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SKYE

T he hospital smelled like bleach, fear, and old memories. I sat stiffly on the edge of a beige plastic chair in the tiny consultation room while the social worker explained the legal path forward.

“With the right emergency petition,” she said gently, “you can request temporary authority to make decisions for your mother’s medical care—end-of-life decisions, if it comes to that.”

The nurse nodded in agreement. Tyler stood behind me, arms crossed, silent but present. And Malik leaned against the wall, phone in one hand, already making plans.

“We need to disappear,” Malik said. “Lay low. There’s no guarantee someone from JD’s world isn’t sniffing around.”

Tyler tapped his chin, then looked at me. “I’ll book an Airbnb under one of my old aliases. Something out in the hills, quiet, with private access. No cameras.”

“We’ll swap plates,” Malik added. “Change cars twice. I’ve got burner phones.”

They talked like they’d done this before. Like ghosts hiding in plain sight .

I could barely hear them over the rush in my ears.

“We’ll dress her in scrubs,” Malik continued. “She’ll look like part of the night crew. We’ll exit through the loading dock. I’ll take out the external feed so it loops.”

Tyler nodded. “I’ll stay behind, grab a tray from the cafeteria, eat it right in front of that pledge who’s been tailing us.”

He glanced at me with a wry smile. “We’ll give them the slip.”

I swallowed hard. “Thank you.”

They didn’t answer. They just got to work.

We drove with the windows down in Malik’s decoy car—an ancient rusted-out Impala that groaned every time we turned. I stared out at the road, heart sinking as we passed landmarks I hadn’t seen in six years.

The corner diner where JD first held my hand.

The stoplight we used to meet under after dark.

The high school gym where everything changed.

Tears burned behind my eyes as memories rushed back in vivid, relentless detail.

It was prom night. I’d never felt more like a girl in a fairytale. JD had shown up in a tux with a pale pink corsage and a smile that stole the breath from my lungs. He twirled me in the gym, lights twinkling above us, our hearts racing with every spin.

But we didn’t stay long.

He’d booked a room at a boutique hotel—just for us.

There were rose petals on the bed, champagne in a bucket, and soft music playing when he led me inside.

“You okay?” he asked.

I nodded, nerves fluttering like butterflies. “Yeah. ”

We undressed slowly, reverently, laughing when our fingers fumbled with buttons and zippers. He kissed every inch of me like he was memorizing my skin, and I loved him like it was the only night we’d ever get.

Afterward, we lay tangled together in the hot tub on the balcony, stars spinning overhead, JD’s arms wrapped tight around me.

“I’ll never love anyone else,” I’d whispered.

And I meant it.

Even now, six years later, driving into a storm of uncertainty, I wasn’t sure I’d ever stopped.