I glance toward the nightstand and spot it—another note. He’s left me a message, like he did yesterday. But this one doesn’t feel sweet. It feels like salt in an open wound.
I pick it up with trembling fingers.
“Let’s hang out tonight? I’ll come by the cabin around six after work.”
He has no idea I’m leaving today. No clue that by the time six o'clock rolls around, I’ll be a whole state away, halfway across the border with nothing but memories and heartache tucked away in my suitcase.
My stomach knots, twisting into something sharp and hollow. How am I supposed to tell him not to come? I don’t have his number, no social media, no way to reach him. I’m just… gone. Disappearing like a ghost after the best weekend of my life.
Maybe that’s how it’s supposed to be.
Maybe that’s easier.
Still, a part of me hates the idea of him showing up tonight, waiting outside the cabin with that crooked smile and easy charm—only to find it empty. Cold. Like I was never even here. Maybe I’ll call the resort after we leave. Ask someone at the front desk to let him know I had to go. That way, I can avoid that final moment. The one where he might look at me and ask me to stay—and I might say yes.
Because I can’t stay. No matter how much I want to.
I’m in school. I promised my mom I’d finish. It’s the one thing I’ve been holding onto, the one goal I haven’t let go of. I have to see it through. Even if leaving him behind feels like tearing out a part of myself.
I pull in a breath, blink back the sting behind my eyes, and step out of the bedroom.
Lana’s exactly where I left her, just like yesterday morning—half-on, half-off the couch, twisted in a way no spine should be. Her arm dangles off the edge like she fell mid-dramatic faint. She’s definitely going to need a chiropractor after this trip.
I walk over and give her shoulder a gentle shake.
“Lana, wake up,” I murmur.
She stirs, eyes squinting against the morning light. “What time is it?” She croaks.
“It’s time to get up. We’ve gotta get ready, check out, and hit the road,” I tell her. “You’ve got school tomorrow.”
Wehave school tomorrow—but I’m not sure if I’ll show up. I don’t even know if I’ll be able to walk across campus without my chest tightening.
Lana jolts upright like she’s been electrocuted. “Shit! Sorry! I forgot to set an alarm!”
She’s flailing now, disoriented and stressed, and I hold up my hand to calm her down.
“Lana, chill. We’ve got time,” I say, trying to soothe her. “Go hop in the shower and start getting ready. I’ll pack my stuff, then we’ll switch.”
She exhales like she just dodged a bullet and places a hand over her chest.
“Phew! Okay, thanks Gen,” she says, already on her feet and rushing toward the bathroom in her oversized t-shirt and fuzzy socks.
As the bathroom door closes and the sound of rushing water fills the space, I’m left standing in the middle of the cabin, surrounded by our mess—empty glasses, last night’s clothes draped over furniture, and a stillness that feels heavier now.
Because today, everything changes.
I start folding my clothes, each item a soft reminder of the long weekend I wish I could relive. I separate out an outfit for the drive—something cute and comfortable, easy to move in. A sweatshirt that still smells faintly like the mountains and leggings that hug me just enough to feel like a shield.
I hear the shower water shut off, and a second later Lana emerges, trailed by a thick cloud of steam and the smell of lavender body wash. Her hair is twisted into a towel and her eyes are still heavy with sleep.
I grab my own clothes and slip past her, heading into the bathroom where the heat clings to every surface like a lingeringghost. I turn the water back on, letting it warm up before stepping under the stream—and as soon as it hits my skin, memories flood me.
Last night.
Aspen. Right here. In this very shower.
His hands. His mouth. The way he held me like I was something sacred, something he didn’t want to stop worshipping. It was more than just sex. It felt like a confession, like every unspoken thing we didn’t have time to say was communicated in the way he touched me.
