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HARPER

Love is a lie. That's what the sign above the door says.

Large looping letters, little hearts along the edges, a lipstick mark pressed into the bottom left corner like a goodbye kiss.

It hangs crooked above the tacky red awning of a bar that smells like spilled whiskey and decisions people regret by morning.

A week ago, I would've laughed. I would've told you love was real-messy, yes, imperfect, always-but still something worth holding onto. I would've pointed at that sign and said, "Some heartbroken fool lost their damn mind."

Now I know better.

Love is a lie.

Men are a fucking joke.

Love isn't warm breakfasts or quiet I-missed-yous pressed into your shoulder at night. It's not shared playlists or keys on the same hook. Not flowers by the bed or the way someone says your name like it's a secret only they get to keep.

Apparently, love is getting your dick inside the new girl from marketing. In my bed. While I was across the city, photographing a charity event for his company-smiling at strangers, adjusting lenses, making sure the lighting on the CEO's wife didn't age her more than necessary.

I came home early. That's the worst part-I thought I was doing something sweet. I even brought takeout from his favorite Thai place, spicy noodles and spring rolls, still warm in the bag.

The bedroom door was open. They didn't even bother to close it.

Her legs were tangled in the sheets we picked out together at a stupid boutique.

He was laughing, his head tipped back, the exact sound I used to fall asleep to.

For a second, I didn't even understand what I was seeing.

I thought I'd walked into a scene from someone else's life.

And then he looked at me. Just looked.

That was it. No scrambling. No apologies. No I can explain. Just a look. One second of wide eyes, and then that stupid blank face he gets when he knows he's fucked up and doesn't want to deal with it.

Like I was the problem. Like I should've knocked first. I didn't even scream. Didn't cry. Didn't throw the takeout or rip the sheets off the bed. I stood there with the bag in my hand, my chest hollowing out while she grabbed for the blanket and he reached for his phone.

I left the food on the kitchen counter. Left the espresso machine I saved up for and the plants I nursed through five winters. Left the handmade mugs, the records, the stupid matching towels with our initials. I took my camera bag. A jacket. My charger. That's it.

And now Audrey-sweet, loud, ride-or-die Audrey-is upstairs in that apartment, collecting the last pieces of me.

My clothes. My backup lenses. The necklace I left on the bathroom sink.

Because I couldn't do it. I couldn't walk back into that space and see what was left of my life with Isaiah.

I couldn't risk running into him again, hearing that voice say my name like he still has the right.

So instead, I'm here-leaning against the car seat beneath a bar sign that says Love is a Lie, the neon letters buzzing too bright for my headache.

The lipstick mark on the corner feels like mockery.

The night air is sharp against my cheeks, but I don't move.

I feel like I've been moving non-stop since I walked out that door.

Cab. Audrey. Another cab. The blur of Vancouver rushing past the window.

I didn't even cry when I got to her apartment.

There's something worse than crying. It's the numbness. The quiet. And here I am, wrapped in it. My best friend is upstairs packing my life into suitcases because I couldn't face the man I spent the last six years with.

I hate that. The helplessness of it.

The mess of needing help.

But I do, fuck I do. And I need money.

So much money, because where the fuck would I stay now?

I can't go back to Florida- I'm not strong enough.

I have a life here. I spent six years building up a life for myself.

I have a nice job, nice friends, nice... well, I had a nice life.

A loud thud from the backseat shakes me out of my spiral. My breath catches, sharp in my throat, and I turn around in the passenger seat to see Audrey wrestling with one of my camera bags like it personally offended her.

"Hey!" I yelp, lunging for the door. "Be careful with that! Some of those lenses are worth more than your life!"

Audrey gasps theatrically, freezing in place. Her curls are piled in a messy bun on top of her head, and she's wearing leggings, an oversized hoodie, and the same battered sneakers she's owned since college. Her expression is sheepish, one hand still gripping the strap of the bag.

She lifts her free hand in surrender. "Okay, okay! Don't yell at me-I'm just the unpaid labor here."

I narrow my eyes, stepping out of the car and stalking toward her. "I swear to God, if the Leica's cracked-"

"Blah, blah. We've heard it all." she rolls her eyes playfully and places another box on the backseat.

