. Doesn’t tell me what to say. This is mine.

“I’m Julian.”

Julian’s father has told the world his version of what happened.

Now Julian is ready to tell his.

One phone.

One call.

No family representative.

No carefully prepared statement.

And perhaps for the first time in his life, no one standing beside Julian is going to tell him what to say.

This story belongs to him now.

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They’re a song playing from an old television.

A conversation you didn’t understand the importance of until years later.

A letter folded into a pocket.

A promise you’re suddenly more determined than ever to keep.

For Raphael and Malik, caring for each other started long before either of them knew what to call it.

And sometimes it takes almost losing tomorrow to understand just how long someone has already been part of your heart.

Chapter 27

I Care 4 U

Raphael

The first thing I notice is the ringing. Not pain or the voices, just the high, constant ringing. It’s almost like someone turned all the rest of the noise in the world down except that one particular sound.

I blink a couple of times before the pure blue sky comes into focus above me.

Too blue for everything happening beneath it.

“Brooks.”

Someone touches my shoulder, and I flinch.

“Brooks, look at me.”

I turn toward the voice to see a medic.

I know him, but I can’t remember his name; the one name that is on my mind comes out in a rushed, panicked question.

“Where’s Griffin?”

The words sound strange coming out of my mouth.

Muffled.

“He’s okay.”

“Where?”

“Brooks.”

“Where’s Griffin?”

“He’s okay.”

I try to sit up, but the world tilts, and a hand presses me back down.

“Take it easy.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re bleeding.”

I reach toward my head, but he catches my hand.

“Don’t.”

I close my eyes, and the next person who comes to mind flashes.

Malik.

The thought comes so fast it hurts worse than anything else.

“How long?”

“What?”

“How long was I out?”

“Not long.”

“Communication?”

“Later.”

“I need.”

“Later, Lieutenant.”

His tone leaves no room for argument.

I stare back at the sky; Malik doesn’t know and is probably worried.

That’s the only thing I can think about.

He doesn’t know I’m alive.

By the time we’re transported back, the adrenaline has worn off.

That’s when everything starts hurting: my shoulder, ribs, and head. Nothing feels severe, but I feel as though I was thrown against a stone wall.

Griffin sits across from me with his hand bandaged.

He hasn’t said much.

That tells me more than anything else.

“How are you holding up?”

He looks at me. “You’ve asked me that four times.”

“Answer it.”

“I’m good.”

“You’re lying.”

“So are you.”

Damn, that’s fair.

I lean my head back and instantly regret it as pain shoots through my skull.

I wince, and Griffin notices. “Maybe stop doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Pretending nothing hurts.”

“I’m not.”

He looks pointedly at my shoulder. “You can barely move that arm.”

“Your hand is wrapped.”

“Didn’t say I was doing any better.”

That gets the smallest laugh out of me.

Then everything goes quiet again.

My fingers find the pocket over my heart.

The letter is still there.

Crumpled and dirty, but still there.

I pull it out carefully.

Malik’s handwriting is still readable.

“Save me one dance when we get home.”

My chest tightens.

Home.

For the first time since we arrived, the word doesn’t feel guaranteed.

I close my eyes and suddenly...

I’m seventeen again.

Malik is lying across the foot of my bed with his shoes still on, which is pissing me off.

“Get your feet off my comforter,” I grumble.

“They’re not dirty.”

“You walked here.”

“So?”

“So the ground is dirty.”

He looks at me like I’m ridiculous. “You have issues.”

“You have your shoes on my bed.”

He kicks them off dramatically. “There. Happy?”

“Extremely.”

The television is on behind him.

Music videos.

We’ve been pretending to do homework for almost an hour, but neither of us has touched a book in twenty minutes.

An Aaliyah video comes on.

“I Care 4 U.”

Malik reaches for the remote and turns it up, and I look at him.

“You really know every Aaliyah song, don’t you?”

He gives me a look. “Most of them.”

“That’s basically all of them.”

“You say that like it’s a problem.”

“I didn’t say it was.”

He settles against the mattress, not saying anything, just watching.

I glance at the screen.

Then at him.

Something about the song changes the room.

“You like this one?” I ask.

Malik nods. “Yeah.”

“Why?”

He thinks about it and shrugs. “I don’t know. I just like what it’s about.”

“What?”

He turns toward me. “Caring about somebody.”

“That’s deep. I never knew you were capable of that.”

“Shut up.”

I laugh. “I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

His smile fades a little.

“You don’t have to be with somebody to care about them.”

I look at him, and he keeps going.

“You can care about somebody and just... be there.”

“Sounds complicated.”

“Only because you make everything complicated.”

“Me?”

“Absolutely.”

I throw a pillow at him that he barely catches before laughing.

His words stay with me.

“You can care about somebody and just be there.”

Back then, I didn’t know what to do with that.

Didn’t know why it made me look at him differently.

Didn’t understand why something inside me settled whenever Malik was around.

So I did what I always did.

Made a joke, changed the subject, and kept everything easy.

Years later...

I finally understand.

We were already doing it.

Caring for each other, looking out for each other, and finding reasons to stay a little longer.

Long before either of us knew what to call it.

“Brooks.”

My eyes open to find Griffin watching me. “You went somewhere.”

“Just remembering something.”

“Good memory?”

I look down at Malik’s letter.

“Yeah.”

His eyes drop toward the paper.

“Home?”

“Something like that.”

Griffin nods.

He doesn’t ask anything else, and I’m grateful for it.

I fold the letter carefully and slide it back into the pocket over my heart.

Malik asked me for a dance.

I still owe him one, and I know exactly what song I want.

Malik

Nobody tells me anything for six hours.

Six.

I know because I count every hour, minute, time the operations door opens, when a vehicle returns, and every face that isn’t Raphael’s.

Carl sits beside me for part of it with Luke on the other side.

Neither one says much.

Which is how I know they’re worried too.

Carl finally nudges my knee. “He’s stubborn.”

I look at him. “So?”

“So stubborn people are hard to get rid of.”

Luke shakes his head. “That’s your version of reassurance?”

“It worked, didn’t it?”

Barely.

If I’m telling the truth, it did help… a little.

Later, Hollis finds me near the equipment yard.

“Walker.”

I stand immediately.

His expression gives me nothing; I’ve learned that’s what good commanders do.

They don’t let emotion deliver information before they’re allowed to.

“Sir.”

“Brooks’ unit has been accounted for.”

My lungs finally work. “All of them?”

Hollis pauses.

That pause nearly kills me.

“There are injuries.”

My heart drops again.

“Raphael?”

“He’s alive.”

Everything stops, and I close my eyes for a second.

He’s alive.

He’s alive.

He’s alive.

“How bad?”

“I don’t have information I’m comfortable giving you yet.”

“But he’s alive?”

“Yes.”

I nod a couple of times, taking everything in.

“Thank you.”

Hollis studies me. “He kept his promise.”

I look at him, and the colonel’s expression softens.

“Now let the medical team do their job.”

I swallow. “Yes, sir.”

He walks away, and I sit down before my legs decide to do it for me.

Raphael is alive.

I laugh.

Then cover my face.

Somewhere between the laugh and the next breath... I start crying. It’s not the kind of cry to draw attention, but it releases some of the pent-up emotions I’ve been feeling.

Carl sits beside me first; Luke stays close, and neither says anything.

Carl’s shoulder presses against mine.

After a minute, he asks quietly,

“He’s okay?”

I nod.

“Alive.”

Carl exhales, and Luke does too.

“Good,” Luke says.

Yeah, good isn’t big enough, but it’s all I’ve got.

Chapter 28

The Song We Owe Each Other

Malik

I don’t get to see Raphael that night. Or the next morning, but knowing he’s alive should make waiting easier.

It doesn’t.

It just changes the kind of waiting.

Now I’m not wondering whether he’s alive.

I’m wondering whether he’s hurting, if he’s scared, if he’s alone, and whether he knows that I know.

By afternoon, I finally get something. It’s not a visit or a call; it’s a folded piece of paper.

Sergeant Ellis hands it to me without explanation, and I recognize the handwriting instantly.

Raphael.

My hands shake as I open it.

Malik,

I’m okay.

I stop; the two words are all I needed to see.

I close my eyes before I keep reading.

I’m banged up. My head hurts, and Griffin hurt his hand, but he’s okay. We’re both being looked over.

I let out a breath I didn’t know I had been holding and keep reading.

I know you were probably worried. I’m sorry. We couldn’t communicate.

I kept your letter with me.

Still have it, and I picked our song.

My heart stops.

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Sometimes it’s knowing when to let them go.

As Diego’s final days in San Antonio disappear, Alejandro takes a road trip with Uncle Santiago that gives him more time to think than he probably wants. Between music, memories, and a little unwanted advice, he’s reminded that losing someone doesn’t mean you have to stop loving the things—or the people—who mattered.

Back home, Diego finds a piece of his own past tucked away on an old hard drive: younger versions of himself and the people who knew him before life became so complicated.

Nashville is waiting.

But before Diego can leave, there’s one person who refuses to let him go without saying goodbye.

And this time, neither of them can pretend they don’t know what’s growing between them.

Chapter 49

More Than a Song

Alejandro

Packing for Colorado shouldn’t be this complicated. I’m going with my uncle, not moving there. Still, the duffel bag sitting open on my bed makes it look like I’m preparing for a month instead of a few days. I pull out a second sweatshirt and put it back. Then stare at it long enough to reconsider. Colorado weather already trapped Uncle Santiago once. I’m not taking chances.

My phone rings from the dresser.

Uncle Santiago.

“Don’t tell me you’re already outside.” I groan.

His laugh comes through the speaker, a low, familiar rumble. “Good morning to you too, mijo.”

“What time is it?”

“Late enough that you should be awake.”

“That wasn’t an answer.”

“You packed?”

I look at the mess covering my bed. “Mostly.”

“Mostly means no.”

“Funny, I was going to say the same thing about you.”

“I’m always packed.”

“Last time you forgot your good charger.” I chuckle

“I had another one.” He huffs.

“That barely worked.”

“It charged the phone.”

“Eventually.”

He laughs.

I shove the sweatshirt into my bag. “How’s the weather looking?”

There’s a pause before he answers. “Alejandro.”

“What?”

“You’ve checked it.”

“Maybe.”

“How many times?”

“That’s not important.”

“How many?” He laughs.

I zip the bag. “Three.”

He sighs.

The last time he went to Colorado, I watched the weather from San Antonio while snow buried roads hundreds of miles away. Four days. Four days of checking my phone. Four days of wondering whether he had enough food, whether the heat was working, whether the roads would clear, whether something worse could happen before they did.

He wasn’t alone; that’s what I kept reminding myself. He’d gotten stranded with Rico and Mateo. Two strangers then, but not so much anymore.

Santiago and Rico have kept in touch since. Nothing serious. Nothing either one of them is trying to define. They’re still getting to know each other after four strange days forced them into each other’s lives.

When Uncle Santiago mentioned that another delivery would take him back through Colorado, I made the decision before I’d really thought it through.

“I’m still going,” I tell him.

“I didn’t ask you not to.”

“You were thinking it.”

“I was thinking you don’t have to babysit me.”

“I’m not babysitting you.”

“What would you call it?”

“A road trip to meet your new friends.”

“In an eighteen-wheeler.”

“Still a road.”

He laughs. “Smartass, I’m glad you got to talk with them. You’ll love them.”

“Runs in the family,” I grumble. “I loved talking to them… they are exactly what you need.

A horn sounds outside, and I walk toward the window. His truck is sitting at the curb. “You’ve been outside this entire time?”

“Maybe.”

I hang up.

By the time I make it downstairs, Uncle Santiago is leaning against the truck with his arms folded. “You could’ve told me you were here.”

“Then I wouldn’t have gotten to hear you lie about being packed.”

I toss my duffel toward him; he catches it and immediately frowns. “What the hell is in here?”

“Stuff.”

“It weighs forty pounds.”

“I like options.”

“We’re going to Colorado, not Europe.”

“You invited me.”

“You wanted to meet Rico and Mateo.”

“They seem like nice people, and I need a break.”

His smile softens. “I’m glad you’ll get to meet them in person.”

He puts my bag away, and a few minutes later we’re pulling away from San Antonio.

I watch the city disappear outside my window, and Diego crosses my mind. Of course he does. He’s packing too. Except my bag will come back to San Antonio. His boxes won’t.

I push the thought away.

Uncle Santiago glances over. “You okay?”

“Yeah.”

“That was quick.”

“What?”

“The lie.”

I look at him. “You and Diego would get along.”

“Should I be concerned you just compared me to him?”

“Probably.”

He smiles. “Want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Okay.”

That’s Uncle Santiago. He’ll ask, but never push for an answer. I love that about him.

I reach for my phone instead. “Music?”

“Please.”

I scroll through my playlist before noticing the date. August 25. My finger stops.

Santiago catches it. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Apparently lying really is contagious.”

I smile faintly. “It’s Aaliyah’s anniversary.”

Recognition crosses his face. “The singer.”

I slowly turn toward him. “The singer?”

“What?”

“We have work to do.”

He laughs. “I know who she is.”

“Name three songs.”

Silence.

“Exactly.”

“I’m driving.”

“That’s not an excuse.”

“Then educate me.”

I grin. “You asked for it.”

I start with “More Than a Woman”. The highway stretches ahead of us as the song fills the cab. After a while, Uncle Santiago nods. “I’ve heard this.”

“That doesn’t count.”

“Why not?”

“Because you didn’t know it was her.”

“These rules seem made up.”

“They are.” I laugh.

He shakes his head. “This your favorite?”

“One of them.”

“What’s the other?”

“Rock the Boat.”

“Play it.”

I look over. “Already?”

“I’m learning.”

I switch songs, and this time he listens more closely. His fingers begin tapping against the steering wheel; I notice. “You like it.”

“What?”

“You’re tapping.”

“I’m driving.”

“You’re tapping to the beat.”

He gives me a sideways look. “It’s good, I like the sound of it.”

“Thank you.”

“You didn’t make it.”

“I know, but I played it for you.”

He laughs.

For a few miles, neither of us says anything. We just enjoy the music and the road before us.

Then Uncle Santiago asks, “Why her?”

“What?”

“You really love her music.”

“Yeah, she’s one of my all-time favorites.”

“Why?”

I think about it. “I don’t know if there’s one reason. I wasn’t really old enough to understand what we’d lost when she died. I found her later, and her style just captivated me. The music, videos, and performances were just smooth and different.” I look down at my phone. “Then she became one of those artists I kept coming back to.”

Santiago nods. “Music does that.”

“Yeah.”

“Javier had a few.”

I look over; Uncle Santiago keeps his eyes on the highway. “Some songs I couldn’t listen to for years after he died.”

“What changed?”

“Nothing.” He pauses. “I did.”

The answer sits between us; after a moment, he continues. “Eventually I realized avoiding the songs didn’t make me miss him less. It just meant I was giving up something else I loved because losing him hurt.”

My chest tightens. We’re not talking about music anymore. “You trying to give me advice?”

“No.”

“Sounds like advice.”

“Maybe I’m learning from you.”

I laugh softly. “That’s terrifying.”

Uncle Santiago reaches over and squeezes the back of my neck. “Smartass.”

I turn the music back up, and Aaliyah fills the cab again. A few minutes later, Uncle Santiago starts humming, badly.

I stare at him. “You hum it, TÍo.”

“What?”

“You don’t know the words.”

“I’m learning.”

“You’re ruining it.”

“It’s my truck.”

“Pull over.”

He laughs, and somewhere on the highway between San Antonio and Colorado, something inside me loosens. I’m glad I came. Not because I’m worried about my uncle. Ok, not only because of that; I missed this. Me and him on the road, going somewhere with music between us. Nothing demanding an answer right now, and when we reach Colorado, I’ll finally meet the two men I’ve heard so much about. Rico and Mateo. The strangers who made sure my uncle wasn’t alone when I couldn’t. For that alone, I owe them more than a handshake.

Chapter 50

One in a Million

Diego

Packing is starting to piss me off. Not because there’s too much, but because every box contains something determined to slow me down. An old receipt. A photograph. A shirt I forgot I owned. Some random piece of my life that apparently requires five minutes of emotional reflection before I can put it into cardboard.

Tonight, it’s an old external drive. I find it shoved into the back of my desk drawer. I almost toss it into the electronics box without checking it.

Almost.

Instead, curiosity wins.

Twenty minutes later, I’m sitting on the floor with my laptop balanced against the couch. Folders fill the screen. College. Trips. Birthdays. Random videos with names that tell me absolutely nothing.

I click one. Nothing important. Another. Damon falling off somebody’s couch, and I laugh. “Idiot.” Another. Zaire arguing with whoever is holding the camera about lighting. Of course.

Then I notice a date. August 25. Years ago. I click it.

The video starts sideways; someone curses. The camera turns, and music fills the room.

I freeze.

Aaliyah.

“One in a Million.”

The room on the screen is crowded. Young. Loud. Alive. Damon is sitting on the floor with a drink in his hand. Zaire is beside him, singing badly enough that somebody throws a pillow. Then I see myself. Jesus. I look like a kid. Maybe because I was one.

The camera swings farther across the room. Roderick. Kian. Friends I haven’t thought about in years. I don’t remember who recorded it. I remember the night. Someone realized what day it was. Aaliyah’s anniversary. One song became another. Then another. Nobody planned anything. We were just young people sitting around talking about music and life like we had unlimited amounts of both.

On the screen, the song gets louder. Everyone starts singing along, badly. Damon points toward the camera like he’s performing for an arena. Zaire shoves him, and Roderick starts laughing. Kian keeps singing anyway. Then the camera lands on me. I’m smiling. Not the polite smile I learned later. Not the guarded one. I’m happy. Completely and unapologetically.

For a moment, I forget about packing. Nashville. Xavier. Alejandro. Everything. I just watch myself be young.

The video ends, and my empty living room goes quiet. I stare at the frozen screen. Then play it again. This time, I notice different things. Damon leaning against me. Zaire shouting something I can’t understand. Kian and Roderick arguing over who knows the song better. Me laughing until I nearly spill my drink.

People I still know. People who still know me. That’s what gets me. I didn’t lose them. Life happened. Careers happened. Relationships. Distance. Years, but when I called Zaire and Damon about Nashville, we fell right back into each other like freshman year wasn’t that long ago.

I pick up my phone and send the video to the group chat. No explanation. It takes less than a minute.

Damon

“Where the HELL did you find this?”

I laugh.

