Page 39 of Trailer Park Princess

The figures in the window come into focus. It's a middle-aged woman in a blazer and a young couple with bright eyes and even brighter smiles who look like they just discovered what a trust fund is the fun way. The obvious property manager is gesturing around the apartment while the couple nods enthusiastically like they're already planning where to put their meditation corner and wine fridge.

Cyrus snorts. "They look like the types who'd be on House Hunters as a stay-at-home astronaut and a butterfly massage therapist."

"Nah," I say, stretching out in the seat like a cat. "That's a guy with a beer blog. No way he's an astronaut."

That earns a low and rare chuckle from Cyrus.

"He's really gone," I say, happy for Sophia but disappointed for me. Two things can be true at once. If the fucker had shown up, we'd have an excuse to finish what we started.

Cyrus pulls out his phone and types quickly. "Telling Kade we're clear. Target's definitely relocated."

His phone vibrates a second later.

"What'd he say?" I ask, peeking over.

"Mission accomplished. Wrap it up." Cyrus pockets his phone and starts the engine. "Another satisfied customer."

"We should celebrate," I say, already knowing where this is heading. My cock twitches and I shift in my seat. "Job well done and all that."

"A 'job' that paid exactly zero dollars."

"Not everything's about money, Cy."

He gives me a look that could peel paint. "We risk our lives. We risk prison.Daily. I don't know about you, but I don't do that shit for nothing."

"It wasn't for nothing. The client gave us a muffin basket, remember?Banana nutmuffins."

Now the glare he's giving me is downright lethal.

"Come on." I reach over and poke his cheek, just to be an asshole. "I saw your face when Sophia brought us those muffins. You went all soft. Probably got a semi just from the gratitude."

"You're fucking annoying."

"You didn't think I was annoying last night." I grin, remembering the way his hands felt digging into my hair, the weight of him on my tongue. "Pretty sure you called me perfect when your cock was buried in my esophagus."

"Key detail—you weren't talking."

I flip him off and lean out the window, letting my hand ride the wind like I'm conducting an invisible orchestra. Or a bird.

The gesture hits different than it used to. Everything does now. Can't drive down this road without remembering the back of Kade's shitty Thunderbird, Ellie's laugh carried away by the wind as she stuck her whole arm out the window like she was trying to catch clouds.

Four fucking years and I still see her everywhere.

In the pink streaks of sunset. In the laughter of some random girl at a coffee shop. In the mirror when I'm high enough to admit I'm styling my hair the way she used to like it. When she was the most likely to run her fingers through it, her nails scratching my scalp.

"You think she's happy?"

The question slips out before I can stop it. Don't need to specify who. There's only one 'she' that matters. Only one ghost haunting all of us.

Cyrus's knuckles go white on the steering wheel. "Doesn't matter."

"That's not what I asked."

"I said it doesn't matter."

But it does. It matters more than any of us want to admit.

I've stalked her social media enough to have her whole curated life memorized. The charity galas. The campaign events. The senator's perfect stepdaughter in her designer dresses and fake-ass smiles.