The string around my finger snapped. “You know me, go big or go home.”

Carson stayed silent, studying me. My friend of over a decade peeled back layer after layer as he stared. “How can you leave New York? It’s like another limb. It’s seared into our marrow at this point.”

He wasn’t wrong. New York had become a part of me over the years. From the first time I escaped the suburbs of Connecticut and tore through the city with friends leaving our spray-painted tags in our wake, trying to become the next Banksy. Most had grown bored of the hobby the way most teenagers do. But I’d become obsessed. The burning desire to find a way to express everything inside me, the way I saw the world. It took over my life.

I’d left Connecticut for good the moment I could. Abandoning suburbia for the raw realism of the city. It had been everything I’d dreamed of for a long time. All-nighters with friends just as passionate about leaving their mark on the world through art as I was. Not art that was expected, either. Art that had no barriers and talked about real issues.

It was the highest high. Until it wasn’t.

I let the string in my hand fall to the ground. “It’s time for a change.”

“Running across the country won’t change what happened.”

My jaw worked as I struggled to form words. “I know it won’t. I just—I feel trapped. Claustrophobic.”

“Probably because you haven’t left your apartment in three months, other than to talk to the cops.” Carson swung his legs around so he sat up, facing me. “Listen. And really hear me. None of what happened was your fault. I get that it messed with your head. It couldn’t be any other way. But you’re not giving yourself a chance to get over it by locking yourself away, completely alone, thousands of miles away from your friends.”

“There’s a caretaker.”

“What?”

“I won’t be alone. There’s a caretaker on the island.” We hadn’t actually spoken, but my manager had communicated briefly with the woman. Said that everything was in order for my arrival. But, honestly, I wasn’t sure I could handle having even a single soul in my business.

“Your island came with a person?”

I chuckled. “No, she worked for the previous owners. But she’s staying on with the house if we can come to terms.”

“Jesus. That’s some sort of Downton Abbey shit.”

“That makes you want to come with me, doesn’t it?”

Carson pointed his beer at me. “Don’t start. You know I’ll deck you if you insult Downton.”

I held up both hands. “I would never.”