Zaire

“DELETE THIS IMMEDIATELY.”

Me

“Absolutely not.”

Damon

“Look at your hair .”😂

Me

“Look at YOURS.”

Another message appears.

Zaire

“Damn. Aaliyah.”

The jokes stop. Just for a second. Then:

Damon

“She was definitely One in a Million.” ❤️

I look back at the laptop. At all of us frozen in time.

Me

“Today.”

Zaire responds first.

Zaire

“I remember; we were just babies when she died.”

Then Damon.

Damon

We were, but she has always meant so much to us.”

I sit there for a while. I hadn’t planned to find this tonight. Hadn’t planned to remember that version of myself. Maybe I needed to, because lately I’ve been thinking about Nashville in terms of everything I’m leaving. My crew. This house. San Antonio. Alejandro. Especially Alejandro.

Nashville isn’t empty, because Damon isn’t far away; Zaire is rarely anywhere for long, but somehow he’s always there when it matters. Kian and Roderick are part of that world now too. There are old friends waiting for me and new ones I haven’t even really gotten to know yet. Maybe that’s what I felt when I visited; not familiarity, but possibility.

My phone is still in my hand. Before I think too much about it, I send the video to Alejandro. A few minutes pass. Then:

Alejandro

“WHAT THE HELL IS THAT HAIR?”

I laugh so loudly it echoes through the empty room.

Me

“You could’ve commented on literally anything else.”

Alejandro

“Couldn’t get past the hair.”

Me

“Fuck you.”

Alejandro

😂😂😂

Another message appears.

“One in a million, though.” ❤️

I stare at it.

Me

“You approve?”

Alejandro

“Of Aaliyah? Always. I’ve been educating my uncle all day.”

I smile.

Me

“How’s that going?”

Alejandro

“He survived More Than a Woman and Rock the Boat.”

Me

“Survived?”

Alejandro

“He’s learning.”

A few seconds pass, and then another message appears.

Alejandro

“You looked happy.”

My smile fades; not because I’m sad, but because I noticed the same thing.

I type. Delete it. Type again.

Me

“I was.”

Three dots appear. Disappear.

I look around my half-empty house, then send another message before I can change my mind.

Me

“I’m getting there again.”

This time, Alejandro takes longer. He responds with two messages.

Alejandro

“Good.”

Then:

“You deserve to.”

I stare at those words, and my fingers move.

Me

“You helped.”

Nothing happens for almost a minute. Then:

Alejandro

“So did you.”

I don’t know what he means. Maybe I do, but I put the phone down before I turn the conversation into something neither of us can solve from hundreds of miles away.

I watch the video one more time. Then create a new folder. KEEP. The video goes inside. So do the pictures from college. The memories with Xavier. Everything, because I’m not moving to Nashville to become somebody new. Maybe I’m going there to figure out which parts of the old me I want back.

Alejandro has spent the trip telling himself that letting Diego go is the right thing to do.

But when San Antonio finally comes back into view, Uncle Santiago asks him one simple question:

Is he really going to let someone who matters leave without saying goodbye?

Diego leaves for Nashville tomorrow morning.

Alejandro has one night left.

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Some songs become more than songs.

They hold the person you used to be. The people you loved. The places you thought you’d visit someday. They can take you back to a room, a moment, or a version of yourself you thought time had taken away.

For Mateo, Aaliyah has always been part of that soundtrack.

Her music carries memories of who he was before illness changed his world, and a dream he and Rico kept postponing until someday slowly became something neither of them could count on anymore.

Santiago begins to understand why the music matters, and Mateo asks Rico to make a promise that isn’t about dying.

It’s about living.

Chapter 29

The Songs We Carry

Santiago

Alejandro calls me at six in the morning. Not a text, but a call.

That should’ve been my first warning.

I answer through the truck’s Bluetooth while pulling out of a rest area somewhere outside Indianapolis.

“What?”

“Good morning to you too.”

“It’s six in the morning.”

“You’re awake.”

“I’m working.”

“Exactly.”

I hear movement on his end, then a cabinet closing.

“Mom wants to know if Rico eats pork.”

I blink. “What?”

“The tamales.”

“You’re calling me at six in the morning about tamales?”

“She needs to know.”

“Why would I know what Rico eats?”

There’s silence for a moment, and I already know what’s coming.

“You talk to him every day.”

“I do not.”

“Almost every day.”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

I open my mouth to respond, but nothing comes out.

Alejandro laughs. “Exactly.”

“Ask Rico yourself.”

“I don’t have his number.”

“You video chatted with the man for ninety minutes.”

“Through you.”

I sigh. “I’ll ask.”

“Thank you.” He says dramatically.

“Anything else?”

“Actually.” He starts, but I hang up.

My phone rings immediately, and I decline it.

A text appears.

Alejandro

“That’s just mean, TÍo.”

I smile.

Another one follows.

“Ask about chicken too.”

I shake my head and keep driving.

I don’t ask Rico about pork.

I ask Mateo, mostly because I know he’ll enjoy the question more.

Me

“Important question: you guys eat pork?”

Mateo responds almost immediately.

“Why?”

Me

“Tamales.”

Three dots appear.

Disappear.

Then:

“How many?”

I laugh.

Me

“Apparently enough to feed Colorado.”

His response:

“I love tamales; tell whoever is making them that I love them.”

Then:

“Pork, chicken, and whatever she wants to send.”

Another message.

“Rico will pretend we don’t need that much food, but just ignore him.”

I type:

“I already planned on it.”

My phone rings. It’s a video call from Mateo.

I glance toward the highway. “I’m driving.”

“I know.”

“Then why are you video calling me?” I laugh.

“So you can listen.”

The screen is mounted where I can glance safely when traffic allows.

I hear Rico somewhere in the background.

“Who are you calling?”

“Santiago.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to.”

“That’s usually how phones work.”

Mateo ignores him.

“Okay. I need your opinion.”

“On?”

Music begins playing faintly through their speaker.

It takes me a second, but I recognize it: “At Your Best” by Aaliyah.

I’ve heard it enough in their house that I know it now.

Mateo turns the volume up.

“Recognize it?”

“I do.”

“I’m proud.”

“You’ve played it approximately four hundred times.”

“Because it’s good.”

Rico appears over his shoulder.

“Don’t encourage him.”

“I like it.”

Mateo’s eyes widen. “See?” He points toward the screen. “He’s learning.”

I laugh. “I never said I didn’t like her.”

“You didn’t understand.”

That catches me.

“Understand what?”

Mateo grows quieter. “The feeling.”

The music continues beneath us, soft, warm, and familiar now.

I know better than to ask him to explain too quickly.

“Tomorrow’s twenty-five years,” Mateo says quietly. “Since she died.”

I nod, though he can’t see me.

“Twenty-two years old,” he adds. “Can you imagine?”

Rico’s expression changes.

“I remember exactly where I was when I heard,” Mateo continues. “Had the television on. They started talking about a plane crash in the Bahamas.”

His voice gets quieter. “Then they said her name.”

Rico sits beside him; Mateo shakes his head.

“Twenty-two years old.”

“She was twenty-two?” I ask.

“Yeah.”

There’s something about that number; too young to have enough memories, too young for anyone to be talking about legacy.

“I played her CDs constantly after that,” Mateo says. “Drove everybody crazy.”

Rico smiles. “You still do.”

“That’s because you need culture.”

“I like Aaliyah.”

“You love Aaliyah.”

“I do.”

Mateo smiles triumphantly.

I can hear the affection between them even through the phone.

Then Mateo says something I haven’t heard before.

“That’s when I started thinking about the Bahamas.”

I glance toward the screen.

“The trip?”

“Yeah.”

He settles back. “I saw those videos, that water, and those boats. Everything looked so free.”

Rico looks down.

“We talked about going for years.”

“What happened?”

I know the answer before either speaks.

Life.

Health.

Time.

Mateo gives me the shortened version.

“Eventually flying wasn’t a good idea.”

“And driving to the Bahamas would’ve been complicated,” Rico adds.

I laugh softly.

“Just a little.”

Mateo smiles. “So we kept saying someday.”

The word hits me hard.

Someday.

The most dangerous word any of us know.

Mateo looks directly toward the screen.

“I don’t like that word anymore.”

Rico’s head turns toward him.

Mateo shrugs.

“Someday is how you end up with an unfinished aquarium in the garage.”

Rico looks away.

“And a brochure in a cedar chest,” Mateo adds.

I know exactly which brochure: the one with white sand, blue water, and a boat.

“You’re going,” Mateo says.

I don’t answer; neither does Rico.

Mateo looks between us.

“Both of you.”

“Mateo.” Rico begins.

“I’m not saying tomorrow.”

His voice remains light, but his eyes aren’t.

“I’m saying don’t turn it into someday.”

Everyone goes silent as the music plays in the background; the song changes, and her voice carries through the room and over the phone.

Mateo starts swaying in his chair, and Rico laughs.

“There he goes.”

“What?”

“You can’t sit still.”

“I have rhythm.”

“You have enthusiasm.”

“Same thing.”

I laugh.

Mateo points at the phone. “Don’t listen to him.”

“I’ve seen you dance.”

“Exactly.”

“That wasn’t a compliment.”

“You’re blocked.”

I laugh harder.

The conversation becomes easy again: music, jokes, tamales, Alejandro, and Colorado.

Before we hang up, Mateo says my name.

“Santiago.”

“Yeah?”

“When you get here, we’re having another music night.”

“I figured.”

“And you’re picking something.”

“Selena.”

“Too easy.”

“Michael.”

“Better.”

“Mariah.”

Mateo grins.

“There we go.”

Rico shakes his head. “I’m going to regret this.”

“You’ll survive.”

The words leave Mateo casually, and this time none of us flinch.

Maybe we’re learning.

Not how to ignore what’s coming, but how to keep living while it comes.

An hour later, Alejandro texts.

“Did you ask?”

I respond:

“Yes.”

Alejandro

“And?”

Me

“Your mother can make whatever she wants.”

Three dots.

Alejandro

“Dangerous thing to tell her.”

I smile, and send another message.

“Bring something else too.”

Alejandro

“What?”

I think about Mateo swaying in his chair.

About a white boat in the Bahamas.

About twenty-two years old.

About someday.

Me

“A good speaker.”

Alejandro responds:

“Uh oh.”

I laugh.

Me

“Trust me.”

I turn the radio up, and Aaliyah follows me down the highway.

This time, I know enough to sing along.

Chapter 30

Someday Is Too Far Away

Rico

Mateo has been playing Aaliyah all morning, which isn’t unusual.

What’s unusual is the photo album.

It sits open across his lap while he occupies the middle of our bed, surrounded by photographs, ticket stubs, old CD cases, and enough memories to make the mattress disappear.

I stand in the doorway. “What are you doing?”

“Research.”

“For?”

“My life.”

I smile. “That’s dramatic.”

“I’ve earned dramatic.”

“You absolutely have.”

I walk into the room.

An Aaliyah CD case lies beside his leg, its plastic scratched, because we’ve had it forever.

I pick it up.

“You still have this?”

“Of course.”

“The case barely closes.”

“Neither do my knees. You keeping me?”

My laugh comes immediately.

“Unfortunately.”

“See?”

I sit beside him. “What are you looking for?”

He hands me a photograph of us from years ago.

Young enough that neither of us knew what hospitals would eventually smell like.

I’m standing behind him with both arms around his waist.

Mateo is laughing at whoever took the picture; I remember that day.

We were at a cookout with too much food.

Aaliyah and Selena were playing from somebody’s stereo, and Mateo was trying to teach me a dance I already knew but pretended not to.

“You remember this?”

“Yeah.”

“You were terrible.”

“I was better than you.”

“Delusional.”

I hand the photograph back, but he doesn’t put it away.

Instead, he studies us.

“I like us there.”

I look at him. “We’re still us.”

“I know.”

His thumb moves across the picture. “But we didn’t know anything yet.”

“No.”

“We thought our biggest problem was your car.”

“My car was a serious problem.”

“It had personality. I like it.”

“It had no air conditioning and a weird smell.”

“You complained too much. It was a decent car.”

“It was the middle of July.”

He laughs; the sound becomes a cough.

Short this time.

Still enough to make my body tense.

Mateo notices.

“I’m okay.”

I don’t answer; he reaches for my hand.

“Rico.”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

I look at him, and he sets the photograph down.

“I need you to stop looking at me like every cough is the one.”

My chest tightens.

“What am I supposed to do?”

“Be here.”

“I am.”

“No.” His voice is gentle. “Sometimes you’re already grieving me.”

The words hurt because they’re true.

Rico knows Mateo is right.

Sometimes he’s so afraid of losing him that he’s already grieving a man who’s still sitting beside him.

But Mateo doesn’t want the time they have left to become one long goodbye.

There’s still music to play.

There’s still a dance waiting for them.

And there’s one promise Mateo needs Rico to make; not about death, but about everything he hopes Rico will do afterward.

This isn’t funeral talk.

It’s living talk.

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It’s admitting the life everyone told you should make you happy... doesn’t.

Tonight, Where I Finally Breathe shifts perspective as Brian makes a choice Julian never expected, and someone else is finally forced to look at what years of control, expectations, and silence have cost their family.

But when everything you’ve spent your life holding together starts falling apart, you have two choices:

You can finally ask yourself why.

Or you can hold on even tighter.

Tonight, someone makes the wrong choice.

Chapter Forty-One

The First One to Walk Away

Brian

I don’t tell anyone I’m leaving. Not my family. Not anyone at the office. Not Julian. Especially not Julian.

The resignation letter has been sitting in the passenger seat of my car since seven this morning, sealed inside a folder I’ve opened at least six times despite knowing exactly what it says. Three paragraphs; that’s all it takes to end years of my life. Years of meetings, deals, flights, late nights, and years spent becoming someone Julian’s father trusted more and more. Maybe that’s part of the problem.

I sit outside the house for another minute before finally grabbing the folder. The front door is unlocked; there was a time when I wouldn’t have knocked anyway. I practically lived here. Dinners, holidays, business meetings that somehow found their way from conference rooms to dining tables, and a relationship that started because two families thought Julian and I looked good beside each other. Eventually... it became a life neither of us knew how to leave.

Until Julian did.

I step inside. “Hello?”

“In here.” His father’s voice comes from the dining room. I find him sitting at the head of the table, coffee beside him and a tablet in his hand. He looks up.

“You’re early.”

“I know.”

“Sit.”

I don’t.

His eyes move to the folder beneath my arm. “What is that?”

I place it on the table. “My resignation.”

He stares at me. For a second, I don’t think he understands. Then he laughs. “What?”

“I’m leaving the company.”

His expression hardens. “Sit down.”

“No.”

“Brian.”

“I’m not staying.”

He closes the tablet. “You’re upset.”

“I’m not.”

“Then you’re being irrational.”

I almost laugh; maybe I would’ve believed that a month ago. Maybe I would’ve let him convince me.

“I’m not being irrational.”

“Julian leaving has affected all of us.”

There it is, Julian. Somehow everything always comes back to Julian without ever really being about what Julian wants.

“This isn’t about Julian leaving.”

“Of course it is.”

“No.” I pull out the chair Julian used to sit in, but I don’t sit. I just look at it. “This is about everything that happened before he left.”

His father leans back. “What exactly do you think happened?”

“You stopped seeing him.”

His expression changes. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

“That’s my son.”

“I know he’s your son.”

“Then don’t come into my house and tell me I didn’t see my own child.”

“You didn’t.”

His jaw tightens. I should probably stop., but I don’t.

“You saw the son you needed. The heir. The successor. The person who would eventually sit in your office and keep everything you built going.”

He stands. “I gave Julian opportunities most people would kill for.”

“Did he want them?”

His eyes narrow. “That’s not the point.”

I almost smile. “It actually is.”

“You have no idea what it takes to build something that lasts.”

“Maybe not.” I nod toward the room. “But I know what it costs when you make people responsible for keeping it alive.”

He doesn’t respond. So I keep going.

“When Julian wasn’t the businessman you wanted him to be, you started bringing me in.”

“I respected your expertise.”

“You respected that I agreed with you.”

“I gave you opportunities too.”

“And I took them.”

That stops him, and I nod. “I’m not pretending I didn’t.” I look down at the folder. “I liked it.” The admission tastes strange. “The meetings. The decisions. Being someone you trusted.”

I laugh quietly. “Maybe I even liked that you trusted me with things you didn’t trust Julian with.”

He says nothing. “And while I was enjoying all of that, I stopped asking what it was doing to him.”

“Julian had everything.”

“I know.”

Money, a home, career, and me. Everything except the ability to decide whether he wanted any of it.

“I loved him.”

His father looks at me. “I know you did.”

“No.” I shake my head. “I loved him, but somewhere along the way I started loving our life more than I loved the person living it with me.”

The room goes quiet. “I kept telling myself I was protecting him.” I look at his father. “Sound familiar?”

His expression hardens. “Be careful.”

“I am.”

For the first time in years... I am.

He gestures toward the resignation. “So what? You’re throwing your career away because you feel guilty?”

“No.”

“Then what are you doing?”

I think about New York. Julian laughing, surrounded by people who had nothing to gain from him, and Julian looking happier after losing everything we told him he needed.

I don’t tell his father any of that. That belongs to Julian.

“I’m choosing something different.”

His father’s jaw tightens. “That’s exactly what Julian did.”

There it is. Not anger. Fear. I can finally see it.

“Yeah.” I nod. “Maybe it is.”

He pushes away from the table. “You think walking away fixes anything?”

“No.”

“Then why?”

“Because staying doesn’t either.”

He stares at me. I look around the house. Everything is immaculate. Expensive. Perfect. And empty.

“I don’t know what comes next.” That admission would’ve terrified me once. Now it feels almost peaceful. “But I know I don’t want this anymore.”

“You have a position people spend their entire careers trying to reach.”

“I know.”

“Influence.”

“I know.”

“A future.”

I smile sadly. “Whose?”

He goes quiet, and I slide the folder closer. “I’m done.”

I turn toward the door. “Brian.”

I stop. “If you walk out that door, don’t expect to come back.”

There was a time that would’ve scared me. The loss of access, status, connection, and the future I’d spent years building. Today... It doesn’t.

“I don’t.”

I reach the doorway. Then stop. There’s one thing left I need to say. Not for Julian. For myself.

“You keep talking about getting your son back.”

His expression changes. “He is my son.”

“Exactly.” I turn. “Your son.” I let the words sit between us. “Not your employee. Not your successor. Not the person responsible for making everything you built matter.”

