With that he finally heads out, football tucked under one arm, and I lock the door behind him, the house goes quiet. Which should be calming. Instead, it’s loud in the way silence always is when your head won’t shut up. I scrub a hand over my face, pacing a few slow steps before giving in and heading upstairs toward my room. The door creaks like it always does when I push it open, and I freeze just inside the doorway.

It hits me all at once. She’s going to be here, in this room. I glance around like I’m seeing the place for the first time, bed rumpled from this morning, two empty water bottles on my desk, a hoodie half-hanging off the back of my chair, and my favorite worn-in throw blanket in a tangled heap at the foot of the bed.

Not awful. But not good either.

I sigh and move, smoothing the sheets, folding the blanket, tossing the bottles in the trash. She’s never seen this space. She only ever knows me from hers. From the way her voice filters through my headphones, from the way her smile lights up a screen and not the space next to me.

Tomorrow changes that. I sit down on the edge of the mattress, staring at the wall across from me like it might have answers. Then I pull out my phone.

Me: Should I panic clean my whole house or just assume you’ll be too distracted by my charm to notice the dust?

Three dots pop up. Then vanish. Then pop up again.

Haven: Bold of you to assume I don’t already plan on judging you.

I grin, fingers flying.

Me: Good, I like it when you’re mean to me.

Haven: You’re a silly one Carter.

Me: Only for you!

She doesn’t reply right away. The ache in my chest is back, but it’s not bad. Not really, just heavy with something I’m still figuring out how to carry. I glance around the room one last time, then lie back on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

3

Haven

The suitcase is still empty. Which, according to Cassie, is a personal offense.

“Havie.” She plants her hands on her hips, staring at my bed like it’s a crime scene. “How long have you known about this trip?”

I sigh. “About… twenty-four hours?”

She squints.

I sigh harder. “Okay, fine. A week. But in my defense, I was still deciding.”

Cassie groans and flops onto my bed, burying her face in a pillow. “Haven. You are literally meeting the man you’ve been crushing on for months.”

I roll my eyes. “I do not have a crush.”

She lifts her head just enough to send me a flat look. “The man drops money on you every stream and calls you ‘sweetheart’ in a voice that makes you short-circuit.”