Page 221 of Rising Heat

Roxy opens one eye like she’s been following the conversation this entire time and would appreciate us reaching the conclusion already.

“Okay,” I breathe.

I hug Bex for a long moment and she just holds me without making it weird. Then I stand up and start throwing clothes back into my weekender bag before momentum catches up and fear talks me out of it again.

When I make my way downstairs, Dad’s standing in the kitchen pretending not to notice I’m obviously leaving.

“You heading out?” he asks casually.

“Yeah. I think it’s time to go home.”

He smiles like he expected that answer.

Mom appears from the hallway a second later, and her eyes go straight to the bag. She walks over and straightens the collar of my coat even though it doesn’t need straightening.

“You look better.”

I let out a breath that almost turns into a laugh.

“I think I am.”

She gives me a small nod.

“Are you going back for the city?”

I look at her.

“Among other things.”

Her mouth curves.

“Good.”

I grab my keys from the counter and head for the door.

The screen door swings shut behind me as I cross the driveway. Sprinklers hiss somewhere down the block, and somebody’s mower drones three houses over, the whole neighborhood settling into the suburban rhythm I spent years trying to escape.

The house still feels like home.

It just doesn’t feel like mine anymore.

Standing there with my keys digging into my palm and Boston waiting six hours north of me, I realize it doesn’t hurt the way I thought it would. It just feels true.

The drive gives me six uninterrupted hours to convince myself this is a terrible idea. Apparently, personal growth is just arguing with yourself until one version wins.

By the time I park, most of the brownstones have their porch lights on. Somebody laughs half a block over, and for one dizzy second it feels like every other night I’ve come home to this neighborhood, except this time my stomach’s somewhere around my ankles.

I haul my bag up the stoop and let myself into the building, already listening for the sounds I usually hear before I even see them. Tyler laughing, Mack moving around the living room, the surround-sound playing the Bruins game through the floor below.

Tonight there’s nothing, and my anxiety immediately starts filling in the blanks because apparently six hours of driving did nothing for my ability to remain a rational adult.

They’re working.

They’re asleep.

They’re out.

They moved.