His face reddens. “You don’t get to tell me how to raise my son.”

“No.” I nod. “You’re right.”

I open the door. “But maybe one day you’ll ask him.”

He doesn’t answer. I step outside. The door closes behind me, and for the first time in years... I have nowhere I’m supposed to be. No meeting waiting. No family expectation. No carefully planned future. Just me. It’s terrifying. I understand now why Julian looked so scared when he left. I also understand why he did it anyway.

I walk toward my car. For once, I don’t know where I’m going, and maybe that’s okay.

Chapter Forty-Two

The Son I Raised

Julian’s Father

Brian’s resignation is still sitting on my dining room table the next morning. I haven’t moved it. I haven’t opened it again. I don’t need to. I know what it says. I know what he said. That’s worse.

The house has never been this quiet. For years, I complained about noise. Doors opening, phones ringing, Julian coming home late, my wife calling from another room, Brian and Julian arguing over where we’d have dinner, and people coming and going. Life happening around me.

Now... nothing.

My wife hasn’t joined me for breakfast in weeks. She still lives here. Technically, but I barely see her. Some nights she sleeps in the guest room. Other nights I don’t know when she comes to bed. She stopped asking about my day. Stopped attending company dinners. Stopped reminding me about appointments and events. She stopped doing a lot of things I didn’t realize I noticed until they were gone.

My phone vibrates, and I reach for it too quickly.

Julian.

For one stupid second, I think it might be him. It’s my assistant with another update. I open the email.

Transcript request confirmed.

I stare at the screen. Then the next line. Science prerequisites for Pharmacy programs. The word alone makes something inside me tighten. Pharmacy. After all these years.

I lean back. Suddenly, Julian is seventeen again. Standing in the doorway of my office. Excited. He’d spent several weeks in some shadowing program one of his teachers recommended. Every afternoon, he came home with another story. Compounding. Hospital pharmacy. Patient counseling. Chemistry. Medications I’d never heard of. He talked faster whenever he got excited. I remember that.

I also remember the day he walked into my office and said: “I think this is what I want to do.”

I barely looked up from my computer. “Pharmacy?”

“Yeah.” He smiled. “I really like it.”

I told him it was a good experience. He told me he meant it as a career. That’s when I stopped typing. “Julian, we’ve discussed your future.”

“I know.”

“Then you know you’re getting a business degree.”

His smile disappeared. “I could still work with the company.”

“Doing what?”

“I don’t know.” He huffed.

“Exactly.”

He stood there for a long time. Then, quietly: “I’m good at this, Dad.”

I remember my answer. “You’re good at a lot of things. That doesn’t mean you build your life around all of them.”

At the time, I thought I was teaching him something. Life requires sacrifice. Responsibility. Planning. You don’t build a future based on whatever interests you at eighteen. He eventually listened. Julian always listened. That’s what good children do. Isn’t it?

Julian's father is about to discover that Brian isn't the only person who's done staying quiet. And as the family he thought he was protecting begins walking away one by one, he makes a decision that could turn Julian's private escape into something much bigger.

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No beaches beneath the stars. No stolen mornings at the resort. No pretending the plane home isn’t waiting.

Two weeks later, Nate and Kai are discovering what happens when a vacation romance has to survive ordinary life.

For Nate, that means settling into a new apartment in California, preparing for another semester, and learning how to build a life that finally feels like his own.

For Kai, it means returning to Hawaii, reopening the tattoo shop... and checking flights to California far more often than he’d ever admit.

The miles between them are real.

So are the time difference, the missed touches, and the ache of not being able to simply reach for one another.

But something else is becoming real too.

Neither of them is ready to let this become a memory.

Chapter 21

Back to Real Life

Nate

It’s been two weeks since Greece.

Fourteen days since Kai and I stood on opposite sides of airport security, pretending until next time was easier to say than goodbye. Fourteen days since I watched the Mediterranean disappear beneath the clouds, the island becoming a memory before I’d finished being there.

Fourteen days of texts that arrive at odd hours because Hawaii is three hours behind California, a time difference that apparently neither of us bothered to think about while making promises on a beach at midnight. Fourteen days of pictures: sunsets and coffee cups and the mundane evidence of lives continuing in parallel. Fourteen days of video calls where the time delay makes us laugh at each other’s frozen expressions. Fourteen days of voice messages when the other is sleeping, little audio time capsules waiting to be opened.

Fourteen days of learning that missing someone doesn’t diminish them. It just makes you aware of how much space they occupy in your thoughts.

My phone buzzes against the kitchen counter, vibrating against the laminate in a way I’ve already learned to associate with him.

Kai

“You alive?”

I smile despite the morning disorientation, the unfamiliar apartment, the boxes still waiting to be unpacked.

Me

“Barely.”

A picture arrives immediately. Kai is standing behind the counter at the tattoo shop, wearing black gloves, holding a tattoo machine like a conductor’s baton. He’s giving the camera an exaggerated look of concern; eyebrows raised, mouth twisted into something theatrical.

Kai

“Should I alert your family?”

Me

“No, they would just make it worse.”

Kai

“Soren?”

Me

“Gosh, no. He would have everyone calling and checking on me.”

Three dots appear, pulsing with his consideration.

Kai

“Greg?”

I laugh out loud, the sound echoing in the empty apartment.

Me

”You don’t even know Greg.”

Kai

“I know enough.” He responds with a smiling emoji.

That one makes me pause, thumb hovering over the screen.

Greg.

We haven’t really talked about him. Not beyond the stories from before Greece and a few passing comments since I’ve been home. There isn’t anything to hide; Greg is my best friend. What happened between us was fun; what happened in Colorado was definitely fun, but it never felt anything like this. Kai isn’t someone I call when I’m bored. He’s become the person I reach for when something happens. Good. Bad. Completely pointless.

Yesterday I sent him a picture of a dog wearing sunglasses outside a coffee shop on Venice Beach. He responded with a seven-second video of himself laughing so hard he snorted. I watched it four or five times and lost track because it was so cute.

My phone buzzes again.

Kai

“Show me the apartment.”

I switch to video and call him. He answers immediately, his face filling the screen, and something in my chest unclenches at the sight of him.

“Finally.”

“You could’ve called me.”

“I wanted you to miss me.”

“You’re annoying. You know I miss you.”

“And yet...”

He smiles, that particular smile that starts in his eyes and spreads slowly, like sunrise. There it is, the one I spent an entire week photographing. The one that somehow looks even better when it appears unexpectedly on my phone screen, pixelated and compressed and still devastating.

“Turn the camera around,” he says.

I do, to show him the apartment we found last minute, and I’m still settling into.

My apartment is currently ninety percent cardboard boxes, ten percent chaos. Some belong to me, and some came from storage in Florida. One contains things Mark apparently decided I needed, even though I’m pretty sure half of it is the old college textbooks he’ll never admit he wants back.

“Wow.”

“What?”

“You live like this?”

“I moved in yesterday.”

“Excuses.” He ticks, shaking his head.

“I start classes next week.”

“And you’re still unpacking?”

“I have a system.”

“A system?”

“Yes.”

I turn the camera toward a stack near the couch. “Those are clothes.” Another stack. “School.” Another. “Photography equipment.”

“And the box marked miscellaneous?”

“We don’t discuss that box.”

He laughs, and the sound is so familiar, so him, that I feel the distance acutely for a moment; a physical ache in my chest.

I turn the camera back toward myself. “Better?”

“Much better.” His expression changes slightly, softening into something more serious. “So it feels good?”

I know what he’s asking; not about the apartment. He’s asking about California, being here, and doing this without Mark for the first time in my life.

I look around, the small balcony visible through sliding glass doors, enough wall space for some of my photographs, ten minutes from campus by bike. For the first time, it is entirely mine. No shared history. No ghosts. Just possibility.

“Yeah.” I smile, and it surprises me with its honesty. “It does.”

“You nervous?”

“Terrified.” I chuckle.

“Good.”

“Good?”

“Means you’re doing something new.” He shifts the camera, and I see the shop behind him: the flash of colorful artwork on the walls, the sterile gleam of equipment.

“Look at you giving life advice.”

“I contain multitudes.”

I laugh. “You stole that from me.”

“You stole it first.”

Silence settles between us; the comfortable kind that has become one of my favorite things about us. He works on something outside the camera frame while I start opening another box with one hand, phone propped against a coffee mug. This has become our rhythm: calls that don’t demand constant performance. Sometimes Kai calls while he’s cleaning the shop, the sound of running water and metal instruments in the background. Sometimes I

call while editing photos, clicking through Lightroom while he tells me about his day. Once we spent almost forty minutes connected, with neither of us saying more than ten words, just knowing the other was there, breathing, existing in parallel.

“Hey,” he says, his voice pulling me back.

“Hm?”

“Look in your backpack.”

I stop unpacking, tape dispenser frozen in my hand. “What?”

“The front pocket.”

“Why?”

“Just do it.”

I walk toward the chair where I dropped the backpack I carried through Greece, through airports, through the transition from vacation to reality. “Did you put something in here?”

“Maybe.”

I unzip the front pocket, expecting a note, a photo, some romantic gesture. There’s nothing except an old receipt from a café in Chania, a memory card case, and Sand.

A small amount caught in the seam at the bottom, white and glittering and impossibly persistent.

I stare at it, uncomprehending. “What am I looking for?”

Kai grins on the screen, pleased with himself. “Nothing.”

I look at him. “What?”

“You told me you cleaned that bag.”

“I did.”

“Apparently Greece disagrees.”

I run my finger along the seam. A few grains stick to my skin, rough and familiar. For some reason, my chest tightens, a sudden, unexpected emotion that has nothing to do with sand and everything to do with what it represents.

“I can’t believe there’s still sand in here.”

“Leave it.”

I look at him through the screen. “You want me to keep sand in my camera bag?”

“Evidence.”

The word lands immediately, completely. I smile, understanding.

“Evidence.”

I close the pocket without cleaning it. Kai watches me, his expression soft with something like tenderness.

“See?”

“What?”

“Greece isn’t completely gone.”

Greece may be behind them, but Nate and Kai are beginning to discover that what they found there followed them home.

Continue reading as Nate settles into his new life in California, Kai starts looking at flights, Soren gives Nate the push he needs, and “someday” finally becomes something much more real.

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Their parents watched two boys who had once been inseparable learn how to exist in the same room without really being together. They didn’t know what happened, and they didn’t interfere. They simply hoped that one day, somehow, their boys would find their way back.

Now the laughter is back.

So are the video games, shared drinks, stolen food, movie nights, and all those little things Cory and Zavian once did without thinking.

Their parents couldn’t be happier.

But one of them is beginning to wonder if there’s something else returning too.

And with summer running out, Cory and Zavian are about to face another question:

What happens when it’s time to go back to college?

Chapter 23

The Things We Missed

Zavian’s Mom

I hear them before I see them; the sound is a familiar melody I haven’t heard in years, a song I thought I’d forgotten.

“That’s absolute bullshit,” Zavian shouts from the living room.

“No, that’s just you losing again.” Cory chuckles.

“I didn’t lose. The physics engine is garbage.”

“The screen literally says ‘You Lose‘ in big, red letters, Zavian.”

“The game is biased. It doesn’t respect my talent.”

“The game doesn’t know who you are.”

“It knows,” Zavian insists, his voice full of wounded dignity. “It knows, and it fears me.”

I stop halfway down the stairs, my hand resting on the cool wood of the banister. For a second, I don’t move; I just let the sound wash over me. The rhythmic clicking of controller buttons. The low hum of the television, Cory’s sudden, bright peal of laughter, and Zavian’s theatrical groan of defeat.

Then Cory laughs harder, a real, uninhibited sound that makes something deep inside me settle, a muscle I didn’t even realize was tensed finally unclenching. It’s been a long time since this house sounded like this. A long time since it sounded like a home.

I continue downstairs quietly, my steps soft on the carpet. They’re sitting on the floor in front of the television, their backs pressed against the couch, controllers clutched in their hands and an open bag of chips between them like a peace offering.

Zavian reaches into the bag without taking his eyes off the screen, his movements practiced and automatic.

Cory slaps his hand away. “Hey. Those are mine.”

“You didn’t buy them.”

“I opened them, and the opener is the rightful owner. It’s the law of the jungle.”

“That’s not how ownership works in a civilized society.”

“It does in this house.”

Zavian reaches again, a quick, darting movement. Cory yanks the bag away, cradling it to his chest. “Give me the chips.”

“Play the game, and win your own.”

“I’m hungry. My focus is compromised.”

“Sounds personal.”

I have to press my hand against my mouth to hide the smile. There was a time when this was so normal I barely registered it. The constant, low-level noise, the easy, relentless teasing, and the laughter that could erupt from nothing. One of them yelling the other’s name from across the house, a summons that was always answered. Zavian walking into Cory’s room without knocking, a boundary that never existed between them. Cory stealing food right off Zavian’s plate. The two of them fighting over the television even though we had three others in the house, as if only one screen held the proper light.

Then, three years ago, it stopped.

Not slowly, like a fading photograph. Not all at once, like a car crash. It simply… unraveled. The noise lessened, the teasing stopped, the laughter became a rare, precious thing I had to hunt for. Until one day I realized I couldn’t remember the last time I’d heard them laugh together, really laugh, the way they were just now.

They were still polite, and that made it worse. They’d sit through dinner, their answers to our questions civil and concise. They’d pass each other the salt if asked, but they stopped choosing each other. That was the part that broke my heart a little. If Cory was in the living room, Zavian would find an excuse to be in the kitchen. If Zavian went outside to shoot hoops, Cory would suddenly remember a book he needed to read. Family gatherings became a careful, choreographed dance of avoidance, a performance neither of them ever acknowledged, but we all felt.

When they did end up in the same room, they’d somehow manage to spend the entire time existing in separate atmospheres, their gazes never quite meeting, their bodies angled away as if repelled by a magnetic force we couldn’t see.

We noticed, of course we noticed. We just didn’t know what to do about it. They were adults, and whatever had happened belonged to them, a locked box we had no key to. So we waited and hoped.

Then came the lake; when Cory asked Zavian if he wanted to sleep on the boat, I nearly dropped the plate I was holding. Neither of them seemed to realize how significant it was, how the air in the yard had shifted, but we did. My husband looked at me from across the barbecue grill, his eyes wide; I looked at him, but neither of us said a word because that was a huge moment.

The boat had always been theirs, their sanctuary. Movies, video games, late-night conversations that drifted out over the water, and sleeping wherever they happened to fall. Sometimes they’d come stumbling into the cabin the next morning, blinking in the sun, looking like they hadn’t slept at all. Other mornings, we’d find them still asleep, tangled together on the small couch. One stretched out, the other half on top of him. An arm thrown casually across a chest. A leg tangled with another. A head in a lap. It never mattered. It was never weird. That was just Cory and Zavian.

Seeing them walk toward that boat together again, after years of silence, felt like getting back something we hadn’t realized we’d missed so badly. A piece of our family’s soul.

Now, watching them argue over a video game in our living room, I feel it again. A profound, bone-deep relief.

“Everything okay?”

I turn to my husband, who is standing behind me, his voice low. I smile and nod toward the living room. “Look.”

He looks just as Zavian finally manages to steal the chips, a triumphant maneuver that involves a distracting jab at Cory’s controller. Cory shoves his shoulder, and Zavian yelps, nearly dropping his controller.

“You made me crash!”

“You stole my chips.”

“That doesn’t justify attempted murder!”

“It’s a video game, you drama queen.”

“Tell that to my car. My pixelated, beautiful car.”

My husband chuckles beside me, the sound a warm rumble in his chest. “Sounds like old times.”

“Doesn’t it?” I whisper.

He watches them for another moment, his expression softening. “I’m glad.”

“Me too,” I say, and I am. More than I can explain.

For a while, we’re just happy to have our boys back. To have the noise and the life back in our house, but once I start noticing them, it’s difficult to stop. Not because they’re doing anything unusual. That’s what I keep reminding myself. They’re just… being them.

At breakfast, Zavian makes two cups of coffee without asking. At dinner, Cory gets up for another drink and returns with a bottle of water for Zavian too. Neither of them ever asks. They never did. Cory knows exactly how much cream Zavian likes, a ratio he’s known since he was sixteen. Zavian knows Cory hates pickles and will pluck them off his plate without a word, a small, seamless act of service. If one goes to the store, he comes home with the other’s favorite brand of chips or a candy bar he knows he likes.

Everything is just normal, familiar, and them.

At dinner, there are plenty of empty chairs at the table. They sit beside each other. They always did; during movie nights, there is an entire living room full of seating options, but they end up on the same couch. They always did. Sometimes Zavian stretches out with his head in Cory’s lap. Sometimes Cory leans his full weight against Zavian’s shoulder. Sometimes an arm gets thrown across the back of the couch behind the other, a casual, proprietary gesture.

They’ve been doing those things since they were teenagers, their bodies finding a natural, easy orbit with each other.

The difference is that for three years, they didn’t. That’s what makes every little thing feel monumentally important now. Every shared glance, every casual touch, every inside joke is a victory. They are finding their way back to each other.

I’m not watching because I think something is wrong. I’m watching because I’m happy. Every time Zavian laughs at something Cory says, I find myself smiling. Every time Cory walks into a room and chooses the seat right beside him, something in me relaxes. My son has his best friend back. Cory has his brother back. Whatever they lost, they’re finding it again.

At least, that’s what I think at first.

One evening, my husband and I are cleaning the kitchen after dinner. The boys are in the living room, their voices drifting in, arguing good-naturedly over what movie to watch.

“They’re going to spend thirty minutes choosing and fall asleep halfway through it again,” he says, wiping down the counter.

“Probably.”

“They’ve always done that,” he says, and there’s a fondness in his voice that mirrors my own.

I smile. “They have.”

Zavian says something from the other room, his voice low and teasing. Cory laughs, that bright, beautiful sound.

My husband stops wiping the counter. Then he smiles, a real, genuine smile. “That’s good to hear again.”

I look at him; He doesn’t say anything else. He doesn’t need to. We both remember the three years of silence. A heavy, oppressive blanket that smothered the life out of this house.

“I worried about them,” I admit, my voice quiet.

“So did I.”

“You never said anything.”

“Neither did you.”

“I wanted to.”

“So did I.”

“Why didn’t you?”

He shrugs, rinsing the sponge under the faucet. “What was I supposed to say? ‘Hey, boys, you used to spend every waking second together, and now you act like strangers who happen to share a hallway. Want to explain that to your old man?’”

