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The last twenty minutes of my shift could not go any slower. It feels as though every second is a minute, every minute an hour, until seven o'clock hits and I let out an audible sigh of relief when I hotfoot it to the office to stamp out. The manager – Trey, the weedy guy who hired me – hands me several crumpled ten dollar bills when I sign and date the shift sheet.
"See you tomorrow," he says. "Good job today. Keep it up."
"Thanks."
"Ten to six, Monday to Friday, is your official shift," he says, writing it down as though I'll struggle to remember, "but we're open eight to eight and if you wanna work twelve hours, you'll be paid for twelve hours. If you need to come in late or go early, you tell me or Lani." He adds two cellphone numbers to the bottom of the note.
"Lani?"
"Kaylani," he says drily. "And she's my niece, ok, so watch yourself." He hands me the slip and says, "You're not gonna get fired for the odd short shift – we need all hands on deck – but don't push it."
"I'll take all the hours I can get," I say as I pocket the cash, mentally tallying how much I can make if I work twelve hours a day. I'm not even sure it's legal for me to spend all day on my feet and get paid under the table but I don't care. It's only for a few weeks.
"That's what I like to hear," Trey says. With that, I head out feeling on top of the world. I have a hundred and ten bucks for eleven hours work, despite shadowing Kaylani for the first four and taking thirty minutes for my free lunch in the garden center's café.
I'm almost jogging to head out to the parking lot, where Storie's waiting, when Kaylani catches my elbow and I jerk to a stop. Her expression doesn't change. Partly bored; partly amused.
"There's a girl waiting for you outside," she says. I stare at her.
"I know," I slowly say. "That's kind of why I'm heading outside with my coat on."
"I think she likes you," she says. "Good luck."
"It's complicated." I don't know why I say that, but I'm gone before she can say another word. I throw a goodbye over m shoulder, but I don't look back.
It's freezing out here. Like, seriously freezing. I can feel my skin icing over the moment I step outside and my coat doesn't help much when the elf suit is so thin. It feels like a cheap Halloween costume from the dollar store and does nothing to protect me from the wind that rages through the trees.
A short honk grabs my attention. Storie pulls up in the same car she had last time I saw her. She waves me over and pats the empty front seat, and I dash in beside her before the cold can do any damage. My coat whips around me as I try to sit, battling the gale, and the heating stings when I shut the door.
"Hey," she says. Her little finger grazes my thigh when she puts the car into drive and does a tight U-turn in the parking lot.
"Hi." It comes out as a breathy sigh.
"Long time since you sat there." She glances at me for half a second. Her eyes are so beautiful, black coffee irises that reel me in and hold me in a trance. Her gaze drops to the hint of green peeping through my coat. "I have a lot of questions."
"Me too."
"Kris's place is only ten minutes away. We'll talk when I've dropped Jaz off." She grins at the mirror. "You ok back there, Jazzy Pear?"
He nods and yawns, his head lolling against his headrest, and he jams his thumb in his mouth.
"He's adorable," I murmur. "As if you have a brother. That's crazy. How old is he?"
"Three and a half," she says, "and I have two brothers. Don't forget Gray."
I laugh. She does too. "How could I ever forget Gray?" Storie's stepbrother and best friend, Gray, is a force to be reckoned with. He's hilarious and I always liked him, but I'd bet anything he hates me more than Storie does. "What about Kris?" I ask. He may technically be her uncle, but they were practically raised as siblings and she always referred to him as her brother.
Her smile is wide and warm. She looks so happy. So relaxed. "I have three brothers."
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When we reach Kris's building, Storie scoops up a sleepy Jasper, who rests his cheek on her shoulder and closes his eyes, and I follow them to the lobby. We ride up to the top floor in silence, almost two minutes in the aging elevator. My nerves grow with each floor. When we step out and head towards Kris's door, Storie stops, hesitating a moment, and turns to me.
"Maybe you should stay here," she says, adjusting her brother on her hip. "If Kris knows I'm going for a drink with you, he might try to talk me about of it."