Audrey looks tired. Her cheeks are pink from the cold, and her bun is lopsided in a way that tells me she's been hauling boxes for way longer than I deserve. She's been doing for hours, while I sat here in her car doing nothing but thinking way too loud.

Honestly, I don't deserve her. I lean against the side of the car, arms folded over my chest, breath clouding in the winter air. "I owe you, like... twelve years of friendship now."

She glances at me with a snort. "More like five and a half."

"Feels longer."

"That's because you're dramatic."

I smile, but it doesn't quite reach my eyes. "You sure you don't wanna go back? I've been working you like a mule for a week."

Audrey shrugs, tossing the final box in place and slamming the car door shut with her hip. "You would've done it for me, and I'm almost done."

"Yeah, but I would've complained a lot more."

She grins. "True."

I met Audrey through her brother, Lucas Johnson-the golden boy of hockey. A legend, as the world claims. I'd been assigned to photograph his team almost six years ago, and Audrey was always there-watching him play, showing up with hot drinks and big opinions, cheering too loud from the stands.

We met at a game. She knocked over my camera bag with her giant purse, called me "lens girl," and offered me a gummy bear in apology.

It was instant. Easy. She's been my best friend ever since.

Through every long season, every sleepless night in editing rooms, every moment I doubted myself-Audrey's been there.

The loudest voice in my corner. The one who told me I was worth more than a man who barely looked up when I walked into a room.

Now she's standing beside me in a parking lot at one p.m loading my whole life into her trunk, and still hasn't asked for anything in return.

After we get inside the car, she blows into her hands to warm them, then glances at me sideways. "So... what now?"

I don't answer right away. I just look at her-at the freckles on her nose, the tiny scar on her jaw from when she fell off her bike in fifth grade, the way her eyes soften when she knows I'm breaking.

"I don't know," I whisper. My voice is rough around the edges, frayed like the hem of my favorite sweatshirt. "I kinda thought I'd stay with you. I can sleep on the floor. I don't take up that much space."

Audrey snorts, but the sound isn't cruel. It's wrapped in affection. She shakes her head, strands of her dark curls coming loose from the bun that's barely holding on. "You'd suffocate. I can barely fit myself in that apartment, Harper."

My nose wrinkles. I knew that, of course. She's not lying.

Audrey comes from money-like, the kind of money you only hear about in whispered gossip and Google searches.

The kind that lives in waterfront homes with big walls and private rinks.

Her last name means something here. Her mom was a hockey player- her dad was a hockey player but she's not in the picture.

She's got famous siblings, parents with faces on Arenas, aunts and cousins that still make noise to this day.

She has enough generational wealth to never work a day in her life.

But that's not Audrey. She loves them, of course she does, she goes back to them every Sunday, her mom calls her every single minute, her aunts invite her to watch rom-coms with them.

I've been invited a lot of times but it felt like I was overstepping.

She really does have a big loving family.

But since the day she turned eighteen, she's taken nothing from them.

Not a cent. Not a favor. She packed her bags and moved out of that big house and into a tiny studio near the kindergarten where she teaches.

Chose teaching over skating-even though she's brilliant on the ice-because she didn't want to live the life everyone else planned for her.

She wanted her own. Her own apartment, her own job, her own freedom.

The place is barely big enough to stretch your arms out in without knocking over a lamp. But it's hers.

And there's no room for me. Not really.

She sees the apology form in my eyes and cuts it off with a raised eyebrow. "Nope. Don't. I see that pity-party look forming. Don't go there."

"I wasn't-"

"You were."

"Okay, fine. A little."

"Just a little?" She leans against the trunk of the car, arms crossed and lips tilted in a smirk. "You were about to write me a whole sad poem about how I deserve a better friend."

"I was not going to write a poem," I say, trying not to smile.

"Would've rhymed too," she teases. "Something tragic about betrayal and espresso machines and exes named Josh who smell like department store cologne."

That gets me. A breath of laughter breaks loose before I can stop it, and I have to press a hand to my mouth.

"See?" Audrey says. "That's better. Your face looks better when it's not actively preparing for emotional collapse."

I roll my eyes. "Thanks. Very supportive."

She shrugs. "I try."