I laugh quietly. “It crossed my mind.”

“Mine too,” he says, his smile fading. “I figured they’d tell us when they were ready.”

“They never did.”

“No.”

We both look toward the living room. Cory is sitting in his usual corner of the couch. Zavian walks in carrying two bottles of water and hands one to Cory without asking, without even looking. Cory takes it, his fingers closing around the bottle automatically. “Thanks.”

“Yep.”

Zavian sits beside him. Not at the other end of the couch. Beside him, close enough that their shoulders touch. Neither of them reacts. It’s as natural as breathing.

My husband smiles. “There.”

“What?”

“That’s what I missed,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “Them just being them.”

My chest tightens. “Me too.”

For a few minutes, we stand there watching our boys without pretending we aren’t. Then Cory says something quietly, his head tilted toward Zavian. I can’t hear it. Whatever it is makes Zavian turn toward him, his full attention captured. Their eyes meet. Cory smiles. Zavian smiles back with a soft, quiet smile that’s different.

I straighten, a strange, unfamiliar thought blooming in my mind. My husband doesn’t seem to notice. Not yet, but I do

Later that night, we’re getting ready for bed when I finally say it.

“I think there’s something else.”

He’s pulling his shirt over his head, his voice muffled by the fabric. “Something else with what?”

“The boys.”

He looks at me, his brow furrowed. “What about them?”

“I don’t know,” I say, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Have you ever wondered what really happened between them?”

“Of course I wondered.”

“What did you think?”

He shrugs, sitting down beside me. “They were young. Probably a girl.”

“A girl?” I ask, turning to face him.

“Why not?”

“They stopped speaking for three years, David. Over a girl?”

“They probably liked the same girl. It happens.”

I stare at him. “For three years?”

He sighs, lying back against the pillows. “Men can hold grudges. You know that.”

“You’re impossible; I can’t believe you think that’s all that could have happened.”

“I’m realistic,” he says, closing his eyes.

I don’t answer because maybe he’s right. Maybe I’m reading too much into things because I’m so relieved to see them together again, to hear them laugh. Then memories start moving through my head, not the cuddling on the couch, the hugs, or the way they always sat together. Those things were normal. Sweet, but normal.

It’s other moments; looks I didn’t understand at the time, silences that felt different, heavier. The way one could walk into a room full of people and somehow immediately know where the other was, a compass that always pointed north. How devastating their separation seemed for something neither would explain, a grief that felt too large for a simple falling-out.

My husband notices I’ve gone quiet. “What?”

“I don’t think it was a girl,” I say, my voice barely a whisper.

He opens his eyes and looks at me. “Okay. What do you think it was?”

I look toward the bedroom door. Across the hallway, the boys are still awake. I can hear their voices, a low, indistinct murmur. Cory says something. Zavian laughs. That sound again. I smile before I can stop myself.

“I don’t know yet.”

He gives me a look, one that says he knows I’m holding back. “But?”

“I’m starting to think there’s more to them than we ever realized,” I say softly.

He doesn’t laugh or agree either. He just thinks about it, his expression serious, and that’s enough.

Tomorrow there will be breakfast. Another dinner. Another movie. Another hundred little moments we’ve seen a thousand times before.

Except now, we’re paying attention.

Chapter 24

Across the Hall

Cory

Summer is running out; I can feel it in the air, in the subtle tilt of the earth. I don’t like thinking about it. Every morning seems to steal a little more daylight, the sun rising later, setting sooner. Every store has decided that we need notebooks, dorm supplies, and giant, cheerful signs reminding us that the fall semester is coming, whether we’re ready or not.

I’m not ready; not because of school. School has never bothered me. It’s a world I understand, a problem I can solve.

It’s everything else, mostly Zavian.

I look across the breakfast table at Zavian, scrolling through something on his phone with one hand while eating cereal with the other, his movements a study in casual, focused multitasking.

“What?” he asks, not looking up from his phone.

I blink. “What?”

“You were staring at me.”

“I wasn’t.”

“You were,” he says, finally looking up, his eyes locking with mine. “Intensely; should I be concerned?”

“I was looking past you,” I lie, my face warming.

He turns around slowly, looking behind him. There’s a wall. A beige, boring wall. He turns back to me, one eyebrow raised. “Interesting view, you like paint?”

“I find it compelling,” I say, deadpan. “The texture. The color, it’s really interesting.”

“Apparently.” He says, going back to his cereal, but I can see the smile playing on his lips.

I kick him gently under the table, and he kicks me back, a little harder.

His mom looks over her coffee, her eyes twinkling. “Children.”

“We’re adults,” Zavian says, his voice full of mock indignation.

“Then act like it.”

My dad lowers his newspaper, a rustle of pages. “Don’t ask for miracles before eight a.m.”

“Thank you,” I say.

“That wasn’t a compliment.”

I reach for my coffee the same time Zavian does. Our fingers brush. A jolt, warm and familiar, goes up my arm.

“That’s mine.”

“I thought it was mine.”

“Yours is right there.”

He looks beside his elbow at the nearly identical mug. “Oh.”

I shake my head. “College-educated.”

“Almost,” he says, and his smile fades slightly.

College.

There it is again; the thing neither of us has really talked about. The giant, looming elephant in the room, wearing a school sweatshirt and carrying a backpack to get to classes across campus.

His mom notices too. “When do you boys go back?”

“A couple of weeks,” Zavian says, his voice a little too casual.

“Do you have your housing settled?”

I look at him, and he looks at me. A silent, panicked conversation passes between us in the space of a heartbeat.

“No,” we say at the same time.

His mom lowers her mug, her expression concerned. “Neither of you?”

“My roommate transferred,” I explain quickly. “I was supposed to get reassigned, but housing hasn’t sent anything yet.”

Zavian nods. “Mine decided he’s moving off campus with his girlfriend.”

My dad folds his newspaper, the sound sharp and final. “So what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know,” I say, a pit forming in my stomach.

Zavian shrugs. “Probably just take whoever they give me. A rando, it’ll be fine.”

Something about that bothers me more than it should. Some random guy, living with Zavian. Seeing him first thing in the morning, all sleep-rumpled and soft. Knowing whether he snores, he does, a little. Knowing he sleeps with the fan on even when it’s cold. Knowing he leaves water bottles everywhere, yet somehow complains when anyone else leaves a dish in the sink.

The things I’ve always known.

His mom looks between us, her eyes thoughtful. “Why don’t you room together?”

Across the hall might be about to become a whole lot closer. ❤️

Cory and Zavian have spent the summer finding their way back to each other, but going back to college means returning to the place where they once became strangers.

Now they have a choice.

Separate rooms. Separate lives.

Or take everything they’ve rebuilt this summer with them.

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Damon never pushed.

He never demanded an answer or asked Zaire to promise him something he wasn’t ready to give. He simply kept showing up.

And maybe that’s exactly what Zaire needed.

After years of almosts, missed chances, and one night neither of them ever really forgot, Zaire isn’t interested in running anymore.

Tonight, there are no cameras to hide behind.

No distance.

No pretending.

Just Damon and Zaire, and everything they’ve waited years to finally say.

Chapter 40

No More Waiting

Damon

Zaire has been weird all day. Not the bad kind of weird, but secretive; I guess that is bad weird.

Every time I walk into a room, something closes like he’s hiding something from me. He closes his laptop, camera case, or phone.

At breakfast, I catch him smiling at his screen. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re a terrible liar. Did I do something?”

“What? No, I’m just working.”

“On?”

“Something.”

No shit, what are you working on that’s so damn important? Next thing I know, Zaire is walking to the living room and connecting his laptop

Now he’s standing in my living room, connecting his laptop to the television.

I lean against the wall. “Am I allowed to ask?”

“No.”

“Should I be worried?”

“Probably.”

“Zaire.”

He laughs, but I notice his hands shaking.

“Hey.” He looks up, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.”

“You sure?”

“No.”

I walk closer. “What is this?”

He looks at the television, and then back at me. “Something I should’ve done a long time ago.”

He picks up the remote. “Sit down.”

The screen goes black.

Then Jaxon’s mural appears with soft music playing in the background; I don’t know what to feel. Then the shot changes to me, walking into the community center.

When did he get that shot of me? Damn, he’s good with that camera.

Then Miss Carla. “He shows up.”

Another person. “Damon doesn’t wait until somebody asks.”

One of the kids. “Coach came to my game.”

Another. “He helped my mom.”

Another. “He said I could do it.”

Photographs appear between their voices of me coaching, laughing, carrying equipment; then to me with Cannon, me with Kian and Roderick.

The memories of Nashville come flooding back and I smile. The screen changes again to a picture of me when I was younger.

I can’t help but smile; then it changes to Zaire and me: high school and college. Years I thought he’d forgotten.

My chest tightens. “Zaire...”

“Keep watching.”

The screen changes, and this time Zaire appears alone, looking straight into the camera.

Then he starts talking about Miami, Soren, Kian and Roderick, coming home, and then me.

I stop breathing somewhere around the moment when he says, “My camera keeps finding you.”

My heart is beating so fast, and I have so many thoughts, and then I hear him say, “I think it’s because I finally see you.”

My automatic reaction is to turn and look at him; he’s standing across the room watching me instead of the television.

The video continues. “I don’t know if I’m going back to Atlanta.”

My heart stops. What is he saying? Did I hear him correctly? “I’m supposed to, but for the first time, I don’t know if that’s where home is anymore.”

Then the final words. “What I do know is that wherever I figure that out... I want you there.”

The screen goes black, and silence fills the room; I can’t move.

Zaire sets the remote down. “I know that’s a lot.”

I stand. “Damon, you made that for me?”

“Yeah.” He says, blushing and rubbing his neck.

“All of it?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

His eyes meet mine, and the look on his face makes me want to melt. He looks proud and scared at the same time.

“You’ve spent years showing everybody else what they mean to you.” He steps closer. “And I don’t think anybody shows you enough.”

I swallow. “Zaire...”

“I see you.”

Three words; that’s all it takes for me to know how he feels. All the years of convincing myself friendship was enough because having some of him was better than risking losing all of him.

With the video and him uttering those three words, I don’t wait anymore; I cross the space between us. I’m close enough to touch him, but I don’t. “Tell me what you’re saying.”

His eyes don’t leave mine. “I’m saying I’m tired of being afraid of something I’ve wanted for years.”

My heart pounds, a frantic, desperate rhythm against my ribs. “And what do you want?”

He reaches for me. His fingers curl into the front of my shirt, and he utters one word.

“You.”

Then there’s no more space between us; our mouths crash against each other. It’s brutal and hungry, a collision of years of pent-up frustration and desire. It reminds me of the night we shared when he showed up for graduation, but this is different. This isn’t a caught-up-in-the-moment thing. This is a choice.

His hands slide around my neck as mine find his waist, pulling him against me. He kisses me back with the same hunger, the same desperate need. I can feel his cock, hard and insistent, pressing against my thigh through our jeans.

I pull away just enough to breathe, my forehead resting against his. “You sure?”

“Stop asking me that,” he growls, his voice rough. “I was sure a few months ago, and I’m more than sure now.” He grabs my ass and pulls me flush against him, grinding our dicks together.

I groan against his mouth. “I still remember the last time.”

“Oh, do you?” He smiles, a wicked, knowing curve of his lips. “I remember that night too, and it was the best night I’d had in a long time.”

“I’ve waited a long time. I’m allowed one confirmation.”

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That’s how long it’s been since Malik last heard from Raphael.

He knows silence doesn’t necessarily mean something is wrong. Missions change. Communication breaks down. Plans shift without warning.

Knowing that doesn’t make waiting any easier.

Miles away, Raphael carries Malik with him in the only way he can—a folded letter tucked close enough to touch whenever he needs the reminder.

Both men have jobs to do.

Both have people depending on them.

And both understand that loving someone in a place like this means accepting one terrifying truth:

Sometimes all you can do is trust them to come back.

Chapter 25

No Letter Today

Malik

Tomorrow comes, but the letter doesn’t. I tell myself that doesn’t mean anything. I told myself the same thing yesterday, and the day before that. It’s been three days since Raphael’s squadron left the installation. Three days since I’ve heard his voice. Three days since I’ve seen his face. Three days since a letter with his handwriting has been tossed onto my bunk. I know better than to panic because schedules and operations change. Communication disappears; that’s part of being here, and I know that. My brain knows that. My heart doesn’t give a damn.

“Walker.”

I look up; Carl is standing across from me. “You planning on eating that?”

I glance down at my tray that hasn’t been touched. “I’m eating.”

“No, you’re staring at it.”

“I’m thinking.”

“That’s becoming a dangerous habit.”

Normally, I’d laugh, but I don’t; I can’t. Carl notices, and he slides into the chair across from me. “He’ll write.”

I look at him. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Luke sits beside us. Nobody jokes this time. That’s almost worse, so I pick up my fork. “I know.”

Carl watches me. “Do you?”

“Yes.”

“Then eat.”

I give him a look. He points at my tray. “Brooks is gonna come back and blame me when he sees you’ve lost ten pounds.”

That gets a laugh out of me, a small one, but it’s something. “You think he’s that dramatic?”

Carl stares at me. “Have you met him?”

Luke laughs, and I finally take a bite. Carl nods approvingly. “There we go.”

“Don’t make this weird.”

“Too late.”

For a few minutes, we’re just three guys eating terrible food again, which is what I need, because there are questions I can’t ask. Not here. Not like this. I can’t walk into operations and demand to know where Raphael is because I’m worried about him. We’re soldiers. He has his assignment, and I have mine. Whatever exists between us doesn’t change that. That’s something I understood before deployment.

However, it’s much harder now.

That afternoon, I’m working near the vehicle yard when Colonel Hollis walks past. He makes it several feet before stopping. “Walker.”

“Sir.”

He turns, and for half a second, I consider asking. The question sits right there. “Have you heard from Raphael’s unit?”

Hollis studies me anyway. “You alright?”

“Yes, sir.”

He doesn’t believe me. I can tell. Still, he doesn’t push. “Your people need you focused.”

“I know.”

“That wasn’t a reprimand.”

I meet his eyes. Hollis folds his arms. “It’s possible to worry about someone and still do your job.”

My throat tightens. Apparently Pierce isn’t the only colonel who knows everybody’s business. “Sir...”

He almost smiles. “Brooks’ unit is still operating.”

That’s all he says. Nothing about where. Nothing about what they’re doing. Nothing he shouldn’t tell me, but it’s enough, and that makes my shoulders loosen.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Don’t thank me.” His expression becomes serious. “Trust your people.”

Then he walks away; I stand there for another moment.

“Trust your people.”

He’s right; I need to trust that everything will be ok. My squadron needs me, and the military has trained us for these moments.

Raphael will be fine.

That night, I write. I don’t know when Raphael will get it, but that doesn’t matter.

Raphael,

I haven’t gotten a letter from you in three days.

Before you start feeling guilty when you read this, don’t. I know you’re doing your job, and I’m doing mine.

I just miss you. I haven’t picked our song yet. Apparently that’s harder than I thought. Carl has suggestions, but I’m ignoring all of them on principle.

Come back when you can.

I’ll be here.

—Malik

I stare at the page. There are a thousand other things I want to write. “I’m worried.” “I love you.” “I keep looking for you.” “I wish we’d taken more than five minutes.” Instead, I fold the letter, because Raphael already knows.

At least... I hope he does. Besides, the last thing he needs is to worry about me more than he probably already is. He needs to be focused and come home.

Raphael

We haven’t stopped long enough for me to write. That’s the first thing I think about when we finally get a chance to rest. Not sleep. Not food. Malik.

Griffin drops down beside me. “You’re doing it again.”

“What?”

“Touching your pocket.”

I look down, and my fingers are resting over Malik’s letter. I hadn’t noticed. “Mind your business.”

Griffin smiles. “Just making an observation.”

“Observe something else.”

“I could.” He leans back. “But this is more entertaining.”

I shake my head. “You ever shut up?”

“You’d miss me.”

The words hit differently this time. Maybe because I’m tired. Maybe because of what Malik said. Maybe because out here, you start noticing how often people talk about the future like it’s guaranteed.

I look at Griffin. “Yeah.”

His eyebrows rise. “Yeah, what?”

“I’d miss you.”

Griffin stares at me and places a hand over his heart. “Brooks.”

“Don’t, you’re starting to sound like Carl right now.”

“This is beautiful.”

“I immediately regret it.”

“I knew you loved me, and Carl wishes he was as cool as me.” He huffs.

“Go away.”

He laughs, and for a moment, everything feels normal. Then someone calls us back. Break’s over. I stand, and so does Griffin.

I touch the letter one more time.

Five more minutes.

That’s what I’d asked Malik for.

Right now... I’d take five seconds.

Chapter 26

When Everything Changes

Raphael

The morning begins like every other one. That’s the part I’ll remember. Nothing announces itself. There’s no feeling in my chest. No voice telling me something bad is coming. No warning from the universe. Just another morning. Another assignment. Another vehicle. Another day.

Griffin is beside me. He’s been complaining for the last twenty minutes. “I swear when we get home, I’m sleeping for a week.”

“You’ll make it six hours.”

“Minimum seventy-two.”

“You can’t even sit still through a movie.”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“Movies require commitment.”

I look at him. “Sleeping for seventy-two hours doesn’t?”

He thinks about it. “Fair.”

I laugh, and that’s when everything changes.

One moment is all it takes.

Raphael’s unit is about to face something neither he nor Malik can control, and miles away, Malik is about to discover that sometimes silence really does mean something has changed.

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Diego’s move to Nashville is getting closer, and suddenly the little things are becoming harder to ignore: the coffee Alejandro knows without asking, the memories packed away in old boxes, and the realization that some people quietly become part of your life before you ever decide what they mean to you.

Meanwhile, Diego isn’t the only one preparing for a fresh start. Xavier is beginning to ask himself a question he’s avoided for years: what does he actually want when no one else gets to choose the answer?

And as goodbye gets closer, Diego and Alejandro finally have to acknowledge the one thing neither of them can pack neatly into a box.

Maybe leaving changes everything. Maybe it doesn’t end everything.

Chapter 46

The Things That Fit

Diego

Alejandro shows up at nine Saturday morning carrying coffee, breakfast tacos, and enough packing tape to move an entire family. I stare at the pile in his arms when I open the door.

“How much shit do you think I own?”

He looks past me into the living room, where six empty boxes are sitting exactly where they were last night. “Considering you’ve apparently packed nothing since you texted me?”

