Page 54 of A Man To Remember
WE LEAVE THE campus hand in hand, no destination in mind, just walking because neither of us seems ready for the day to end.
I take in the city I ran from all those years ago, expecting the familiar weight of old ghosts.
But this time, nothing looks gray. Nothing feels heavy with unfinished business.
The buildings I used to see as monuments to my worst memories now just look like buildings. The streets that used to whisper my failures now just hum with ordinary life.
When did that happen?
When did this place stop being the setting for my personal horror story and start being just... a place where things happened once?
Maybe healing isn't the dramatic revelation I always thought it would be. Maybe it's just walking down familiar streets and realizing they don't have power over you anymore.
Or maybe it's holding hands with someone who was part of the story but doesn't have to be part of the ending.
I've been running since high school, I realize. From this city, from the memories. From the possibility that I might have to face them again.
But now? Now I can't think of anywhere I'd rather be.
Jesse stops walking suddenly, tugging on my hand to get my attention. "So, I've been thinking…" He narrows his eyes like he's mentally solving some complicated math equation.
"About…?"
He bites down on the corner of his bottom lip and hesitates, as if not fully trusting the result of his calculations. Finally, he says, "You're working tomorrow, right?"
He has an agenda, that much is clear.
"Right. Why?"
"How long?"
I furrow my brow, mentally going through my schedule. "Just one model. Two hours, I guess.Why?"
He doesn't answer. Instead, a sly grin forms on his lips as he pulls out his phone, starts typing furiously, and resumes walking, his pace faster now.
I catch up to him in two long strides and stretch my neck to peek at his screen. He pulls it to the side, away from my prying eyes. "Excuse you. Private matters."
"What are you up to?"
A shit-eating grin lets me know that whatever it is, he's clearly pleased with himself. "It's a surprise."
I huff. "Fine. I actually love surprises."
I don't, but I won't give him the satisfaction.
And with that, he finishes typing, pockets his phone, takes my hand like it's this thing wedonow, and changes the subject.
Guess I'll just have to wait.
CHAPTER 19
JESSE
THE CLUB FEELS different tonight.
I can't put my finger on what exactly has changed—the same bodies grinding against each other in the dim lighting, the same bass thumping through the floor and into my bones, the same endless stream of drinks I'm mixing and pouring on autopilot. But something's different.
Or maybe it's me that's different.
