Page 139 of Aria

“Eww, gross.” Sam contorted his face into a mask of horror at the display of affection. “Growed-ups are yucky.”

We chuckled as I moved toward the table to take my seat.

That’s when I heard the distinct sound of music paying in the distance. My nose crinkled. “Are you playing… U2?”

Noah looked at me like I’d grown a second head. “I’m not playing any music, Combs. Why do you always think U2 is playing?”

I frowned, panic sluicing me. “I – I swear I hear it. Can’t you hear it?” The music grew louder, and I ran into Noah’s arms, shaking him as hard as I could. “Why can’t you hear it?”

“There’s no music. You need to wake up. It’s a beautiful day.”

My hands cupped my ears as I shook my head. “No, no, no…”

“… It’s a beautiful day…”

Shooting up in bed, beads of sweat dripped down the sides of my face. My thoughts were disjointed, my breaths unsteady. It took a few moments for me to gather my bearings as I blinked, my vision blurred and hazy with sleep.

Inhaling deeply, I reached for my phone sitting on my nightstand and turned off the alarm clock, which was playingBeautiful Dayby U2.

1112 days.

It had been 1112 days since I packed my entire life into a suitcase and drove twelve-hundred miles to south Florida.

Well… not myentirelife.

I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and tossed my phone onto the bed covers.

I really hated that dream.

My cat, Misty, hopped onto the bed and nuzzled close, allowing me to take comfort in the one familiar thing I still had in my life.

Not that my life was bad—it was just different. So many things had changed.

I had changed.

And, well… that had been the whole point.

I often flashed back to that last night with Noah.

It had been the best night of my life.

It had also been the most soul-crushing.

That night led me on a journey of self-discovery and healing, prompting me to leave everything behind and start all over. I’d needed to mend a lot of things—mostly, myself, but also my relationship with my parents. I recalled leaving a note for Lisa, grabbing my cat, then hopping in my car and driving eighteen hours straight to St. Petersburg, Florida. I’d called my mother on the way down, hysterical and scared.

During my volatile relationship with Ian, I’d shut them out when they’d only tried to help me. I’d been so dependent on my abuser, so beyond repair, I had cast out everything truly good in my life. Even after I’d left him, I hadn’t had the courage to make amends.

I’d been cowardly, mortified, and lost.

I’d eventually realized that, while I had removed the immediate threat in my life—Ian—I hadn’t ever tackled the real, soul-deep problem.

Myself.

A steady paycheck, a tiny apartment, and proclaimed independence had only been a shiny exterior to the damage still hiding within, rotting me from the inside out.

“I’m coming home, mama,” I had sobbed, silently praying for my parents to accept me back into their lives.

My mother had broken down into tears on the other end of the line. “I’ve been waiting years to hear you say that.”

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