“I packed.”

Alejandro steps inside. “What?”

I point toward a box near the couch. He walks over, peers inside, then looks back at me. There are three books in it, maybe four.

“Impressive.”

“Fuck you.”

He laughs and hands me one of the coffees. “I figured we’d need these.”

“We?”

“You asked me to help.”

“I was emotional.”

“Should’ve thought about that before you gave me your address.”

He carries everything into the kitchen like he belongs here. That’s becoming a problem. Not Alejandro being here, but how natural it feels.

I’ve gotten used to him in pieces. Coffee appearing beside me in the morning. His truck pulling onto the site. His voice somewhere behind me when Luis says something stupid. A text at night asking whether I remembered to eat. Nothing dramatic. Nothing that would’ve made me stop and think, This matters. Until now.

Now I’m looking at him standing in my kitchen, pulling breakfast tacos from a paper bag while complaining about my lack of packing progress, and Nashville suddenly feels farther away than it did yesterday.

“Eat first,” he says.

I lean against the counter. “You’re bossy.”

“You haven’t seen bossy.”

“I manage construction crews for a living.”

“And somehow can’t put books in a box.”

“I put four in there.”

“Three.”

I look toward the living room. “There’s definitely four.”

“One’s a magazine.”

I flip him off, and Alejandro grins.

We eat at the counter. The conversation stays easy. Work. Luis. The game tonight. Cristian, who apparently left town again after his project wrapped up. Eventually, Alejandro looks around the kitchen.

“So what’s coming with you?”

“Everything.”

“Helpful.”

“I don’t have that much.”

He’s quiet for a second. “What about stuff you don’t want anymore?”

I know immediately he’s not asking about furniture. I take another sip of coffee. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t have to answer.”

“No.” I look toward the living room. “I think I’m taking most of it.”

Alejandro watches me. “Even the old stuff?”

“Especially the old stuff.”

His eyebrows lift, and I shrug. “Leaving doesn’t mean I have to pretend my life here didn’t happen.”

Something changes in his expression. Approval, maybe. “I like that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He folds the wrapper from his taco. “People get weird about fresh starts. Like you’re supposed to burn everything down first.”

“I’ve burned enough.”

The words leave before I can stop them. Alejandro doesn’t react or apologize for making me think about Xavier. Doesn’t rush to fill the silence. He just nods.

“I think you’re allowed to build from what’s left.”

I look at him; construction metaphor. Of course. “That was terrible.”

“It was good.”

“It was cheesy.”

“You understood it.”

“Unfortunately.”

He laughs, and just like that, we’re moving again.

By noon, the living room looks completely different. Boxes line the wall. Pictures are down. Bookshelves are empty. Alejandro handles my kitchen like he’s personally offended by the way I store things.

“Why do you have six travel mugs?”

“I travel.”

“You go to work.”

“That’s travel.”

“No. That’s commuting.”

“Same thing.”

“No, it’s not, Diego.”

I toss another roll of tape at him, and he catches it without looking.

Show-off.

A couple of hours later, I’m in my bedroom pulling clothes from the closet when I find the box. I know what’s inside before I open it. Old pictures. College. Trips. Birthdays. Pieces of a life I stopped looking at because too many of them included Xavier.

I sit on the edge of the bed. The first picture is probably fifteen years old. Damon, Zaire, and I, freshman year. All three of us look ridiculous. Young enough to believe adulthood was something we’d eventually figure out, and I smile.

Then I find another of Xavier; he’s younger too. Standing beside me at some company event. His hand is resting against my back. Nobody looking at the picture would know what we were. Maybe that’s what hurts most about it now. Not because I still want him, but because we spent so much time existing in places no one else could see.

“Diego?” Alejandro stops in the doorway. His eyes fall to the box. “You good?”

“Yeah.” And I am.

I hold up the first picture. “College.”

He walks closer. “That’s Zaire?”

“Yeah.”

“Jesus.”

I laugh. “What?”

“He had hair.”

“He still has hair.”

“Not like that.”

I look at the picture again. “That’s Damon.”

Alejandro nods. “The friend in Nashville.”

“One of them.”

He doesn’t ask about the next picture. He doesn’t have to. I see the moment he recognizes Xavier. I wait for the awkwardness, but it never comes.

Alejandro sits beside me. “Good picture.”

I turn toward him. “Seriously?”

“What?”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Do what?”

“Pretend.”

He studies the photograph again. “I’m not.”

I don’t understand.

Alejandro hands it back to me. “You loved him.”

Its simplicity catches me off guard. “Yeah.”

“Why would I need to hate proof of that?”

For a moment, I can’t speak, because this is Alejandro. The man who told me to take Nashville. The man who admitted I mattered without asking me for anything in return. The man sitting beside me while I hold a photograph of someone I spent years loving.

“You make things really fucking difficult sometimes.”

He smiles. “I’ve been told.”

I put the picture back in the box. Not the trash. The box. Then I close the lid, and Alejandro reaches for the tape, but I stop him.

“Not that one.”

He looks at me. “I’m taking it with me.”

His expression softens. “Okay.”

We keep packing, and by late afternoon, there’s almost nothing left to do. Alejandro stands in the middle of my living room, hands on his hips.

“See?”

I look around, and my house doesn’t feel like mine anymore. It looks temporary. Like I’m already halfway gone.

“Yeah.” The word comes out quieter than I intended, but Alejandro hears it.

“Hey.” I look at him. “You okay?”

I could lie. I’ve gotten pretty good at it over the years. Instead, I tell him the truth.

“I don’t know.”

He nods. “That’s fair.”

“I’m excited.”

“You should be.”

“I’m also scared.”

“I can understand that too.”

I laugh softly and look around again. “I’m going to miss this.”

His eyes stay on me. “The house?”

I shake my head. “No.”

He knows, and I know he knows, but neither of us says it. Not yet.

Diego isn’t the only one packing up an old life.

On the other side of San Antonio, Xavier is facing an opportunity of his own, and for perhaps the first time, he’s asking himself what he wants before deciding what comes next.

Then, as Diego’s final days on the job begin disappearing one by one, he and Alejandro have a conversation neither of them can avoid much longer.

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Chapter 47

Starting Over

Xavier

There are seventeen years of my life in this house. I know because Victoria reminds me when she finds me standing in the garage staring at a stack of boxes.

“You’re not taking all of that.”

I glance over my shoulder. “Why not?”

“Because half of it is junk.”

“It’s my junk.”

She smiles, and it’s strange how much easier we are now. Not good. Not magically healed, but honest. Maybe honesty was the thing we were missing all along.

Victoria walks farther into the garage and opens one of the boxes. “Christmas decorations.”

“Mine.”

“We bought these together.”

“You hate those lights.”

“I do.”

“Then they’re mine.”

She laughs. “Fine.”

The sound settles over me. There was a time when hearing her laugh reminded me of everything I couldn’t give her. Now it just reminds me that somewhere underneath the marriage we forced ourselves to maintain, there were two people who actually liked each other. Maybe that’s what we’ll salvage. Not the marriage. Something else.

“Have you told the kids?”

I nod. “Last night.”

“How’d they take it?”

“Better than I expected.”

“They love you.”

I look down at the box. “I know.”

“They’re not losing you, Xavier.”

“I know.”

This time, I almost believe it.

Victoria closes the box. “So where are you going?”

“Still deciding.”

She stares at me. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Victoria.”

“I’ve known you a long time.”

“Unfortunately.”

She ignores that. “You’ve never done anything without knowing exactly what came next.”

“Maybe that’s the problem.”

Her expression changes, and she leans against the workbench. “Maybe.”

My phone rings before either of us can say more. I glance at the screen. A recruiter. I’ve ignored him twice already. Victoria sees the name.

“Answer it.”

“I can call him back.”

“Xavier.”

I sigh and swipe the screen. “Hello?”

Twenty minutes later, I’m sitting alone in my car with an email open on my phone. Construction company. Different city. Different projects. Different people. They aren’t offering me a miracle. The position is comparable to what I have now. Good salary. Good benefits. More field oversight than corporate administration. A chance to build something without spending every day inside an office protecting an image I don’t even want anymore.

I read the description again. Then a third time. My thumb hovers over Diego’s name. For years, he’d be the person I called. Not publicly. Not honestly, but eventually.

I stare at his contact. Then lock the phone. This decision can’t be Diego’s. That’s part of letting him go.

I start the truck and drive. I don’t know where I’m going until I get there. A park on the other side of town. Nothing special. Just somewhere quiet.

I sit on a bench and watch people move around me. A father chasing a little girl toward the playground. Two men jogging. An older couple walking hand in hand. Ordinary lives. I’ve spent so much time trying to construct the perfect one that I don’t know if I’ve ever allowed myself an ordinary one.

My phone buzzes, and for one ridiculous second, I hope it’s Diego. I hate myself a little for that.

It’s the recruiter. “Take the weekend. Let me know Monday.”

I stare at the message. Then another notification appears.

Diego.

‘You figure out where you’re going yet?”

I laugh. Of course.

I type back. “Maybe.”

The response comes quickly. “That’s vague as hell.”

Me

“New company. New city. Nothing official.”

A minute passes.

Diego

“You want it?”

I look back at the job description. That’s the question, isn’t it? Not whether it’s smart. Not whether it looks good. Not whether people will understand. Do I want it?

Me

“I think I might.”

His response takes longer this time. “Then don’t talk yourself out of it.”

I stare at those words. There was a time when I would’ve read something else into them. A hidden message. A reason to hope. Today, I read exactly what Diego meant. My friend wants me to be okay.

I smile. “Look who’s giving advice now.”

“I learned from annoying people.”

I laugh, and then type: “How’s packing?”

Three dots appear. Disappear. Return. “Alejandro came over to help.”

Something moves through me. Small. Human. Not jealousy exactly. Maybe the memory of it. I let myself feel it, and let it pass.

“Good. You need the help.”

His response is immediate. “Asshole.”

I smile. “Takes one to know one.”

I put the phone away. Then I reopen the recruiter’s email. For the first time, the unknown doesn’t feel like punishment. It feels like possibility.

Chapter 48

Before Goodbye

Diego

My last week starts with Luis pretending he isn’t counting down the days.

“Nine.”

I look up from the tablet. “What?”

“Nine days.”

“Until?”

He stares at me. “You’re really going to make me say it?”

“Yes, because I don’t know why you’re counting down.”

“You’re going to abandon us.”

Marco snorts from across the trailer. “He’s getting a promotion, not joining the witness protection program.”

“Same thing.”

I shake my head. “You two are going to survive.”

“Debatable.”

Alejandro walks in carrying three coffees. Luis points at him. “See? He’s already preparing to take over.”

Alejandro hands me mine. “I don’t want his job.”

“Smart man,” I say.

Luis looks offended. “You don’t even know what my job is.”

“Exactly.”

The trailer fills with laughter. For a few minutes, everything feels normal. Then I look at the coffee in my hand. Same order. Alejandro doesn’t ask anymore. He hasn’t for months.

Nine days; I hate that number.

The week moves too fast. Every day becomes another last. Last Monday meeting. Last inspection. Last argument with Marco over delivery schedules. Last time, Luis stole half my lunch and denied it while chewing.

I’m starting to understand why people hate goodbyes. They’re rarely one moment. They’re dozens of tiny endings stretched across days.

By Friday, most of the crew knows. Some congratulate me. Some complain. A few ask whether I’m taking anyone with me. Luis volunteers Marco. Marco volunteers Luis. Alejandro says nothing. Not because he doesn’t care, but because he already knows. That’s different.

Late that afternoon, I find him near the far side of the site. He’s standing alone, reviewing a section of framing.

“Hey.”

He looks over. “Hey.”

“Got a minute?”

“Always.”

The word hits harder than it should.

We walk toward the edge of the property. For a while, neither of us says anything.

“I talked to Xavier.”

Alejandro glances over. “Again?”

“Text.”

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah.” I kick a small rock from the path. “He’s looking at another job.”

“Good.”

“Different company.”

“Probably good for him.”

“I think so.”

Alejandro nods, and we keep walking.

“You know what’s weird?” I ask.

“What?”

“I actually want him to be happy.”

“That’s weird?”

“After everything?”

“No.”

I look at him, and Alejandro shrugs. “Being hurt doesn’t mean you have to spend the rest of your life wanting the person who hurt you to suffer.”

I laugh softly. “Where the hell were you ten years ago?”

“Probably making terrible decisions.”

“Fair.”

We reach the edge of the site. There’s nothing beyond it yet. Just open land and the beginning of another development.

“I meant what I said,” I tell him.

He turns toward me. “About?”

“You being one of the best friends I’ve ever had.”

His expression softens. “I know.”

“I don’t want Nashville to...”

I stop.

Alejandro waits. “To what?”

“Change that.”

He looks away for a moment. “It will.”

I wasn’t expecting that. “What?”

“It’s going to change.” His voice is calm. “You’re moving states away, Diego. You’re starting another job. You’re going to meet people. Build routines. I’m going to keep living here.”

My chest tightens. “I’m not saying we’re never going to talk.”

“Good, because I would’ve had a problem with that.”

He smiles. “But pretending nothing changes isn’t fair either.”

I know he’s right, and I hate that he’s right.

“So what are you saying?”

He looks at me. “I’m saying we let it become whatever it’s going to become.”

I hold his gaze. “And if I don’t want to lose you?”

Something flashes across his face, but it’s gone almost immediately. “Then don’t.”

Simple; like everything with Alejandro. He just makes everything sound so damn simple.

I look away before he can see too much. “I’ve spent years making complicated choices.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“Fuck you.”

He laughs, and quiets. “Diego.”

I look back. “I don’t regret telling you.”

My heart pounds once, hard. “What you said that night?”

He nods. “You mattered, and you still do.”

“Alejandro.”

“I’m not asking for anything.”

“I know.” That’s what makes it harder.

I take a step closer; not enough to touch him, but enough that the distance feels deliberate.

“I don’t know what I can give anybody right now.”

“I know.”

“I don’t want you waiting.”

His jaw tightens. “I’m not.”

The answer is immediate. “I mean it. Go live your life.”

“I plan to.”

“If you meet somebody.”

“Diego,” I say, cutting him off.

“What?”

“Stop.”

I fall silent, and his eyes stay on mine. “You don’t get to plan my life because you’re afraid of hurting me.”

That lands.

Hard.

“I wasn’t trying to.”

“I know.” His voice softens. “But I meant what I told you. I’m not asking you to stay, and I’m not waiting around hoping you’ll come back.”

I nod as he continues. “If I meet somebody, I meet somebody.”

Something uncomfortable twists in my chest. I don’t like it. Which is ridiculous.

“And if you meet somebody,” he says, “you better tell me if he’s ugly so I can judge you.”

I laugh despite myself. “There it is.”

“What?”

“The asshole.”

“You like me.”

“Unfortunately.”

His smile fades slowly. “Yeah.”

The word sits between us.

I could kiss him.

The thought arrives without warning. Not because we’re standing close. Not because I’m leaving, but because I want to, and that’s exactly why I don’t. Alejandro deserves more than a goodbye kiss from a man still figuring out who he is. I think maybe he understands that too.

Instead, I reach for him, and he comes willingly. The hug is different from every one we’ve shared. His arms wrap tightly around me. Mine close around him. No hesitation. No careful distance. For once, neither of us protects ourselves.

I close my eyes, and his cheek rests against mine.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

“For what?”

“Showing up.”

His arms tighten. “Anytime.”

I almost laugh because, of course, that’s his answer.

When we finally separate, neither of us moves very far. His eyes are suspiciously bright. Mine probably are too.

“We’re not doing the goodbye yet,” he says.

“No?”

“You’ve still got a week.”

“Nine days, according to Luis.”

“Then you have nine days.”

I smile. “Okay.”

Alejandro steps backward. “Come on. We have work.”

He turns toward the site, and I follow.

Now, I understand something I hadn’t allowed myself to consider. Leaving San Antonio isn’t the end of whatever this is between us, but staying wouldn’t have been the beginning either.

We both need the distance. I need to learn who I am when I’m not carrying Xavier, regret, or the life I’ve been living. Alejandro needs the freedom to live without waiting for me to figure it out.

Maybe we’ll find other people. Maybe we’ll change. Maybe one day we’ll look back and realize this was only friendship dressed in the possibility of something more.

Or maybe... I’ll spend every city, every job, every attempt at moving on comparing the feeling of someone new showing up to the man who never had to be asked.

I don’t know yet.

For once, I’m okay with that.

Some things aren’t supposed to be decided before you’ve had the chance to become the person who can choose them.

Diego and Alejandro finally acknowledged that Nashville will change their relationship, but neither of them is willing to force an answer about what they are before they’re ready.

Do you think the distance is exactly what Diego and Alejandro need... or are these two risking something they may regret not exploring now?

And Xavier is officially standing at the beginning of his own fresh start. After everything we’ve watched him lose, learn, and finally take responsibility for:

What do you want most for Xavier in this next chapter of his life?

Because one thing is becoming clear...

Nobody’s story is ending just because Diego is leaving San Antonio. ❤️

Sometimes it means carrying the dreams we made with them into whatever comes next.

This week, the circle around Rico, Mateo, and Santiago gets a little bigger as Alejandro finally becomes more than the nephew they’ve heard stories about. One video call turns strangers into something that already feels suspiciously like family—and gives them something to look forward to.

But beneath the laughter, teasing, and plans for Colorado, something quieter is happening.

Rico and Santiago are beginning to ask each other questions neither has been willing to ask themselves.

What did you want before life changed?

And maybe more importantly...

Are you still allowed to want it?

Chapter 27

Faces Behind the Stories

Rico

Alejandro joins the call on a Thursday night. I know this because Mateo has been reminding me since breakfast.

“Seven o’clock.”

“I know.”

“Mountain time.”

“I know.” I laugh.

“Not Central.” He grins.

“Mateo.”

He looks up innocently grinning from the couch. “What?”

“I understand time zones.” I smile.

“I’m just making sure.”

“You’ve reminded me four times.”

“Five.” He chuckles.

“That doesn’t make it better.”

He grins and turns his attention back to the television. I shake my head, but the truth is I’m looking forward to it too, more than I expected. For the last week, Alejandro has existed mostly through Santiago’s stories as his nephew. The one who drove hours to meet him in Albuquerque. The one who counted how many times Santiago smiled. The one who apparently inherited every stubborn gene in their family.

