Once I was packed, I took one last look around my home. I had a complicated relationship with this place, between my parents and the ghost of Denny and Kiera, every square inch seemed to hold a trace amount of pain for me. Sometimes I debated selling it and moving somewhere new, somewhere fresh, but now…now that I wasn’t going to see it for a while, I felt the dull ache of attachment. Not all of my memories here were bad ones. I’d met Kiera here, fallen for her here, heard her say she loved me here. She was here, buried in the walls, the floors, the bed…and I was going to miss that connection. But I would be back, for my home and for Kiera.

Walking to my car brought my second love to mind. What was I going to do with the Chevelle for six months? Let her rot in my driveway? No, she needed to be driven, maintained…cherished. And there was only one person I trusted to cherish her like I did. A smile was on my face as I pictured Kiera behind the wheel of my baby. I might not like sharing my car, but if I wasn’t here to drive her, then she should belong to Kiera. Temporarily. Don’t worry. I’m coming back for you too.

Pulling into Pete’s parking lot brought another sting of goodbye. My home away from home. I started to feel a little melancholy as I looked over the long, rectangular building lit with various beer signs in the dark windows. Although we’d started in L.A., this was where the D-Bags had truly begun.

My wistfulness grew as I opened one of the double doors. I really wasn’t sure if I could handle the compounding goodbyes in the air. It was too much, and a part of me just wanted to scoop up Kiera, turn around, and drive us back to my house. Maybe a quiet night at home with Kiera was a better way to get through this.

But then Sam shoved a shot in my face. Pride in his eyes, he smacked my shoulder. “Here, man, it’s your night, drink up!”

He didn’t have to tell me twice. Grabbing the little cup, I immediately swished it back. Whiskey. Interesting choice. The burn eased my mood. As did the gesture. “Thanks, Sam. I never thought you, of all people, would hand me alcohol,” I added with a laugh.

Sam rolled his eyes as he took my glass. “Well, since you’re not going to end up on my doorstep tonight, I’ll allow it.”

His words shoved that painful night right back into my memory—drowning my sorrow in whiskey, throwing up on his flowers, almost passing out on his porch—but I immediately shoved it back down, because, as Evan often reminded me: I got the girl.