The words hurt, but her expression softens the blow. I stuff my hands in the pockets of my coat and nod. "He wouldn't be happy to see me."
Storie presses her lips together and slowly nods, then she shrugs. "I am."
Those two words warm my heart. I want to hold her hand, to drink her in, but I refrain and hang back while she goes to see her uncle. With every second that she's gone, I convince myself more that she won't come back. She'll decide she's made a horrible mistake, and she'll stay with Kris until I get the hint and go home.
I stand with my back to the wall, waiting. Forever and a day drags by before she returns, shrugging on her jacket. She passes me a bundle.
"I borrowed a pair of sweatpants," she says, her eyes dropping to my aggressively green tights. "Thought they might be more comfortable. And a little more appropriate."
"Oh. Yeah. Thanks." I slip off my shoes and tug on the pants, instantly warmer. "He hates me, doesn't he?"
Storie presses the button for the elevator and looks to me. Her eyes say more than her lack of words. "Well, I mean, he knows why we broke up, so..." She trails off but there are a million unspoken words hidden between the ones she voices.
Still waiting for the elevator, I turn to Storie and tell her, "You don't have to do this if you don't want to. I can just go."
"I want to." She zips up her jacket and pulls her hair out from under the collar.
"Are you sure?"
"I wouldn't be here if I wasn't."
I give her a nervous smile. My stomach is on fire with burning butterflies that shred me with their scalding wings every time I look at her, at those gentle eyes I used to know so well. She's the one that got away, and it's my fault for pushing her. I didn't mean to. I didn't want to. But I did, and my guilt only expands when she smiles at me.
I'm so painfully in love with her that maybe this meeting is a bad idea. Soon it will be over, just like it has been for four years, and I'll be a lonely idiot again. We'll talk; she'll tell me she's happy; I won't tell her that she's all I can think about; she'll leave. I'll have to watch her walk away all over again.
The elevator arrives. We step in. Storie presses the button for the first floor. She stands next to me, so close after so long that my heart is sure to explode. It's a pretty small space, only designed for a few people. Our elbows are almost touching. She runs her hand through her hair.
"You look amazing," I say after a moment's tense silence. I might be imagining the tension. I can't tell. I instantly feel like a dumbass but Storie smiles.
"Thanks." Her voice is quiet. There are a million things I wish I could say but I don't want to push it. I'd only trip over my tongue if I tried. "You do too."
She's just being polite. I look like shit. I have permanent bags under my eyes and I feel half a foot shorter, too. Maybe that's just the weight of the past four years weighing down on me; perhaps it's because Storie's standing tall in heeled boots.
"I like your hair like that," she says.
I instinctively touch it. When we were together, it just about reached my shoulders. Now it's a few inches longer, but mostly only because I've been neglecting it lately. A haircut is the least of my worries. I can't bear the small talk. It makes me feel a million miles from her, a whole world between us.
"Where are you living?" she asks, at the exact moment that I ask if she's still in Five Oaks. She laughs. I do too, and scratch the back of my neck. She nods at me and says, "You first."
"I moved to Cleveland," I say. "Ohio City. Just a shitty studio. You?"
"Downtown," she says. "A couple blocks away."
My eyebrows shoot up but before I can ask for details, the elevator judders to a halt and the lights flicker out. Storie yelps and grabs my arm, her nails digging into my wrist.
"Oh my God!" she cries. "What the hell?"
A moment ago, the elevator said we were on the seventeenth floor but now the display is blank, the numbers dull. Storie lunges for the alarm and whips out her phone but there's no service in here. "What's the fuck?"
She sounds terrified. It breaks my heart.
"It's probably just a power cut," I say, trying to hide that I'm pretty freaked out too. Her hand wraps around my arm again. "It's pretty stormy out. Maybe a power line went down?"
"What the hell are we supposed to do? How do we get out?" She slams the alarm again and jams her thumb down on the intercom. It crackles, but no-one answers.
"Hey, hey, it's ok. Calm down. It's ok. They'll fix it and we can get out." I switch on my phone's flashlight and I see her shaking shoulders and the wild look in her eyes, and I don't think twice before I pull her against me. "It's just a power cut. We'll be fine. We'll be moving again soon and we'll go get a drink to celebrate."