Mateo already likes him. Of course he does. Mateo likes everyone until they give him a reason not to. Even then, sometimes he still likes them.

At 6:57, Mateo sits up straighter. “You ready?”

“For a video call?” I smile.

“Yes, we get to meet Santiago’s nephew.” He says, practically glowing.

It makes me happy to see him like this; happy and looking forward to something.

“I’ve done these before,” I grumble with a smile.

“Not this one.”

I glance at him; there’s something beneath the excitement tonight. Urgency, maybe. I’ve noticed more of that lately. Mateo wanting things now instead of eventually. Dinner with friends, old movies, phone calls he’d normally put off. Little moments suddenly treated like appointments we can’t afford to miss.

I don’t say anything.

At exactly seven, my phone rings, showing Santiago’s contact. Mateo points. “Answer.”

“I’m going to.” I laugh

“It’s been two seconds.”

“I know I’ve got it, babe.”

I accept the call, and Santiago appears first, sitting somewhere inside his truck.

“Look who answered on time.”

I narrow my eyes. “Don’t start.”

Mateo leans into frame. “Where’s my new favorite person?”

Santiago looks offended. “Excuse me?”

“You’ve been demoted.”

“That was fast.”

A second square appears on the screen.

Alejandro.

For a moment, he just looks at us, and then a grin spreads across his face.

“Okay. Which one of you is the troublemaker?”

Mateo raises his hand immediately. “Me.”

I point toward him. “Definitely him.”

Alejandro laughs. “I knew it.”

“You’ve known me twelve seconds.”

“My uncle told me enough.”

Mateo’s eyes brighten. “Oh, did he?”

Santiago mutters something under his breath. I lean closer to the phone. “What exactly has he been saying about us?”

“Nothing embarrassing.”

Santiago exhales in relief.

Alejandro continues. “Mostly,” with a smirk.

“There it is,” Santiago says.

Alejandro’s smile widens. “He told me about the dancing.”

Mateo points toward Santiago’s screen. “See? I knew you were telling our business.”

“Our business?” I ask.

“You participated.”

“Against my will.”

“You were singing.”

“There’s no proof of that.”

Alejandro laughs again, and just like that, whatever awkwardness should exist between four people spread across three states disappears.

We talk for nearly twenty minutes before anyone asks a serious question. Alejandro wants to know about the cedar chest. Mateo explains where it came from and how long it had been in his family. Alejandro asks about the restoration. Santiago tells him how nervous he was transporting it once he understood what it meant.

Then Alejandro looks at me. “And the aquarium?”

I glance toward Mateo. “He told you about that too?”

Santiago gives a small shrug. “You sent me videos.”

“I didn’t know they were being distributed as educational material.”

“They weren’t.”

Alejandro grins. “He talked about it at dinner.”

“Oh.”

Something about that lands differently. Santiago talked about my aquarium when I wasn’t there. My dream. Not just Mateo’s illness. Not just the storm, me.

Alejandro studies my face through the screen. “My uncle said you studied marine biology.”

“I did.”

“That’s cool as hell.”

I laugh. “I don’t know about all that.”

“No, seriously. What did you want to do?”

The question catches me off guard. Nobody asks me that anymore; people ask what I do. Construction, renovations, caregiving, and appointments. They don’t ask what I wanted to do.

I lean back against the couch. “I wanted to work with marine animals.”

Mateo watches me quietly. “Zoo, aquarium, conservation work... something like that.”

“You still could.”

The answer comes so quickly that I almost laugh. Instead, I look at Alejandro. “It’s been a long time.”

“So?”

I smile faintly. “You really are related to Santiago.”

Santiago raises both hands. “Why am I involved?”

“You both make complicated things sound simple.”

“Sometimes they are.” They both say at the same time.

Mateo shifts beside me. I feel his shoulder press against mine. “What about your own shop?” he asks.

I look toward him. “We’ve talked about that.”

“No.” He shakes his head. “You talked about it, and then you stopped.”

Alejandro watches the exchange without interrupting.

Mateo continues. “A saltwater shop. Fish, coral, tanks; maybe servicing aquariums.”

“Mateo.”

“What, it’s just and idea.”

“We’re not doing this tonight.”

“Why not?”

I lower my voice. “Because.”

“Because what?”

I don’t have an answer that doesn’t sound like fear, so I let it go.

Santiago finally speaks. “I think it’d be pretty damn cool.”

I look at the screen, and he shrugs. “You obviously know the stuff.”

“You’ve seen one unfinished stand.”

“I’ve also listened to you explain coral lighting for twenty minutes.”

“That was relevant.”

“It wasn’t, but it was cool to learn about.”

Alejandro laughs. “Twenty minutes?”

“Twenty-three.” Santiago coughs.

“You timed me?”

“I was trapped in a snowstorm.”

“You could’ve walked away.”

“And gone where?”

Mateo laughs so hard he starts coughing, and everything stops. I reach for him automatically. “You okay?”

He waves me off. “I’m fine.”

The coughing lasts longer than any of us want it to. I rub his back until his breathing settles. When I glance toward the phone, Alejandro isn’t smiling anymore; neither is Santiago.

Mateo eventually straightens. “See?” His voice is rough. “Perfectly fine.”

Nobody believes him. Alejandro doesn’t pity him. I notice that immediately. Instead he says, “My mom does that.”

Mateo looks toward the screen. “Does what?”

“Tells everybody she’s fine when she obviously isn’t.”

Mateo smiles. “I like your mother already.”

“You’d get along.”

“See?” Mateo says to me. “We’re practically family.”

The word hangs there. Family. Alejandro smiles. “So when are we doing this?”

“Doing what?” I ask.

“Colorado.”

Santiago sighs. “He’s been asking me every day.”

“Because nobody gives me a date.”

Mateo sits straighter. “When can you get away?”

Alejandro looks off-screen. “I’ve got a long weekend coming up in about three weeks.”

He looks toward Santiago. “You said you could request a route?”

“I can ask.” Santiago sighs.

“Then ask.”

“I don’t control freight.”

“You control your mouth. Use it.”

I choke on a laugh.

Mateo points at the screen. “Definitely family.”

Santiago shakes his head. “I regret this already.”

“No, you don’t,” Alejandro says.

Santiago’s expression softens. “No.”

He looks toward us. “I don’t.”

The call lasts almost ninety minutes. By the end, Mateo has already planned food. Alejandro has promised to bring something from San Antonio. Santiago has agreed to talk to dispatch, and somehow there is a tentative weekend sitting on all our calendars.

Three weeks.

Mateo says it twice before we hang up. “Three weeks.” As if saying it aloud makes it guaranteed.

Afterward, he stays beside me on the couch. The room is quiet again, but different; full of anticipation.

“You liked him,” Mateo says.

“Alejandro?”

“No, Beyoncé.”

I give him a look.

“Yes, Alejandro.”

“I did, he seems like a good person.”

“He’s good for Santiago.”

“I think so, too.”

Mateo nods. Then after a moment: “They’re good for each other.”

I glance at him. He isn’t talking only about Alejandro and Santiago. I know it. He knows I know it, but neither of us says anything.

My phone vibrates, and a message from Santiago appears.

Santiago

“Sorry he interrogated you.”

I type back.

Me

“I like him.”

A second later:

Santiago

“Knew you would.”

Then:

“He likes you too.”

I smile, and Mateo catches it. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Because it’s true.”

He rests his head on my shoulder; I look down at the tentative date on my calendar. Three weeks. For reasons I can’t explain, I find myself hoping the days pass quickly, but at the same time... wishing they wouldn’t.

My biggest fear is that if things move faster; Mateo will decline faster.

Chapter 28

Things Worth Coming Back For

Santiago

Dispatch says Colorado is possible, not guaranteed.

Possible.

Apparently that’s enough for Alejandro because he texts me six times before breakfast.

Alejandro

“Did you ask?”

“What did they say?”

“Did they give you dates?”

“Can I request my PTO?”

“Uncle, have you heard anything?”

And finally:

“TÍO.”

I stare at the last message while drinking coffee at a truck stop outside St. Louis, and I decide to call him.

He answers immediately. “Well?”

“Good morning.”

“Good morning. Well?”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“No.” I smile. “I don’t.”

“So?”

“They might have a Denver run.”

Silence. Then, “Yes!”

I pull the phone away from my ear. “Jesus.”

“When?”

“Two and a half weeks.”

“I’ll request the days.” He says cheerfully.

“It’s not confirmed.”

“I’m requesting them.”

“Alejandro.”

“Tío.”

I can hear him smiling. “You’re excited.”

“So are you.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You don’t have to.”

I look through the windshield at the rain that streaks across the glass. Drivers move between trucks carrying coffee and paperwork.

He’s right, and that’s the annoying part.

It becomes official three days later. There’s a delivery in Denver, then another pickup north of the city. Enough time to park the truck and spend almost two days with Rico and Mateo if everything stays on schedule.

I stare at the route confirmation longer than I should. Then send a screenshot to Rico. His response comes almost instantly.

Rico

“You’re coming back?”

I type:

Me

“Looks like it.”

He starts to respond, then stops before he’s typing again.

Rico

“Good.”

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The route is confirmed.

Santiago is heading back to Colorado, and this time, Alejandro is coming with him.

But before they get there, a late-night conversation between Rico and Santiago turns toward the dreams they both abandoned when grief changed their lives.

Because maybe moving forward isn’t about finding entirely new dreams.

Maybe it’s realizing some of the old ones still belong to you.

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Julian was taught that belonging meant becoming the man everyone else wanted him to be.

Casey learned to put everyone else’s needs before his own until wanting something for himself almost felt selfish.

But maybe building a life with someone isn’t about deciding whose dream comes first.

Maybe the right person doesn’t ask you to give yours up at all.

This week, Julian and Casey are discovering what ours really means.

Not losing yourself in someone else.

Not giving up one future for another.

Just making room for both.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Ours

Julian

I knock twice before opening the door. “Casey?”

“In here.”

The smell hits me before I make it to the kitchen. Garlic and something buttery mixed with something that might be burning. I round the corner and stop; Casey is standing in front of the stove with a wooden spoon in one hand and his phone in the other, his brow furrowed in concentration.

“What are you doing?”

He looks over his shoulder. “Cooking.”

“I can see that.”

“Then why’d you ask?” He chuckles

“I’m trying to figure out whether I should be impressed or concerned.”

Casey looks back at the stove with a smirk. “A little bit of both.”

I laugh, setting my bag on the counter. “What are you making?”

“Pasta.”

“What kind?”

He pauses. “Pasta.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“It answers enough of it.”

I walk closer and peer into the pan. “Is that chicken?”

“Yes.”

“Was it always that color?”

Casey slowly turns toward me. “Do you want to eat?”

I bite back a smile. “Very much.”

“Then stop asking questions.”

I laugh because this feels good, normal. Maybe that’s why I notice it. Two plates already sit on the counter. There’s a bottle of wine; music plays quietly from the speaker near the window. It’s nothing extravagant or planned down to the smallest detail, just dinner.

Us.

Casey points toward the refrigerator. “Wine’s in there.”

I grab it. “You know, Bruno asked where I was going.”

“And?”

“I told him here.”

Casey looks at me. “What?”

“He said, and I quote, ‘You basically live there anyway.’”

Casey laughs. “He’s not wrong.”

“No, but I didn’t tell him that.”

“Why?”

“Because then he’d win, and you also stay with us at his place.”

“Can’t have that, and I did. Now, we’ve been spending more time here.”

“Exactly, and I like it.”

We fall into an easy rhythm; I pour the wine, and Casey finishes dinner. I set the table; neither of us asks the other what to do. We just... do it. Maybe that’s what makes me think about his message again. Ours. I’ve read it more times than I care to admit. Not because it’s some declaration, because it isn’t, but Casey doesn’t say things he doesn’t mean. Especially things like that.

We sit across from each other. I take my first bite, and then stop. Casey watches me carefully.

“Well?”

I chew and swallow. “It’s good.”

His shoulders drop. “You sound surprised.”

“I am.”

“Asshole.”

I laugh. “No, seriously. It’s really good.”

“Thank you.”

We eat for a while, talking about nothing important. Bruno, work, how Uncle Ray apparently refuses to throw away coffee no matter how long it’s been sitting. Then Casey asks. “So...”

I already know. “The application?”

He nods. “I started it.”

“I know that.”

“I’ve got transcripts to request, and I need to check exactly which prerequisites they’ll accept since it’s been a while.”

His brow furrows. “How long will that take?”

“I don’t know yet.” The words don’t scare me as much as they would’ve before. “I may have to take some classes first. Maybe retake a couple depending on the program.”

“Are you okay with that?”

I think about it for a second. “Yeah.”

Casey smiles. “Good, I’m happy to see you going for what you want.”

“I haven’t even gotten to the hard part yet.”

“What’s that?”

“Explaining why I’m doing this.”

He sets his fork down. “The essay?”

I nod. “I know why.”

“Then what’s hard?”

“Putting it into words without sounding like I’m trying to convince them.”

Casey leans back. “Maybe don’t convince them.”

I look at him. “What?”

“Tell them the truth. Why do you want to become a Pharmacist?”

I laugh softly. “I love Chemistry, Organic being my favorite. I’ve also always had a passion for helping people.”

“See, that’s all you have to convey.” His expression changes. “In the short time that I’ve known you. I know you’re passionate and love helping; that’s why your life before didn’t agree with you.”

That shuts me up as Casey takes another bite like he didn’t just reach across the table and grab hold of something inside me.

“I didn’t think of it like that. You’re really wise when it comes to this stuff, Casey.” I smile at him.

He looks confused for a moment before he smiles back at me.

“What would you say if you had to write one?” I ask.

He thinks about it, then shrugs. “I’d tell them about the kid who wanted to be a pharmacist before anybody told him what he was supposed to become.”

My chest tightens, and Casey continues. “Then I’d tell them about the man who finally decided that kid deserved his chance.”

I stare at him, and he notices. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Julian.”

I smile. “That was good.”

He looks almost embarrassed. “Don’t make it weird.”

“Too late.”

I reach across the table and take his hand. His fingers close around mine. For a moment, neither of us says anything. Then I remember. “How did the conversation with Mason go?”

Casey groans. “Here we go.”

“What?”

“You already know.”

“I know you called him.”

“That’s the conversation.”

“No, it isn’t.”

He tries to pull his hand away, but I don’t let him. “Julian.”

“Casey.”

He narrows his eyes, and I smile. Eventually he gives up. “He sent everything.”

“The partnership documents?”

“And expansion plans.”

That gets my attention. “Expansion?”

“Two more shops.”

“Casey.”

“I know.”

“That’s huge. I think you should step into that.”

“I know.”

“Are you going to do it?”

His eyes drop toward our hands. “I don’t know.”

I don’t push immediately; instead, I ask, “Do you want to?”

He goes quiet, and that tells me more than an answer could. “Casey.”

“Yeah.” He says, avoiding eye contact.

I squeeze his hand. “Do you want it?”

His thumb moves slowly over mine. Then finally, “Yeah.”

The word is barely above a whisper, but it’s there. “I think I do.”

I smile. “Then figure out what it would take.”

He looks at me. “That’s it?”

“What else am I supposed to say?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’m not going to tell you to do it.”

That surprises him. “I’m not going to tell you not to do it either.” I lean forward. “I’ll sit beside you while you figure it out.”

Something changes in his face; it’s small, almost invisible, but I see it. “Okay.”

“Okay.”

We finish dinner, and eventually the plates get pushed aside. The wine gets lower. Our conversation drifts from school and business to absolutely nothing, and somewhere in the middle of laughing about Uncle Ray threatening to fight a parking meter in New York, I finally say it.

“You said ours.”

Casey stops, and I almost laugh at how quickly his expression changes. “What?”

“In your text.”

“I know what I said.”

“Do you?”

He gives me a look. “Julian.”

“I’m just asking.”

He picks up his wine and takes a drink, then sets it back down. “Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes, I know what I said.”

I wait, and Casey sighs. “I meant it.”

Everything inside me goes still. He looks almost irritated by his own admission. “I didn’t plan it.”

“I figured.”

“It just came out.”

“Okay.”

“Then I stared at it for like thirty seconds.”

I smile. “I figured that too.”

“I almost deleted it.”

“But you didn’t.”

“No.”

“Why?”

His eyes meet mine. “It didn’t feel wrong, and I mean it.”

There it is; the exact thing I’ve been feeling since I read it. I stand, and Casey watches as I walk around the table. I stop beside him. He turns his chair toward me. “I liked it.”

His hands settle against my waist. “I know.”

“No.” I smile. “I mean, I liked what it meant.”

His expression softens. “And what did it mean?”

I could make a joke. Normally I would, but instead I tell him the truth. “That maybe we’re building something.”

Casey’s hands tighten slightly. “We are.”

The answer comes without hesitation.

I touch his face. “Good.”

“That’s it?”

I laugh. “What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know.” He laughs.

I lean down until our foreheads touch. “I meant it too.”

Casey exhales, and then he kisses me. Slow, warm, and familiar enough now that I know the way he tilts his head. The way his hand slides around my back. The way he smiles against my mouth when I pull him closer.

When we finally separate, I stay there. His arms around me. My hands resting on his shoulders. Two men standing in a kitchen talking about school applications and business partnerships. It shouldn’t feel important, but it does because for the first time in my life, ours doesn’t mean losing myself inside someone else’s plans. It means building something beside someone who wants me to have plans of my own, and maybe... that’s the difference.

Chapter Forty

Room for Both

Casey

There are thirty-eight pages. Thirty-eight. I know because I’ve counted them three times instead of actually reading them. The partnership agreement sits open on my laptop while I stare at page six like it personally offended me.

“You’re doing it again.”

I look toward the couch. Julian doesn’t even look up from his laptop. “Doing what?”

“Staring.”

“I am reading.”

“You haven’t scrolled in ten minutes.”

I narrow my eyes. “Why are you watching me?”

“I’m not.”

“Then how do you know?”

He finally looks up. “Because you’ve sighed six times.”

“I have not.” I sigh.

“Seven.”

“Shut up.”

He smiles and returns to his screen.

We’re at my place again. Apparently that’s becoming a thing. Julian is working on his application at one end of the living room while I’m reviewing Mason’s partnership documents at the other. Two laptops. Two glasses of water. A bowl of popcorn between us that Julian keeps pretending he isn’t eating most of.

I look back at the agreement, ownership percentages, profit distributions, expansion projections, management responsibilities, and numbers I understand, along with numbers I don’t. Questions I’ve already written down for Mason, and one number that keeps tightening my stomach. The amount I’d have to invest.