We fall quiet again, the night stretching around us like a too-heavy blanket. Somewhere nearby, a bus hisses to a stop. My breath fogs the air as I stare at the wet street, unsure of where to go from here.

"I can't go back to Florida," I say finally, the words catching in my throat like they've been trying to claw their way out for days.

"I've built an entire life here. Away from everything, away from the version of me that just..

. let life happen to her. I've worked so hard to build something that feels like mine.

And I love it. I love my job. I love the guys on the team, I love being on the road with them, I love-" I stop, jaw clenching. "I loved my life."

Audrey doesn't say anything right away. She just listens-really listens-the way she always does.

That quiet kind of attention most people skip right past. "I don't even have friends," I say, voice cracking a little.

"Everyone I knew here, they were his friends first. Our friends-at least, I thought so.

But when everything went down, it was like the switch flipped.

Like they were just waiting for a reason to cut me out.

Now I'm the villain in someone else's story, and I didn't even get a chance to defend myself. "

"You didn't mess up," Audrey says immediately, her voice fierce and gentle all at once. She looks at me like I've said something truly outrageous. "He did. He messed up. You were working. You were shooting a goddamn charity event for his company. And he still-"

She stops herself. Breathes in. Out. Her fists are clenched at her sides like she wants to fight the ghost of him, right here on this dark curb.

"I know," I whisper. "I know. I just..."

My shoulders fold inward, my arms wrapping tightly around my ribs like I'm trying to keep the sadness from spilling out.

"I don't have anywhere to go, Aud. I had to give up my apartment because it was too much to bear.

And I-"

I laugh, but there's no humor in it.

Just exhaustion. "I make good money. Really good money.

But I'm still stuck. Still scrambling to figure out how to stay afloat because Mom's treatments are.

.." I shake my head. "They're insane. You know the numbers.

And I can't... not pay for them. Not when I could lose her any moment. "

Audrey's face softens immediately, her expression folding into something close to heartbreak.

There's no much space in this car, but she's still here with me.

She places her palm on my shoulder and squeezes it softly.

"I hate that for you. I really, really do.

" I squeeze my eyes shut. "I wish I had more space," she says, pulling back.

"I really do. But you know how tiny my place is.

You'd have to sleep vertically, and we'd probably both die tripping over each other's shoes in the middle of the night. "

"It's not just the space," I say, eyes fixed on a flickering streetlamp outside.

"I've been tight on cash lately. Mom's treatment isn't covered by insurance anymore.

They're calling the new meds 'experimental,' like that justifies it.

Like eight hundred dollars a bottle makes any kind of fucking sense when she's just trying to breathe easier. "

Audrey stills beside me. I can feel the shift in her body. Her gaze, heavy and soft and a little broken.

"Oh, Harp..." she whispers, turning toward me fully. Her eyes glisten, warm and sad. "Why didn't you tell me? I could've helped. You know I would've."

I shrug, slow and defensive. "Because I didn't want to be the sad story. Again. The girl with the sick mom and the toxic ex and the career that looks perfect on paper but still somehow leaves you stuck at the end of the day. And maybe... maybe a little because I've been too proud to ask for help."

Her lips curve in something that's not quite a smile, but not pity either. Understanding. Deep and quiet and old. "Sounds familiar," she says, and her voice is softer than I've ever heard it.

We sit in the stillness of it. The kind of silence that stretches out not because there's nothing left to say, but because we don't have to say it. Because she's been there too. Different details, same ache.

Audrey's eyes flick to mine and in them I see the whole history of us-her eyes say, we'll figure something out.

You're not alone. I'm not leaving you. And I don't say it, but I think it-I don't know how I got lucky enough to have her.

She lets out a long breath and pulls her coat tighter.

Then turns to me with that determined spark that always means trouble-or magic.

"Okay. Look. I can't offer you my apartment. Not realistically. You've seen it. You'd have to sleep on top of my toilet."

I huff out a laugh. "Wouldn't be the weirdest place I've slept."

"Gross. Anyway," she bumps her knee against mine, "I do know a place."

I raise a brow. "Should I be concerned?"

Audrey smirks. "A little. But not for the reasons you think.

It's comfortable. Has its own bathroom, which, let's be honest, is crucial.