My coat is bunched in her fists; her cheek is pressed to my chest; her chest is heaving against mine, but it doesn't feel good when she's afraid. I rub her back when she sinks against me and her grip loosens; her hair tickles my chin when she bows her head. I haven't held her like this in so long. I don't want it to end, though I wish it wasn't happening like this.
"We're not stuck here," I say. "At least, not permanently. I hope. This is just a temporary glitch." I want to hold her forever. I don't want to let her go, but when her hands go slack, I do. "Are you ok?"
With a sniff, Storie nods. She steps back and hits the wall, and she sinks to the floor. I do the same opposite her. Our feet are almost touching.
"Talk to me," I say. I know she gets tangled in her thoughts, lost in her own head. The longer she's quiet, the worse she'll catastrophize, convincing herself we'll die in here. The more she talks, the better she'll feel, I know. And the better I'll feel, listening to her voice. "Tell me about where you live."
She clasps her hands in her lap. "I, um, I ... I live downtown," she says, stumbling over her words a little as she composes herself. "Kris, he, he has another apartment. I live there and pay the bills. It's a really nice place, right near the water."
"When'd you move here?"
"Over the summer," she says. She's been so close, all this time. When I look down, I catch sight of her trying to surreptitiously dry her eyes before I can see that they're glistening.
"How come?"
"I graduated," she says. "There's more to do in the city." She tightens the scarf around her neck, pulling it up to cover her chin. "I started copyediting for a marketing agency, and I've been volunteering for a charity that helps autistic kids in school."
"Wow." I can't think of another word for a moment. "Wow, Storie. That's amazing. You're incredible."
Too eager. I could kick myself. But she gives me half a smile and murmurs a thank you. Her cheeks are shining. She wipes them when she pushes her hair off her face.
"Can I turn my flashlight off?" I ask. "It'll be dark, but I'm right here. Can't really go anywhere," I joke, and instantly regret it.
She nods. I plunge us into the dark. She stretches her foot out a bit to touch mine. A couple of seconds pass. Storie sniffs, then asks me, "How come you're here? What're you doing at Winter Wonderland?"
Ah, if it isn't my favorite question. I'm glad she can't see my face right now. My eyes are slowly adjusting to the dark, and I find the shadowy shape of her face. "I'm kind of between jobs," I say at last. Might as well just rip off the Band-Aid. "I ... I still don't know what I want to do. I've done, like, odd jobs at supermarkets and hotels and now this wonderland thing but, I don't know." I shrug, my answer as pathetic as me. "Nothing's really working out at the moment."
"I'm sorry," she says. Her voice is soft. I can't see her expression but her words sound sincere.
"Thanks."
"Do you have any idea what kind of thing you want to do?"
"Nope. Not a clue. I'm just getting by at the moment. Trying not to let things get so bad that I have to move back home, but I guess we'll see. Honestly, I don't really want to talk about it. I don't know what I'm doing with my life."
I hear a quiet laugh before Storie says, "You always seemed so put together. I thought you'd have made important friends in your frat and you'd be a bigshot business guy by now."
"I kinda thought the same," I admit, "but when I left the frat, they left me. I haven't spoken to any of those guys since then. Not since the last time I spoke to you." That day is such a scar on my memory. The last time I saw Storie, she was walking away from me after telling me it was over. I deserved it. She deserved better. It hurt like hell.
"God. Wow. I had no idea. I mean, I figured you'd go back your senior year."
"No." The word comes out with more force than I mean it to. "You were right, Storie. About it being a cult. You were right. I let them brainwash me into hurting you and I have regretted it every moment of every day since. I meant it when I told you I'd left." I'm at risk of letting all my feelings spill out. It takes a lot of effort to stop, to hold myself together and reel it in.
For a few long seconds, Storie says nothing. I don't blame her. I wouldn't know what to say to that either. The fact she's even happy to see me again is huge enough. When I'm sure she won't speak again, she asks, "How's Cleveland treating you? Have you been here long?"
