Backwash: Sequel to Heartworm (on-going)

Chapter 1

Maddie's POV

The box was heavier than it looked.

I hooked my arm under it and took the stairs slowly, one step at a time, just to keep from tripping. Maddie's sweatshirts was written across the top in a Sharpie that had started dying halfway through the word.

By the time I reached the apartment, my arms were shaking. I nudged the door open with my hip.

The first thing I saw was another box labeled glasses sitting on the counter.

The second thing—the glasses themselves, lined neatly in the cabinet on the left.

I stopped in the doorway and let out a small, tired breath.

"I said the right side," I called out.

Footsteps padded softly across the hardwood. Austen appeared in the kitchen doorway, hair a little messy, sleeves pushed to his elbows, jeans slung low on his hips like he'd been unpacking for hours instead of half an afternoon.

He glanced at the cabinet, then back at me, and smiled like he knew exactly what he'd done.

"I thought left felt optimistic," he said.

A small laugh slipped out of me before I could stop it.

He crossed the room, hands going to my waist as he leaned in, warm and familiar. "You're sure you like this place?"

"Yeah," I said. "I do."

His brows lifted.

"We already signed the lease," I added, softer.

"If you hated it," he said, brushing a kiss across the top of my head, "I'd get us out of it."

I didn't answer. Not because I didn't believe him—just because the sentence landed heavier than he meant it to.

He didn't notice.

"I'm gonna grab the last box," he said, stepping back.
"Don't move anything heavy."

He disappeared down the stairwell, door clicking shut behind him.

And then it was just me.

The kitchen hummed with that new-place stillness—like every surface was waiting to learn us. The cabinets were old and deep, the kind that stuck when you closed them, and the windows were tall enough to let in the late-afternoon light even with the buildings stacked tight on either side.

It felt different here. Not better, not worse. Just... different.

I nudged the box of sweatshirts with my knee and pushed the bedroom door open with my shoulder. The room still smelled faintly like fresh paint and cardboard.

I set the box down by the dresser and straightened, brushing hair off my forehead. Half the closet was empty. My side. I told myself that was a good thing—that I could fill it however I wanted, whenever I wanted. But for some reason I just stood there for a second, hands on my hips, taking in all that blank space.

Footsteps echoed faintly down the hall.

"Maddie?"

His voice came a second before he did. Austen stepped into the room, breath warm from the stairwell, a cardboard box tucked against his ribs.

"This is the last one," he said, sounding proud of himself... until his eyes dropped to the label.

LA courthouse—case files.

The change was small—a shift of his shoulders, a tiny scratch at the back of his neck—but I caught it. He hadn't noticed what he grabbed until right then.