Page 34 of The Hang Up
“I’m going to take care of you,” I whisper. “You don’t have to do everything on your own anymore.”
She presses her mouth to my chest, and I feel her smile against my skin.
And at that moment, everything clicks.
The past, the pain, and the time we lost are still there, but it’s no longer the end of our story.
Because now we’re writing a new one.
And I think it’s going to be my favorite chapter yet.
FIFTEEN
Lena
The silence in my bedroom is too loud.
It’s the first day I’ve been home since I told my mom I was moving out. Clay & Cupcakes is closed on Mondays, which means no distractions, no sugar cookies to bake, no scones to prep, no customers to smile at while swallowing exhaustion.
Just me and the evidence of my life stuffed into every inch of this room.
I stand in front of the open closet, a cardboard box at my feet, my hands shaking slightly as I touch the hem of an old hoodie. I wore it for two years straight in high school. It still smells like cinnamon and lemon, like safety.
I fold it carefully and place it in the box.
I’ve been promising myself I’d move out for years. I’ve always made excuses. Mom’s health. The bills. The guilt. But I can’t pretend anymore. Not after what she said the other night. Not after what she did.
I reach for another shirt, pausing as I hear the front door creak open.
Heavy footsteps. A familiar rhythm.
A second later, Holden appears in the doorway, holding two large boxes and wearing that hoodie I love, the faded green one with the frayed cuffs.
His smile is soft. “Hey, sunshine.”
I swallow the lump in my throat. “Hey.”
He glances around the room, taking in the open drawers, the box half full on the floor, the pile of shoes I haven’t worn in years. “You sure about this?”
I meet his eyes and nod. “More than I’ve ever been.”
He sets the boxes down and crosses the room in two strides, wrapping his arms around me. I lean into him, burying my face against his chest.
For a moment, it’s just us.
No history.
No hurt.
Just the thump of his heart and the warm, solid weight of him around me.
“I brought donuts,” he murmurs. “Figured you could use some sugar and carbs while we face the pit of hell.”
I huff a laugh. “You know how to spoil a girl.”
“I try.”
We work in tandem, me sorting through clothes, him taping boxes shut and labeling them in sharp, slanted letters. I let him pack the books because he insists he has a system. I don’t argue. It feels good to let someone else take the lead for once.