I close the laptop, making Julian look up immediately. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Casey.”

“It’s a lot.”

“The paperwork?”

“No, the money.”

He closes his laptop too, and I shake my head. “You don’t have to stop.”

“I’m taking a break.”

“Convenient.”

“Very.”

He shifts closer. “Talk to me.”

I rub my hands over my face. “I can do it.”

“Okay.”

“I’ve got savings.”

“That’s good.”

“I’d still have plenty left.”

“Okay.”

I look at him. “Are you going to say anything else?”

“When you give me something else to respond to.”

I laugh despite myself. “It’s just...” I look toward the laptop. “I’ve spent my entire life making sure there was something there if somebody needed it.”

Julian doesn’t interrupt. “School clothes, groceries, car repairs, rent when one of them got into trouble, or whatever.” I shrug. “Even after they didn’t need me anymore, I kept saving like something bad was about to happen.”

Julian’s expression softens. “Because for a long time, something usually did.”

I look at him; that’s one of the things I like about him. Of course he understands. “I know I can afford it.”

“But spending it on yourself feels different.”

“Yeah.”

Julian and Casey have finally started talking about a future together.

But building that future means doing something neither of them is used to:

Choosing themselves, too.

For Julian, pharmacy school is becoming more than a dream.

For Casey, an opportunity he’s spent years believing belonged to someone else is suddenly within reach.

And before everything changes, one invitation might give them the chance to get away again...

And discover what making room for both really looks like.

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But eventually, every getaway has to end.

Now they’re heading home, back to work, responsibilities, and the same rooms where they spent three years learning how to avoid each other. The question isn’t whether the weekend changed something between them.

They both know it did.

The question is whether they’ll let that change follow them home.

In tonight’s Stepbrother’s Delight, Cory and Zavian discover that finding their way back was only the beginning.

Now they have to choose what happens next.

Chapter 21

After the Lake

Zavian

Going home sucks; there’s no other way to say it. I know it sounds immature, but it sucks.

The lake disappears behind us one turn at a time, trees giving way to highway, highway giving way to familiar exits and places that remind me tomorrow morning comes with alarms, emails, responsibilities, and people who don’t care that I spent the last few days remembering what happiness feels like.

Cory sits beside me with one hand resting against the window; the radio plays quietly between us. We’ve both been quiet since we left the lake. There’s nothing wrong, and that feels better than when we came. Before coming to the lake this weekend, silence between us meant something.

It meant someone was angry, hurt, or waiting for the other person to say something first.

Now… It’s just a comfortable quiet.

I glance over. “You good?”

He turns from the window. “Yeah, why do you ask?”

“You’ve been quiet.”

“I’m driving.”

“That doesn’t prevent talking.”

“It does when I’m concentrating.”

He looks through the windshield.

We’re on a straight stretch of highway with almost no traffic.

“Very demanding road,” I say sarcastically.

“Extremely.” His laugh fills the car, making me smile.

There it is, a sound I’ve heard all weekend. I don’t know how things will be once we return home; maybe that’s why I’ve been quiet.

I enjoyed the time we spent here at the lake. “What happens when we get home?”

The question comes out before I can decide whether I want to ask it.

Cory looks at me. “What do you mean?”

“This weekend.” I pause. “Us.”

The word feels heavier than it should, and Cory doesn’t answer immediately. The hesitation makes me nervous; maybe I pushed too far.

Maybe the lake made everything easier because we were somewhere that belonged to our childhood instead of our present.

“I’m not going back.”

I glance at him. “What?”

He sits straighter. “I’m not going back to barely talking to you.”

That makes something in my chest loosen. “I don’t want that either.”

“Good.”

“Good.” He laughs softly. “We’re really good at conversations.”

“Excellent communicators.”

“Clearly.”

A few miles pass; Cory reaches for the radio, but stops himself. “Wait.”

“What?”

“This song.”

I listen and immediately groan, “No.”

His face lights up. “Yes.”

“Please turn it down or change the song.”

“You loved this song.”

“I tolerated this song because you played it every day for an entire summer.”

“That’s not true; you knew every word.”

“Against my will.”

Cory turns it up, and I shake my head. The chorus hits, and I know every word sadly. Cory starts singing loudly and badly; despite myself, I join him and make it worse.

By the time the song ends, we’re both laughing.

For a few minutes, the lake doesn’t feel so far away; maybe that’s the point.

Maybe we don’t have to leave everything there.

The lake may have been our way back to each other.

When we pull into the driveway, I cut the engine, but neither of us moves to get out. The car ticks and cools, the only sound in the sudden quiet. The house sits in front of us, looking exactly the way it did when we left. Mom’s flowers line the porch, Dad’s truck is parked crooked in the driveway, and the curtains in the living room are open enough for me to see the blue glow of the television playing through the window.

Nothing has changed, but sitting beside Cory, feeling the warmth radiating from him, I know everything has.

“Well...” he says, his voice soft in the enclosed space.

“Yeah.”

Neither of us moves. We’re both looking at the house, but I can feel his gaze on me, a heavy, tangible thing.

I laugh softly, a low, breathy sound. “You know we live here, right?”

Cory turns his head, and the faint light from the porch illuminates the freckles across his nose. “Shut up.”

“I’m just making sure; it’s been a long drive. You might be disoriented.”

“I know where I live.”

“Could’ve fooled me. You look like you’re about to ask for directions.”

He reaches for the door handle but stops, his hand hovering over the plastic. For a second, we sit there looking at each other. It reminds me of all the times we used to come home from somewhere and stay in the car talking long after we had somewhere else to be. Back before everything got complicated; before sitting beside each other became something we had to think about, an act of defiance instead of comfort.

Cory looks toward the house, his expression unreadable. “Feels weird.”

“What does?”

“Being back.”

I understand immediately, because the lake was a bubble. A separate reality without schedules, work, responsibilities, and nothing demanding our attention except the people around us and, eventually, each other.

I follow his gaze to the dark windows of our house. “Yeah.”

Cory turns back to me, his blue eyes searching mine. “Do you think it’ll be different here?”

There’s something fragile beneath the question. Something I don’t think has anything to do with the house. He’s asking whether the magic, the ease between us, is tied to the water, or if it will evaporate under the fluorescent lights of our real lives.

I lean back against the seat, turning my body toward his. “I don’t want it to be.”

His eyes meet mine, and I see the tension in his shoulders ease. “Neither do I.”

There it is again: that radical, terrifying honesty we’ve been practicing. No running. No making decisions for each other. No pretending something doesn’t matter because admitting it does is scary.

I smile, a real, genuine smile that feels like it’s cracking my face in two. “Then don’t make it different.”

His expression softens, the last of his fear melting away. “Okay.”

“Okay.”

We finally climb out, the cool night air a welcome shock. Mom opens the front door before we’ve even made it halfway up the driveway, her hands on her hips. “You’re alive! I was about to send a search party.”

Cory laughs, shoving his hands in his pockets. “We were gone one extra night, Mom.”

“You didn’t call to tell us you were on the road; I was worried.”

“I texted, and I sent pictures of the sunset.”

“That’s not calling. A call is a voice. I need to hear a voice.”

Cory’s dad appears behind her, patting her shoulder. “They’re grown men, honey. They can survive a night without checking in.”

“Who could still call their mother? It takes two minutes.”

I glance at Cory, and he looks at me. We both share a small, private smile. Just like that, we’re home.

We carry our bags upstairs, the familiar creak of the steps a welcome sound. Cory’s room is across the hall from mine, exactly where it’s always been. I stop in my doorway, and he stops in his. For years, that little stretch of worn hardwood between our rooms might as well have been the Grand Canyon. We’d come upstairs and disappear behind separate doors, sometimes without saying goodnight. Sometimes without saying anything at all, the silence a heavy, suffocating blanket.

Tonight, neither of us goes inside; Cory leans against his doorframe, his posture relaxed. “I should probably unpack.”

“Probably.”

“What about you?”

“I plan to eventually; maybe tomorrow.”

He smiles, a slow, easy smile, but neither of us moves again. Apparently we’re terrible at ending things now. Or maybe we’re finally remembering we never used to be.

“I need a shower,” he says, pushing himself off the doorframe.

“Thanks for sharing.” I laugh.

“You’ve been sitting beside me in a hot car for three hours. I figured you deserved a warning.”

“Go,” I say, laughing.

He laughs and disappears into his room, closing the door softly behind him. I step into mine and drop my bag at the foot of the bed. Everything is familiar the band posters on the wall, the stack of books on my dresser, the stupid dent in the wall from when Cory and I thought throwing a football indoors was a good idea. I run my fingers across the dent, the memory so vivid I can almost hear his laughter. Another memory. They’re everywhere in this house.

I used to think that was part of what made coming home so difficult. There was no escaping him here. Every hallway, every room, every stupid mark on the wall reminded me of something we’d done together, a constant, aching reminder of what I’d lost.

Now… I don’t think I want to escape any of it.

I shower and change into a T-shirt and shorts. When I come downstairs, Cory is already in the kitchen with his head inside the refrigerator.

“Find anything good in there?”

“No,” he says, his voice muffled by the shelves. “It’s a wasteland.”

“You’ve been looking for thirty seconds. Give it time.”

“Nothing changed since we left for the lake. They had a whole extra night to shop.”

“It was only three days, and most of the shopping was done for the trip.”

“Great,” he says, closing the refrigerator with a sigh. “We could order something.”

“We could. What do you have in mind?”

Neither of us reaches for a phone or makes a recommendation; Mom and Cory’s dad are somewhere in the backyard, and the faint sound of the television is the only noise in the house. Cory leans against the counter, studying me for a second before he speaks, his expression serious.

“Dinner tomorrow?”

The question catches me off guard. “We eat dinner together every night.”

“You know what I mean,” he says, his voice quiet, deliberate.

I do, and something warm and solid settles in my chest. “Just us?”

He nods. “Just us.”

I don’t even have to think about it. “Yeah.”

His smile comes easily, lighting up his whole face. “Good.”

He heads toward the living room, and I follow. Not because he asks. Not because we’re at the lake. Not because our families put us together. Just because I want to.

Maybe that’s what changed. At the lake, things kept happening on their own. The movie, the storm, waking up together, the stars, and falling asleep wrapped around each other without deciding to. We kept calling it natural and letting things happen.

Dinner tomorrow isn’t happening on its own; we’re choosing it. For the first time in years, Cory and I are making plans simply because we want more time together. Somehow, that feels bigger than everything that happened at the lake.

The lake brought them back together. What happens next is a choice.

Cory and Zavian are home, but neither is ready to return to the distance that defined the last three years.

For the first time, they’re choosing to spend time together without family, memories, or circumstance putting them in the same place.

And somewhere between dinner, old memories, and one small touch neither of them pulls away from, something between them begins to change.

Become a paid subscriber to continue Chapter 22 and Cory and Zavian’s journey. ❤️

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Zaire only planned to stay a few extra days. A little more time with old friends. A little more time in the place that made him. And, whether he’s ready to admit it or not, a little more time with Damon.

But the longer he stays, the more he’s beginning to see.

The hometown he couldn’t wait to leave has changed.

Damon has changed.

And maybe Zaire has too.

This week on Open Season, Zaire gets a closer look at the life Damon built while he was away, and starts asking himself a question he never expected:

What if leaving isn’t the only way forward?

Welcome back to Open Season. ❤️

Chapter 37

The Hometown We Left Behind

Zaire

The call ends almost an hour later. Mostly because Kian refuses to hang up, his energy a frantic, pixelated storm across the screen. Every time someone says goodbye, he finds another question to lob at Diego like a grenade.

“Have you found an apartment? When are you coming? Do you need help moving? Have you told your family? What part of Nashville are you looking at?”

By the time Diego finally laughs and says, “I’m hanging up now,” Kian has practically planned his entire move, down to the color of his welcome mat, and then the screen goes black.

Damon’s dining room is finally quiet after the call ends. The silence feels thick, heavy with everything that was just said.

I lean back in my chair, the wood creaking beneath me. “He’s really doing it.”

Damon nods, a slow, certain movement. “He is.”

“I wasn’t sure he would.”

“I was,” he says, no hint of arrogance in his voice, just fact.

I look over. “You were?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“I know Diego.” He takes a sip of his tea, his eyes distant. “He’ll spend forever turning something over in his head, weighing every option, but once he decides...” Damon smiles, a private, knowing thing. “...good luck changing his mind.”

I laugh. “That’s true.”

My eyes drift back to the laptop; the editing timeline stretches across the screen like a roadmap of the last few weeks. There are hours of footage ranging from our hometown, Jaxon’s mural, Nashville, the festival, Kian, Roderick, Cannon, Diego, and Damon.

A lot of Damon.

I shake my head, a small, involuntary movement.

“What?”

I glance over. “Nothing.”

“That didn’t look like nothing.” He’s watching me, his gaze sharp.

“I was thinking.”

“That’s dangerous.”

“Shut up.”

He laughs, a deep, warm sound that settles in my bones. I reach for the mouse and pull another clip into the timeline, and Damon appears again. This time he’s standing near the stage talking to Cannon, his head thrown back in laughter. I don’t even remember filming it. My hands, my eyes, they just found him.

Damon notices. “Again.”

“Don’t start.”

“That’s what... seven?”

“It’s B-roll.” I plead.

“Of me?”

“You’re very rollable,” I say, and the word hangs in the air between us, thick with innuendo I didn’t intend.

His eyebrows rise, and I freeze. “That came out wrong.”

He bursts out laughing, a full-body shake that makes his shoulders tremble. “Way wrong.”

“You know what I meant.”

“Nope.”

“Damon.”

He’s laughing too hard to answer, so I grab a sticky note from the pile and throw it at him. It flutters uselessly, landing somewhere near his shoulder.

“Very professional.”

“You’re distracting me.”

“I’m just sitting here.”

“Exactly.”

He grins, and I’m done for. I try to turn back toward the laptop. Try being the important word, because now I’m smiling too, a real, stupid grin I can’t wipe off my face.

Eventually, I manage to focus. I trim another clip, adjust the audio, move a transition. Then another and another.

Twenty minutes later, Damon pushes his chair away from the table. The scrape of the legs against the floor is final.

“Okay.”

I don’t look up. “Okay, what?”

“We’re done.”

“We’re not.”

“You’ve been staring at that screen for hours.”

“That’s called working.”

“That’s called ruining your eyesight.”

“I’m a photographer. My eyesight is kind of important.”

“Exactly.” He reaches over and decisively closes my laptop. The click of the lid shutting is deafening.

I stare at him. “Did you just close my computer?”

“Yep.”

“While I was working?”

“Yep.”

“You’ve gotten brave.”

“I’ve always been brave.”

I narrow my eyes. “Open it.”

“No.”

“Damon.”

“Zaire.”

We stare at each other across the table, a silent battle of wills. Then he smiles, and I know I’ve already lost.

“Come on.”

“Where are we going?”

“Outside to get some fresh air.”

“I know what outside is. Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

“I hate when people say that.”

“I know.”

“That’s why you said it?”

“Yep.” He says with a satisfied smile.

I sigh, a dramatic, long-suffering sound. “Fine.”

I stand, and my hand automatically reaches for my camera.

Damon immediately points at it. “Nope.”

My hand freezes. “What?”

“Leave it.”

I laugh, short and sharp. “Absolutely not.”

“You can survive an hour without it.”

“I don’t know if that’s medically proven.”

“Zaire.”

“What?”

“Leave the camera.”

I look down at it, the familiar weight of the strap, the cool metal body. Then I look at him; his expression isn’t demanding. It’s... soft.

“Why?”

His expression softens even more. “I want you to see something without worrying about how you’re going to capture it.”

That shuts me up, completely.

I slowly, reluctantly, let go of the strap. “Fine.”

Damon smiles. “See? Growth.”

“Don’t push it,” I grumble.

We don’t drive far; ten minutes, maybe fifteen. The streets become increasingly familiar as we go. Some of the businesses have changed: a new coffee shop, a boutique where a hardware store used to be. Others look exactly the same. The old barbershop is still there, its red-and-white pole spinning lazily. So is the little diner where we’d pile into a booth after football games, smelling of grease and teenage sweat, even though none of us had enough money to leave a decent tip.

The hardware store still has the same faded sign, and I point. “How is that place still open?”

Damon laughs. “Mr. Harris refuses to retire.”

“He’s still alive?”

“Very much.”

“He’s gotta be ninety.”

“Probably.”

I shake my head. “That’s crazy.”

“Welcome home.”

There it is again, home.

The word lands differently every time Damon says it. Heavier and more permanent. We turn onto another street, and I recognize where we are immediately. The chain-link fence and looming concrete structure.

“No way.”

Damon smiles. “Yep.”

The football stadium sits ahead of us; smaller than I remember. Everything from childhood seems smaller when you come back as an adult, stripped of the myth and importance you wrapped it in.

We park near the fence and just look out at the stadium. “I thought this place was huge.”

“We all did.”

“We thought five thousand people came to every game.”

“Probably five hundred.”

“Don’t ruin my memories.”

He laughs, and we climb out. The gate near the track is open, so we walk inside. Our footsteps echo against the empty bleachers. I can almost hear the marching band, slightly off-key. Cheerleaders, shouting encouragement. Parents screaming from the stands. Coaches yelling from the sidelines. Teenagers believing whatever happened beneath those Friday night lights was the most important thing that would ever happen to them.

Damon walks toward the field, and I follow.

“You remember Cannon trying to sneak onto the sideline?” I laugh.

“He wasn’t supposed to be there.” Damon chuckles.

“He didn’t care; he wanted to be out there with us.”

“Yeah, he wanted to be with us so bad.”

I laugh. “He thought knowing us meant he was part of the team.”

“He was part of the team.”

“Not officially.”

“Not at all.”

We reach the fifty-yard line. The grass is worn, patchy in places. Damon looks toward the bleachers. “Jax used to sit right there.”

I follow his gaze to a specific section of aluminum bleachers. The smile on my face fades slightly. “Every game.”

“Even when he didn’t care about football.”

“He cared about us.”

“Yeah.”

That was Jaxon; he was the heart of everything. He showed up, even when he didn’t understand. Even when it wasn’t his thing. If someone he loved cared about it... so did he.

“I miss him,” I say, the words quiet but clear in the empty stadium.

Damon looks at me. “Me too.”

We stand there in the moment with no camera or photograph. Just memory, thick as the humid air.

