Page 127 of Heroes & Hitmen
She grins, pink frosting smudged on the corner of her mouth. “Don’t forget easily distracted.”
“Ooh, food,” I say, glancing down at my salad like I just realized it’s there.
She throws her head back laughing, and for a moment, I almost forget we’re leaving. It’s like the walls aren’t bare, the boxes aren’t taped shut, and this place isn’t echoing around us like it’s already someone else’s.
The rest of the afternoon is a montage of minor disasters. Miley shatters a glass and blames the ‘packing gods’. I drop a box on my foot and try to play it cool, only for her to swoop in and insist on performing emergency first aid– which I don’t argue with since I’ll take any excuse to have her hands on me. By the time we’re finished, the apartment is down to its bones. The art is off the walls, the fridge is empty, the bookshelves are naked. The echo in the room is strange and unfamiliar.
As I glance around, I feel the weight of every memory embedded in these walls. The first time I made her breakfast in the kitchen, the morning we made our bond real. The fights, the quiet victories. This place was never just four walls. It was the beginning.
I’ve got a surprise waiting for Miley in Stillwater, though, and knowing what’s coming softens the sting of this goodbye.
She wanders into the living room looking tired, but happy. Or maybe just tired. I can’t tell, so I go with happy.
I flop onto the couch with a sigh and pat the cushion beside me. She sits, tucks her legs up, and leans into my side. I wrap my arms around her and for a while, we just sit, soaking in the last seconds of the life we made here together.
“You’re sure about Stillwater?” I ask, even though I already have a hundred times. I just want to hear her say it again.
She nods. “Absolutely. I’m excited to spend real time with your family, not just weekends.”
“You’re gonna love it,” I promise. “I mean, I might be biased, but there’s nowhere better in the world.”
She rests her head against my shoulder, voice quiet. “What if I miss the city? What if I want to try New York next year or… I don’t know, Tokyo.”
“Then I’ll follow you anywhere, babe,” I tell her.
She looks up, eyes searching mine for any trace of a lie. She doesn’t find one. “Good answer,” she murmurs, leaning in to steal a kiss.
Eventually, we peel ourselves off the couch and do the final sweep. Load the van, double-check the closets. Miley triple-checks them, because she’s nothing if not thorough. Then we do one last lap. Miley grabs her potted plant off the windowsill, tucking it under her arm, and we head for the door.
After I pull it open, the two of us turn back, standing shoulder to shoulder and staring at what’s left of our apartment.
“You ready?” I ask.
She hesitates, then grabs my hand and squeezes it. “Yeah. Let’s go home.”
We step into the hallway, make our way toward the elevator, and get in. The door closes behind us, and with it, the last chapter of our lives in the city. I look at her, she looks at me, and neither of us says a word.
We don’t have to.
Because the story’s not over.
We’ve still got forever to go.
CHAPTER 40
Miley
The farther west we go,the more the landscape starts looking like a stock photo for ‘mountain paradise’. Flat Midwestern nothingness gives way to the white-knuckle drama of actual mountains, the kind that make you clutch the door handle even when you trust the driver with your life. Which I do.Mostly.
We stopped for the night a few hours outside of Stillwater, handing the moving van off to one of Ares’ packmates so we could drive the last leg together. No complaints from me– I’m perfectly happy being a passenger princess in his big, battered pickup, watching the scenery roll by and feeling the last threads of our old life unravel behind us.
I keep waiting for the homesickness to hit– some spasm of regret or longing for the city we left behind– but it never comes. Just relief. The farther we go, the lighter I feel.
“Welcome to the six-pack,” Ares announces dramatically as he turns off the highway and onto a narrow forest road. From the outside, there’s not much to see– and I suppose that’s by design. His alliance keeps its towns hidden from human eyes, tucked deep in the woods so they can live freely as they are rather than trying to suppress their instincts to blend in.
The road unwinds for miles before he veers left, and I instantly recognize the landmarks for Stillwater’s territory from our visits here. The trees thin, sunlight spills through, and we roll into the outskirts of town. My stomach flips, not with nerves, but with excitement.
Ares takes a few more turns before pulling to the curb in front of a house I don’t recognize. It’s new construction in a rustic style– warm cedar siding, wide porch, planter boxes spilling with greenery.
