Page 36

Past

T he week before Thanksgiving, Truman gets the call from his parents.

He’s sprawled out on his bed, flipping a pen between his fingers while he listens, his voice low and even. I sit cross-legged at the desk, pretending to read while my stomach knots itself into something sharp and unbearable.

When he hangs up, he runs a hand through his hair and exhales. “They want me to come home for Thanksgiving.” His green eyes lift to mine. “They said you can come too.”

I grip the book harder. The pages blur. I knew this was coming, but I still feel like I’ve been sucker-punched.

“I don’t want to go back,” I say, my voice quiet.

His brows pull together. “Kid—”

“There’s nothing there for me, Truman.” I swallow hard, staring at the words on the page even though I can’t read a single one. “Papa’s gone. The cabin is empty. I—I can’t go back.”

The weight of his stare presses against me, heavy and warm, but I keep my eyes on the book. If I look at him, I might break.

After a long silence, he shifts, sitting up. “Then I’ll stay here with you.”

I shake my head, finally glancing up. “No. You should go home.” I force a small smile. “Eat a big Thanksgiving dinner. Fight with your siblings. Watch football with your dad.”

Truman’s jaw clenches. “Not if it means leaving you here alone.”

I get up and cross the room, pressing a quick kiss to his jaw before he can argue more.

“Tasha and I are going out for dinner tonight.”

Truman studies me for a long moment before exhaling through his nose. “Alright,” he mutters. “But we’re talking about this later.”

I nod.

The restaurant is cheap, but the food is good. Greasy fries, crispy chicken tenders, and burgers so thick they fall apart in your hands. It’s busy, but the kind of busy that feels warm and lived-in, like people actually belong here.

Tasha steals a fry from my plate and pops it into her mouth. “So,” she says around a mouthful. “What school do you go to again?”

I hesitate, then shrug. “I don’t.”

Her chewing slows. “Okay. Where do you work?”

I pick at my burger. “I—uh—

She tilts her head, eyes sharp.

Shit.

I take a sip of my soda, avoiding her gaze.

Tasha doesn’t say anything for a second, just studies me in that way that makes me feel like she can see straight through my bullshit. Then she leans forward, resting her chin on her hand.

“You live with Truman, don’t you?”

I freeze, fingers tightening around my cup.

She exhales. “Kid… you know if the school finds out, he could get kicked out, right?”

Guilt slams into me, a cold, sinking weight in my stomach. I do know.

But hearing her say it out loud makes it real in a way that squeezes the air out of my lungs.

Truman has worked his ass off to get here. And I’m just… hiding in his dorm like some stray cat, risking everything for him.

I push my plate away, suddenly not hungry anymore.

Tasha sighs. “Look, I get it. You guys are crazy about each other. But be careful, okay? I like you both too much to see this go to shit.”

I nod, even though my throat is too tight to speak.

Tasha watches me for a moment, then her voice softens. “What’s your plan, Kid? You can’t keep doing this forever.”

I let out a slow breath, staring down at the table. “I know I have to figure things out,” I admit, my voice quieter now. “But Truman… he’s all I have. He’s all of my firsts.” I look up at her then, something raw and vulnerable creeping into my chest. “I love him.”

It’s the first time I’ve said it out loud. It hangs between us, real and terrifying.

Tasha’s expression softens.

Tasha’s smile is small but warm. “I get it,” she says. “I don’t know exactly how sheltered you were, but I can tell you’ve lived a… different kind of life.”

My pulse kicks up, but she doesn’t press, doesn’t ask questions I can’t answer.

“But that’s exactly why you have to start building something for yourself,” she continues. “Something that’s just yours. You know what happens if you don’t?”

I shake my head.

She leans in, voice gentle but firm. “You start to lose yourself. And maybe that doesn’t sound so bad now, but trust me, down the line? You’ll resent it. And if you resent it, it’ll bleed into your relationship, no matter how much you love him.”

A lump forms in my throat.

Tasha reaches across the table and taps my hand. “You don’t have to figure everything out overnight. But you do have to start thinking about it. Create a life for yourself that you can share with Truman instead of just living his.”

I nod again, even though my chest is tight and I don’t know how to make sense of the emotions swirling inside me.

Tasha grins and steals another fry off my plate. “And hey, if you need a wing woman while you figure it out, I know a great one.”

Despite everything, a small, shaky laugh escapes me. “Oh yeah?”

She winks. “Damn right.”

Back at Truman’s dorm, I sit on his bed, watching as he flips through one of his textbooks. My chest is tight with everything I haven’t said yet, every unspoken thought pressing against my ribs like they’re trying to claw their way out.

