Page 24 of Lucky Penny
Shedid notforget about the nickname.
It’s written all over her shell-shocked expression. The same look she wore when I walked through the door yesterday.
I’m not a betting man, but I’d wager that no one calls her princess. Probably because she’d never let them.
Fia strolls into the living room, and the tension evaporates like smoke.
“Oh my god, thank you. My toes are frozen! I totally forgot to tell you, Pen—Jesse paid for someone to fix the fireplace. Wasn’t that nice?” She beams at her sister and hurries back to the stove, oblivious to Penny's stone expression.
“Aren’t you just a fucking hero,” Penny mutters as she pushes herself out of the chair and waltzes into the kitchen.
I’ve never felt like a hero.
Penny doesn’t leave her sister’s side until dinner is ready, and I take Tank for a quick stroll in an attempt to clear my head. He loves walks here—there’s a lot more trees and grass to pee on than in LA.
The neighborhood I once called home has changed a bit in the last decade. More houses being are being renovated, and wealthy investors aremoving in. Wilmington suddenly seems like the place to be, which is funny, because all Penny and I wanted to do was get out of here one day.
I guess the grass is always greener when you’re young. Which makes for an easy cover story as to why I moved back here.
Why’d you return here when you lived in Southern California?
Ah, I missed the small town feel. There’s no place like the Carolina coast. Cost of living is too high in LA. Sick of the crime.
They were all things people would buy at face value, and none of them were flat-out lies.
But they weren’t the full truth either.
Nan—the only woman I ever considered a mother—died two years ago, and I found out too late to come back for the funeral. I was surrounded by people in LA who acted like they knew me, and maybe they did to some degree. They knew Jesse, the dog trainer, Jesse the former tattoo artist, Jesse the guy who won’t date you but will take you for a ride on his motorcycle and let you warm his bed for a night.
One morning, I woke up and something in me had shifted. Not in my bones—nothing that obvious. It was deeper, somewhere in my chest, like a weight I’d been carrying finally pressed too hard to ignore. Maybe it had been there for years, festering quietly beneath the surface. But one day, it got loud.
Loud enough to pull me back here—to this port city that once felt like home, even as it carved me up in places I’m still learning to patch. I didn’t just leave this city. I left it wrecked in my wake. This whole state is littered with people I hurt, hearts I broke, lives I walked out of without looking back.
Three months ago, I knew I couldn’t keep running. Maybe I really am just a masochist—stupid enough to believe in second chances. But either way, something in me saidenough. So I started the slow work of turning around.
Because as much as I wanted to move forward, I knew I couldn’t—not without facing theghosts I left behind.
At least, the ones still alive to talk to.
Running into Fia at the grocery store was serendipity, if you believe in that sort of shit. I’m beginning to not have a choice if I believe in it or not, because the universe keeps throwing things my way that are impossible to ignore.
The angry blonde who slept across the hall from me last night is one of the ghosts I came back for.
And I can’t believe I just called herprincess.
11
Penny
THEN
Age 15, December Sophomore Year
The mall is packed with moms and their daughters shopping for dresses. Sophomore year winter formal is a big deal. It’s a dance hosted at an outside venue, and some of my friends have their driver’s license, meaning we don't have to get dropped off by parents anymore.
But I won’t be sixteen for another month.
Nan, Fia, and I quickly pass every store Iwantto go in, full of dresses I’ve seen in the magazines. The ones my friends will be wearing.
