Chapter One: The Boy Who Ruined My Morning

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                                                                   "Some equations are impossible to solve.

                                                             Others simply haven't met the right variables yet."


EVIE

There are exactly seven reasons I hate mornings.

Number one?

The London Underground before eight.

People shoved against one another like sardines in a tin can, pretending eye contact was a federal crime. Someone's backpack was digging into my ribs, another person's headphones leaked awful drill rap, and I was ninety-nine percent sure the man beside me had mistaken deodorant for a government conspiracy.

I sighed dramatically.

"Love London," I muttered.

An elderly woman beside me chuckled.

"I heard that."

"Good," I smiled. "Maybe Transport for London will too."

She laughed, and for a second, my morning didn't seem so terrible.

Until my phone buzzed.

Dad ❤️

I answered immediately.

"Dad?"

"Morning, sweetheart."

His voice sounded tired.

Scratch that.

Exhausted.

"You already started your shift?"

"Been driving since five."

Of course he had.

Bills didn't pay themselves.

Not after Mum...

I swallowed the thought before it settled.

"You didn't have breakfast, did you?" I asked.

"I had coffee."

"Dad."

"...and half a biscuit."

"DAD."

He laughed.

"I'll eat later."

"You said that yesterday."

"And I did."

"At nine at night."

"I survived."

"Barely."

Another laugh.

God, I loved hearing him laugh.

It happened less these days.

"You sound like your mother," he said softly.

The words hit harder than they should have.

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"It is."

Silence settled between us.

Comfortable.

Familiar.

The kind only families who'd survived losing someone understood.

Then another voice exploded through the phone.

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