“You have to go home for Thanksgiving,” I say finally.

Truman glances up, frowning. “We’ve been over this.”

“And I’ve made up my mind,” I say firmly. “I’ll get a hotel.”

He sets the book down, jaw tightening. “With what ID, Kid? What credit card?”

I straighten my spine. “I can handle it.”

His frown deepens. “You don’t even have—”

“I’ve got it handled.”

He blows out a frustrated breath, raking a hand through his hair. “This is fucking stupid.”

I force a smile. “You’ll be too busy stuffing your face with turkey to miss me.”

He doesn’t smile back. Just watches me with that unreadable expression, the one that makes my stomach flip in a way I don’t know how to handle.

I look away. “It’s just a few days.”

Truman exhales heavily but doesn’t push it. Instead, he leans back against the headboard, eyes dark with emotions I can’t place.

I don’t say anything else. I can’t. I sit at his desk as he goes back to his text book.

I pull out my phone and, in secret, type out a message.

Me: Hey, Eli… I need a favor.

Eli responds almost immediately.

Eli: That’s a dangerous ask coming from you.

Me: Can you book a hotel room for me? Just for Thanksgiving break?

A pause. Then—

Eli: Are you okay?

Me: Just avoiding home.

Another pause. Then—

Eli: Yeah. I’ll take care of it.

I exhale, relief washing through me.

***

The motel reeks of mildew and stale cigarettes, the walls stained with time and encounters I don’t want to think about.

The heater rattles like it’s coughing up its last breath, barely cutting through the chill that seeps into my bones.

But it’s a place to sleep. A roof over my head.

And thanks to Eli, it’s mine for the week.

Truman is furious. Refused to kiss me goodbye when I walked him to the bus station.

I’d cried most of that night. I texted Kenzie and apologized for not going home with him, but to be nice and enjoy her brother while he was there.

She asked what he did to mess up. I’d laughed but let her know he didn’t do anything wrong.

I spend my days at the gym, pushing my body until the burn drowns out everything else. Push-ups until my arms shake. Pull-ups until my grip gives out. Burpees, cardio, anything to keep moving, to keep from thinking too hard.

But the thoughts always creep in.

The barn was sweltering that morning. The wood rough against my palms as I clung to the beams, watching through the gaps. Two men. Papa flashing the I love you sign. The barrel of a gun raised at him.

I squeeze my eyes shut, but it doesn’t stop the memory. The sound of the shot. The way his body jerked. The silence after he hit the ground.

I tell myself he wasn’t really my father. Not by blood. But it doesn’t matter.

He raised me. Fed me. Loved me. Taught me how to survive. How to fight and hunt and be strong.

And I just sat there.

I swallow the lump in my throat and push harder, sprinting until my legs scream, until my lungs burn. But the grief doesn’t leave. It never does.

I shower at the gym quickly. While I’m changing my phone vibrates.

Truman: Do you miss me? Nice of you to stay behind .

Me: I do, desperately. Just wasn’t in the cards for now. How’s Kenzie? Is Nate still being a pain?

Truman: Kenzie’s fine, being a little brat as usual, all shopping this and look at what I made. Nate’s still convinced he can run the entire family. You know how it is.

Me: Yeah, I remember. Sounds… fun .

Truman: Sure, if you like the chaos. But no, no big deal. I just thought you might’ve wanted to be here.

Me: I wanted to be there, just didn’t feel like it was the right time.

Truman: Right.

Me: Truman, stop. Don’t do this. I’m just trying to check in. I’m sure your family misses you an is happy to have you visit.

Truman: Guess so.

Me: Truman, we’ll talk when you get back. I don’t want this tension between us.

Truman: Fine.

Me: Okay.

Truman: …I miss you.

Me: I’ll be waiting.

Back in the motel room, I drop my bag on the bed, peeling off my damp tee-shirt. Something flutters to the floor.

A business card.

Marcy’s name stares up at me, bold and sharp. I flip it over between my fingers, the edges slightly bent from being stuffed into my bag for so long.

I should throw it away.

Instead, I sit on the edge of the bed, rolling my phone between my palms.

Going to Miami. Joining the Testa family.

The idea sits like a weight in my chest, heavy and uncertain.

I don’t trust Marcy. Not completely.

But maybe… just maybe, she’s right.

My fingers move before I can stop them, typing out a message.

Me: What exactly would going to Miami entail? What would you expect from me?

I hit send before I can change my mind.

Seconds pass.

Then minutes.

Then my phone buzzes.

I inhale sharply before looking at the screen.

Marcy: Let’s discuss.