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I step outside and tears instantly invade my cheeks. My heart lurches in my chest, so utterly thankful I could scream.
He’s alive.
He didn’t die.
I lean against the banister and fill my lungs with fresh, Iowa air. It smells so different than the city. No smog, no chemicals. Just life. It makes sense why Fox chose this place to play dead.
I wipe my eyes and walk across the driveway toward the cabin.
My first instinct is to knock even though I know there’s no one inside. The air is dark and cold, but I can smell him as soon as I step inside. The cabin is small. Just one room with a kitchenette in the corner and bed in the other, but I imagine he found great appeal in the simplicity of it all. Fox never needed much, even back when we were teens. I remember the look on his face the day he and his mother moved into our home in the Hills. Big eyes. An open jaw. But he never really embraced it. It never felt like home for him.
I sit down on his bed. The sheets are tucked in tight, most likely a habit he picked up back in his army days. He certainly never did this when he lived back home.
Home. There’s that word again.
I hold his pillow against my nose and inhale deeply.
This is his home now. The one he chose instead of me.
Something familiar catches my eye on the shelf across the room. I slide down to the floor and crawl over to take a closer look. A row of DVDs lines the bottom, stacked in alphabetical order by title. Backseat Driver, Before the Storm, Lost & Bound, The Night Trials, The Night Trials, Part 2…
I laugh. It’s all here. Every movie I’ve done, every role big and small. Even that shitty sitcom I did that got canceled because nobody watched it. The definitive Roxie Roberts collection.
I sit back against his mattress and hug his pillow against my chest.
Maybe he chose me after all.