"About a year. I like the city." I can't muster up much enthusiasm. I'm not going to sit here and pretend life's going awesomely when it isn't, but it's nothing compared to what Storie's been through, or even what I put her through. "How have you been?"
"Pretty good. A lot has changed since I last saw you." When she shifts, her foot brushes my shin. I want to be next to her, to rest my head on her shoulder. "I mean, I've graduated now. My mom and Tad have been married for nearly four years. I have a brother; I've left home. It feels like a different life."
"It kind of is." College life and adult life don't match up at all. I thought getting a decent degree was a guarantee, but it has been anything but. "It sounds like it's been a good one."
"Yeah," she murmurs, "it really has been."
"How about Gray? How's he?"
Storie chuckles. "He hasn't changed a bit. He's the one consistency in my life. Gray today, Gray tomorrow," she says. "Even though he's married now."
My jaw actually drops. "What? He's married?"
"Yeah." She curls her hand round the toes of her shoe, her fingers pressed against my leg. "Crazy, right? A couple of years ago, he was telling me that Navya's parents would never take him seriously unless he married her, and then he did. They just had their first anniversary and I'm pretty sure her parents still don't take him seriously."
"Holy shit. That's crazy. As if he's married. Gray is married. He always seemed like such a kid."
"Still is. Like I said, he hasn't changed a bit. He may be nearly twenty-four but he's still a child at heart."
"I can't believe it. Good for him," I say. I remember when he and Navya got together. Storie and I were still together, but we crashed and burned, and I guess Gray kept the flame alive. "What about you? Are you seeing anyone?"
Stupid question, I know. I'm setting myself up to be hurt. But a part of me thinks it'll be easier if she says yes, if I have no shot at a second chance.
She sighs. "No."
"No?" My chest seizes.
"Nope. I took a bit of a break after we broke up," she says. "I was a bit of a mess for a while, but I started seeing this guy in my junior year. He was really great, actually. We were together for more than a year."
"What happened?"
"It just ... didn't work out. I think I thought I loved him more than I did." She lets out a long sigh. "He was a great guy, but when we started talking about the future, I realized it wasn't going to be with him. We broke up after graduation. And that's the extent of my dating history. How's it been for you?"
It's now or never. It's easier to admit in the dark, when we're stuck here and I can't see her but I know she's there; I know she can here me. I could mumble a lie and avoid the question, or I could be honest. And considering my lies got me here, I don't have a choice.
"It's been terrible," I tell her. "It turns out it's crazy hard to date when I never got over you."
She sucks in a breath.
"You're all I can think about." I pick at the fuzzy hem of my costume. "I know I messed it up beyond repair and I know I hurt you, and I know how unforgiveable that is, and that only makes it more impossible to come to terms with the fact that I'm still crazy about you. I mean, it's been four years and I still miss you so much it hurts. Every date I've been on, I can't help but compare them to you, and no-one has ever come close."
"Liam..."
I shrug. My throat hurts. So does my head. "Honestly, I've given up. I know I've already lost the best I ever had. You're incredible, Storie Sovany. I hope you know how fucking amazing you are, because it's all I can think about. And now you're right here, and I'm ruining it again. I'm so sorry, Storie. I'm a mess, I know."
She says nothing. I sink forwards, my elbows on my knees, and take a deep breath to quell the swell of regret that rears its ugly head the moment I've spewed my word vomit all over Storie. Her silence is killing me.
"You deserve the world," I murmur when the lump in my throat recedes again. "I'll leave you alone, as soon as we're out of here."
Her gentle perfume consumes me when she stands. I wait for her to press the alarm again, to hold down the intercom, but she doesn't. She sits next to me, right up against me. I can feel her thigh against mine; I can hear her steady breaths. In the darkness, I can't make out her features. I can't see if she's smiling or crying.
But I can feel her hand when it slips into mine. I can smell her shampoo when she rests her head on my shoulder. I can hear her voice when she whispers, "Don't."
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I hope you liked this chapter!