And it's literally five minutes from your team's practice arena.

No weird roommates, no mold, no Craigslist vibes.

Just... a good place. And it belongs to a friend of mine. "

My suspicion sharpens. "What kind of friend?"

Audrey's smirk returns. "A cool one. Funny, kind. Loud and a little messy for her own good-but not in a scary way. More like in a 'you'll find pens in the freezer' kind of way. But you'd have your own room. Your own door. She's barely ever home, always off traveling. You'll hardly see her."

Something about the way she says it makes my stomach twist. Is she talking about...

I blink at her. "Oh no."

Audrey turns, feigning innocence. "What?"

"Audrey."

"What?" Her eyes are wide, too wide.

"I'm not staying with Am-"

"Okay, before you say no-"

"I already did."

"Let me finish!"

I groan, pulling my beanie down over my eyes. "I am not staying with her."

"She's my best friend," Audrey pleads. "I've known her since we were in the womb, literally. You don't understand-she's actually the best."

I shove the beanie back up so I can glare at her properly. "She hates me."

"She doesn't hate you," Audrey says, but her voice pitches slightly too high, like it always does when she's lying to get out of trouble.

"She told me to fuck off the first time we met."

Audrey groans. "You kinda deserved it."

"I said one thing!"

"You said, and I quote," she holds up an imaginary mic, "'Isn't it cute how seriously she takes it? Like, it's just a game. No biggie.'"

I flinch. "Okay, in context-"

"Harper, it was five minutes before puck drop. She was in the tunnel, fully locked in, and you waltzed over in your little photographer vest and implied the game didn't matter."

"I was joking!"

"She didn't know that!"

"I smiled."

"She thought you were mocking her. Right before she went on the ice. On her first game back after her injury. After people said she wouldn't come back."

My mouth opens. Closes. "...That was her first game back?"

Audrey nods, glancing at me now. "Yeah. She was already spiraling, trying to prove she deserved to be there again. You just happened to hit the exact nerve everyone else had been stepping on for weeks."

I groan, sliding down in my seat. "I didn't know."

"Well, now you do."

"She could've just told me I was being an ass. Like a normal person."

"She did. She said, 'Fuck off', She could've done worse."

I rub my hands over my face. "God. No wonder she hates me."

"She doesn't hate you," Audrey says, softer this time. "She just... doesn't forget easily. But people grow, you know? Maybe this is your second chance."

"Or maybe it's her second chance to kill me in my sleep."

Audrey exhales hard, raking a hand through her hair.

"Harper. Come on. It's not ideal, I know.

But it's not permanent. It's just until you land somewhere better.

She's not gonna make you uncomfortable. You'll barely be in each other's space.

She has a game in Toronto next week, and then she's flying to Montreal.

You'll have the place mostly to yourself. "

I hesitate, fingers curling into the sleeves of my coat.

"I don't want to be a burden," I murmur. "I already feel like this massive weight in everyone's life."

Audrey turns toward me, all teasing gone now. Her voice softens. "You're not a weight. You're a person who's gone through a hell of a lot. And you're allowed to lean on someone once in a while."

I stare at her, throat tight. I hate how good she is at this. At seeing through me.

"I was thinking I could probably find something cheap, you know?" I say, weakly. "Like five hundred or something."

She snorts. "Sure. If you want a mattress on a kitchen floor and a 'roommate' who asks you to pay rent in different ways."

I grimace. "Oh my God, gross."

Audrey shrugs, too pleased with herself. "Just saying. This is a real place. With real sheets. An amazing kitchen. Amazing view to the entire city. And a door with a lock. You could use a lock right now, Harp."

I sigh heavily, leaning back against the headrest. My body sinks into the seat like it's given up fighting. "You're sure she won't mind?"

"I'd bet my last bottle of wine on it."

"That's a very expensive bottle of wine."

"And you're a very expensive friend," she teases.

There's a long pause.

This is a bad idea. Horrible idea. But what other choice do I have?

After a while I say, quietly, "Okay. I'll try it."

Audrey beams, lighting up the whole damn car. "You won't regret it."

I stare out the window, heart fluttering like I just stepped off a cliff.

"I already kind of do."