Eventually, Damon bumps my shoulder. “Come on.”

“Where now?”

“You ask too many questions.”

“I’m starting to regret staying with you.”

“No, you’re not.”

I look at him, and he smiles.

Damn it... He’s right; that smile breaks me every time.

Our next stop is the park where the basketball courts have been resurfaced since I was last here: the lines are crisp, bright white, with new nets, new benches, and the same crooked tree beside Court Two, its branches reaching over the fence like a gnarled hand.

I point at it. “That’s still here?”

Damon laughs. “You expected them to move a tree?”

“I don’t know. The tree is old and could have been blown down by a storm.”

“You’ve been in Atlanta too long.”

“Maybe.”

A group of teenagers plays on one of the courts, their shouts echoing. The ball bounces toward us, a wild, erratic rhythm. Damon catches it without thinking, his body moving on pure instinct.

One of the boys calls out. “Coach!”

Damon throws it back, a perfect, easy pass. “Keep your elbow in when you shoot!”

“I know!”

“Then do it!”

The kid laughs, a bright, easy sound. “Yes, sir!”

I look over. “Coach?”

Damon shrugs, a casual movement that doesn’t fool me for a second. “Sometimes.”

“Sometimes?”

“Come on.” He starts walking again.

I follow. “You can’t just say sometimes.”

“I just did.”

“What are you coaching?”

“Depends.”

“On?”

“Who needs me.”

There’s something about the way he says it; there’s no pride or need for recognition. Just a simple, unshakeable fact. I remember some of the pictures at his house. The jerseys. The teams. The kids.

Before I can ask anything else, a little girl in a bright pink shirt runs across the grass, her pigtails flying. “Coach Damon!”

He turns, and she practically launches herself at him. He catches her easily, swinging her up in a smooth, practiced motion.

“Hey, superstar.”

“I made the team!”

“I knew you would.”

“You did?”

“Of course, you’re really good.” He grins at her.

She beams, her whole face lighting up, and then she notices me, her eyes wide with curiosity. “Who’s he?”

Damon sets her down gently. “An old friend.”

She studies me, her head tilted. “How old?”

I laugh. “Excuse me?”

“How long have you been friends?”

Damon laughs. “Since we were about your age.”

Her eyes widen. “That’s forever.”

“Thanks,” I say, and she grins.

“You’re welcome.”

Damon shakes his head. “Go find your mom.”

“Okay!” She runs away, a flash of pink disappearing across the park.

I watch her go, then look at Damon. “You knew she was trying out for something?”

“Soccer.”

“You remembered?”

“Of course, these kids matter, just like we did.”

The answer comes so naturally that he doesn’t even understand why I’m asking. It’s not a memory he has to reach for; it’s just... there.

Something shifts inside me, small and quiet, but noticeable. A gear clicking into place.

“Where to next?”

Damon looks surprised. “I thought you were tired of me.”

“I changed my mind.”

His smile returns, and it feels like a reward. “Good.”

We end up at the old ice cream shop, which hasn’t changed either. Same striped awning, bell above the door, smell of waffle cones and sugar hitting us the second we walk inside, a scent so potent it’s practically a memory itself.

An older woman behind the counter looks up, her eyes crinkling. “Damon?”

“Hey, Miss Patty.”

She walks around the counter and hugs him, a brief, warm gesture. Then she sees me, and her mouth falls open.

“Zaire?”

I laugh. “Hey.”

“Look at you!” She pulls me into a hug before I can prepare myself, smelling of lavender and hairspray. “You boys disappeared on me.”

“He did,” Damon says, pointing at me. “I stayed.”

“Traitor,” I say, nudging his side.

Miss Patty swats Damon’s arm. “Leave him alone.”

“Thank you.”

She looks between us, a knowing glint in her eye. “Same orders?”

Damon and I look at each other. A silent conversation passes between us.

“No way,” I say.

She smiles, a triumphant, knowing curve of her lips. “I remember my babies.”

Ten minutes later, we’re sitting outside at a small metal table with the exact ice cream we ordered as teenagers. Buttered Pecan for him, and a Root Beer Float for me.

I shake my head. “This is weird.”

Damon takes a bite of his. “Good weird?”

“Yeah.” I look around at people walking, cars passing, and a family laughing across the street. “I spent so much time wanting to leave here.”

Damon doesn’t answer immediately. He just stares at his melting ice cream. “So did I.”

I look over. “You did?”

“Of course.”

“You stayed.”

“Eventually I realized leaving wasn’t the only way to build something.” He looks up, and his eyes find mine. “Sometimes the most important things are the ones you come back to.”

I think about that; Atlanta gave me everything I’d wanted: opportunities, clients, travel, a career, and a life. Sitting here, in this sticky-sweet air, I wonder how much I left behind while chasing it.

Damon nudges my shoe with his. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” I smile. “I’m just thinking.”

“Still dangerous.”

“Shut up.”

He laughs, and I laugh with him no camera, deadline, or place we have to be. Just Damon, I, and a hometown I thought I’d outgrown.

Maybe I hadn’t.

Maybe I’d just forgotten how much of me still lived here.

Chapter 38

Coach

Zaire

By the next morning, my camera is back around my neck, its familiar weight a comfort against my chest.

Damon takes one look at it while pouring coffee and sighs. “I gave you one day.”

“You gave me four hours.”

“It felt longer.”

“That’s because you enjoyed my company.”

“That’s debatable.”

I take a picture of him. The morning light catches the side of his face, highlighting the stubble on his jaw.

Click.

He stares at me. “Really?”

“Yep, I gave up my camera for you.”

“Delete it.”

“No.”

“I haven’t even brushed my hair.”

“That’s what makes it authentic.”

“You’re annoying.”

“Yet you invited me to stay.”

He slides my coffee across the counter. “Temporary lapse in judgment, and you asked me if you could stay.”

I grin. “Too late to take it back now.”

He tries not to smile, but fails.

“Where are we going?” I ask the question as we’re pulling out of his driveway.

Damon glances over. “You’re going to start this again?”

“I like knowing where I’m going.”

“Since when?”

“Since always. Every job or trip I go on… I know the destination.”

“You changed a flight at the last minute two days ago.”

I pause. “That’s different.”

“How?”

“It just is.”

He laughs. “Community center.”

I look over. “The one you mentioned yesterday?”

“Yeah.”

“What are we doing?”

“I’ve got a few things to check on.”

“Coach things?”

He smiles. “Something like that.”

The parking lot is fuller than I expected. Kids move between the building and nearby fields carrying footballs, soccer balls, basketballs, and bags of equipment. A group of girls in cheer uniforms practices near the far end of the field, their chants sharp and energetic. Another group is setting up a volleyball net inside the open gym, the thwack of the ball echoing.

I look around. “This is all one program?”

“Not exactly.” Damon parks. “Different leagues and organizations. We try to share resources when we can.”

“We?”

He kills the engine. “You’ll see.”

The second he steps out of the truck, the world erupts. “COACH!”

I barely get my door open before three boys, probably around ten or eleven, sprint across the parking lot. Damon braces himself, a practiced, easy motion, as one nearly crashes into him.

“Whoa!”

“You came!”

“I said I would.”

“You said maybe.”

“Maybe means yes when Coach Damon says it,” another boy announces, his chest puffed out.

Damon points at him. “That is absolutely not how the word maybe works.”

The boys laugh, a riot of sound. Then one notices me, his head tilting. “Who’s that?”

Damon glances over. “This is Zaire.”

The boy’s eyes widen. “The photographer?”

I stop. “What?”

Another boy looks at me. “The one from Atlanta?”

I slowly turn toward Damon. He suddenly becomes very interested in locking his truck, his movements stiff and deliberate.

“You know who I am?”

“Yeah,” the first boy says with a shrug. “Coach talks about you.”

I stare at Damon. “Does he?”

“Sometimes,” Damon says quickly, his voice a little too high.

A teenage girl walking past laughs, a knowing, musical sound. “Sometimes?”

Damon closes his eyes. “Please keep walking, Jasmine.”

She stops, planting her hands on her hips. “Nope.”

A few more kids gather. Apparently, humiliating Damon is a community sport I wasn’t aware of.

Jasmine looks at me, a smirk playing on her lips. “He talks about you all the time.”

Damon points toward the gym. “Don’t you have volleyball practice?”

“In twenty minutes.”

“Get there early.”

She grins. “You told us being early builds character.”

“Then go build some.”

Everyone laughs, and I fold my arms. “This is interesting.”

Damon looks at me, his expression pained. “It isn’t.”

“Oh, I think it is.”

“Zaire.”

“Coach Damon talks about me?”

One of the boys nods enthusiastically. “Yep.”

Damon groans. “I’m surrounded by traitors.”

I can’t help but laugh.

Inside the community center, I finally understand. Pictures cover the walls, featuring various awards for football, basketball, soccer, volleyball, and cheer. As well as academic awards, scholarship announcements, and community service projects. Damon appears in dozens of them. Sometimes front and center, holding a trophy. Usually somewhere near the back, just watching, smiling.

A woman behind the front desk waves. “Morning, Damon.”

“Morning, Miss Carla.”

She looks at me, her eyes crinkling. “You must be Zaire.”

I slowly turn toward him again. Damon rubs his forehead like he’s developing a migraine. “Oh, my God.”

I laugh. “Everybody knows me?”

Miss Carla smiles. “We’ve heard a thing or two.”

“Please don’t encourage him,” Damon mutters.

“I don’t need encouragement,” I say.

Damon walks away; I follow, laughing.

The next couple of hours show me a version of Damon I never knew existed. Not because he hid it, but because I wasn’t here to see it.

He helps a football player adjust his stance, his hands gentle but firm as he corrects the boy’s form. He stops to talk with a mother about transportation for her son’s practice, his voice low and reassuring. He carries boxes of donated cleats into a storage room, his muscles straining slightly. He checks in with a girl who hasn’t been at volleyball practice all week.

“You okay?”

She shrugs, her gaze fixed on the floor. “School.”

“Grades?”

Another shrug.

“You need help?”

“I’m bad at algebra.”

Damon smiles. “I know somebody.”

“Who?”

“Me.”

She looks horrified. “You know algebra?”

“I had to in order to graduate high school.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

I laugh from across the room, making Damon point at me. “Don’t encourage her.”

Later, we walk outside toward the football field. A man wearing a Big Brothers Big Sisters shirt approaches. “Damon.”

“Hey, Marcus.”

They shake hands.

“Saturday still good?”

“Absolutely.”

“We’ve got three new Littles coming.”

“I’ll be there.”

Marcus notices me. Damon makes the introduction before he can. “This is Zaire.”

Marcus smiles. “The photographer.”

I laugh. “I’m starting to think there’s a newsletter.”

Damon shakes his head. “Ignore everybody.”

Marcus laughs. “Good luck with that.”

After he leaves, I look at Damon. “Big Brothers Big Sisters?”

He nods. “A few years.”

“You never told me.”

“You never asked.”

That stops me dead in my tracks, because he’s right. We have talked, texted, checked in, and seen each other when life allowed. Yet, there are entire pieces of Damon’s world I’ve never taken the time to know.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why all of this?” I gesture to the field, the building, the life he’s built here.

He looks across the field. Kids are running drills. Parents sit beneath tents. A coach blows a whistle, and Damon takes his time answering.

“Somebody has to show up.”

I wait for him to keep going.

He continues. “Not every kid has somebody in the stands. Not every kid has someone who can drive them to practice. Or buy cleats. Or help with homework. Or tell them they’re good at something.” He shrugs, a small, helpless movement. “If I’ve got time... why wouldn’t I use some of it?”

I stare at him, and he notices. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re doing that thing.”

“What thing?”

“Looking at me like you’re trying to figure me out.”

I smile. “Maybe I am.”

“Good luck.”

He starts walking, and I lift my camera out of instinct, but stop myself.

Yesterday comes back to me. “Because I want you to see something without worrying about how you’re going to capture it.”

I lower it.

Damon turns. “You coming?”

“Yeah.”

I jog after him.

We stay at the community center until almost sunset. By the time we leave, Damon has promised to attend two games, help with algebra, find another pair of size-ten cleats, and somehow help someone build a volcano for a science fair.

I buckle my seatbelt. “You know you’re insane, right?”

Damon starts the truck. “I’ve been told.”

“How do you keep track of all of this?”

“I have a calendar.”

“You need an assistant.”

“Are you offering?”

“Nah, I have my own stuff I need to keep straight.”

He laughs as we pull out of the parking lot. For several minutes, I watch the community center disappear behind us. Then I look at Damon.

“You really love them.”

He doesn’t ask who. “The kids?”

“Yeah.”

He smiles. “They’re worth showing up for.”

Something about those words stays with me. “Worth showing up for.”

I look out the window. For years, Damon has shown up. For them. For our friends. For me. Even when I didn’t notice. Even when I was hundreds of miles away building another life, he still showed up.

My hand rests on the camera in my lap.

For once... I don’t lift it.

I don’t need a picture to remember this.

I think this one is going to stay with me anyway.

Chapter 39

What I See

Zaire

The first thing I notice when I wake up is that I don’t reach for my phone.

That’s new, because usually, I’m checking emails before both feet hit the floor checking emails from or for clients, schedules, messages, and deadlines.

Somebody always needs something.

This morning… I lie there.

The ceiling fan turns slowly above me. Sunlight pushes around the curtains; somewhere down the hall, I hear Damon moving around.

A cabinet closes, water runs, and then he starts playing music low from the kitchen.

I smile, because I’m getting used to this.

That’s probably the problem.

I roll onto my side and stare at my suitcase sitting against the wall.

Half unpacked.

I’ve been here long enough that clothes have migrated into the guest room dresser, my toiletries are in the bathroom, and my camera batteries charge beside the bed.

Yesterday, Damon cleared a space on the kitchen counter for my equipment without asking.

The little things are what keep me sticking around; there are no declarations or pressure

He doesn’t ask “What are we?”

He just...

He just gives me space.

Damon keeps making space for me, and every day, I take a little more of it.

I sit up.

My return flight to Atlanta is tomorrow.

The thought lands differently than it should.

Atlanta is supposed to be home; my apartment, work, and life are all there.

At least...

I thought all of those things were what made Atlanta home.

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Read more

Five minutes away from orders.
Five minutes away from responsibility.
Five minutes where tomorrow doesn’t matter yet.

After weeks of stolen looks, handwritten letters, and promises made across an installation, Raphael and Malik finally find themselves with something deployment hasn’t given them much of:

Time.

No grand declarations. No pretending. No more wondering what they mean to each other.

Just one quiet night beneath unfamiliar stars.

But when you’ve learned to measure love in moments, even five more minutes can mean everything.

Chapter 23

Just For Tonight

Malik

I wake up to someone kicking the side of my bunk.

Not hard, but enough to piss me off.

I open one eye.

Carl stands over me, a silhouette against the dim light filtering through the tent canvas. “You look peaceful.”

“I was.”

“That’s unfortunate.”

I close my eyes again. “Go away.”

“No.”

“Carl.”

“Walker.”

“If you don’t move.”

“You’ve got tonight off.”

Both eyes open. “What?”

He grins, and I can hear it in his voice. “That’s what I thought.”

I sit up, rubbing sleep from my face; the coarse blanket scratches my skin. “What do you mean I have tonight off?”

“Schedule changed. Ellis moved you off rotation until oh-six-hundred.”

I stare at him.

An entire night off doesn’t exist these days. “What happened?”

Carl shrugs. “Don’t know. Don’t care. I’m going to enjoy not looking at your miserable face for several hours.”

“You’re still going to see me.”

“Nope.”

He points toward the door. “Go.”

“Go where?”

Carl gives me a look.

Then another.

Then raises his eyebrows.

It takes me a second.

“Oh.”

“Exactly.”

I shake my head. “I don’t even know if he’s off.”

Carl’s grin grows. “I might.”

I narrow my eyes. “What did you do?”

“Nothing.”

“Carl.”

“I simply possess information.”

“How?”

“People like me.”

“Nobody likes you.”

“That’s hurtful and untrue.”

I laugh.

He reaches down and grabs my boot from beneath the bunk. “Get dressed.”

I catch it when he tosses it at me. “Where am I supposed to find him?”

Carl pauses at the doorway. “Apparently, Brooks likes sitting outside at night staring dramatically at the stars.”

I stare at him. “How do you know that?”

“Goodnight, Malik.”

“Carl.”

The door closes, letting in a slice of cooler night air before sealing again.

I shake my head.

That man is going to get punched one day; probably by me.

Still...

Ten minutes later, I’m outside, looking for Raphael.

The installation feels different at night, quieter.

Not silent. Never silent.

Generators hum beyond the buildings, a vehicle moves somewhere in the distance, radios occasionally crackle from one of the checkpoints. The air is cooler, carrying the scent of dust and something like jasmine growing near the barracks.

Compared to daytime... It’s peaceful.

I find him exactly where Carl said I would; Raphael sits behind one of the smaller buildings near the edge of the common area, back against the wall, legs stretched in front of him.

He’s looking up, watching the stars. I stop a few feet away. “You always stare at the sky?”

He turns, and his smile comes immediately. “There you are.”

Something about those three words hits harder than it should.

Not hey or what are you doing here?

“There you are.” Like he’s been waiting.

“Here I am.”

He shifts over.

There’s plenty of room already, but I sit beside him anyway.

Close.

Our shoulders brush slightly, and neither of us moves.

For a moment, we just watch the stars and enjoy the quiet night.

Tristan would probably be proud of us.

I almost laugh at the thought.

Raphael glances at me. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re smiling.”

“Am I not allowed?”

“Not without telling me why.”

I look toward the sky. The stars are brilliant, unfamiliar constellations scattered across the black.

“Carl.”

Raphael groans. “What did he do?”

“Apparently he’s coordinating our love life now.”

Raphael laughs.

The sound is quieter than usual.

Tired, but real.

“That explains Luke telling me I should take a walk tonight.”

I turn toward him. “They planned this?”

“Looks like it.”

“We need better friends.” I laugh.

“No.”

His answer comes immediately, and I look at him.

Raphael’s smile fades into something softer. “I think we have pretty good ones.”

Yeah, we do have some good friends.

I let my head rest against the rough concrete wall.

“So...”

“So.”

“How are you?”

Raphael looks at me, and he doesn’t give me a normal answer like fine or good; he actually thinks for a beat before he answers.

“Tired.”

“Me too.”

“Scared at what’s to come next sometimes.”

“Me too.”

“I miss home.”

“Yeah.”