She nodded once, a tear tracking down her cheek.
I stared past her then back at my knee, the field lights of every dream flickering out. “What am I gonna do now?”
Maddison stepped closer to the bedside, slid her hand into mine, her palm still impossibly familiar. “What are we gonna do now?”
I cough myself awake, and I’m back in my room, dehydrated and dazed as I stare down at my knee, wondering how life can change so much in a matter of minutes.
Chapter 31
Nathan
It’s the next morning, I’m up at the crack of dawn, and I’ve checked my phone more than I’d like to admit. I can’t sit still, so I head to the storage unit with the keys Maddison sent me.
Before I know it, I’m back home, and the door clicks shut behind me, echoing through the penthouse.
Two cardboard boxes dig into my forearms, and the set of keys in my other hand jingles in mockery.
I drop everything onto the kitchen table, boxes first, then the keys. They skid across the surface, catching the light. The same keys Maddison sent me in that letter.
A storage unit.
Full of memories that were “Too hard for her to keep.”
Too hard for her.
But for me? They’re memories I’ll never forget.
I exhale, the sound rough in the still air. My head throbs, the kind of dull hangover that doesn’t feel entirely earned. Maybe last night wasn’t my smartest idea. Whiskey and nostalgia rarely play nice.
The first flap of the box rips open with a soft tear of tape. Dust puffs up, catching the morning light.
Inside were pieces of a life I used to live.
My old college jersey, my number faded from a hundred washes. A trophy I barely remember winning. A bundle of letters wrapped in a ribbon so worn, it’s almost gray.
Then my hand hits something cold and solid at the bottom of the box.
A camera.
An old silver digital one…Canon, scratched to hell, but still intact.
I turn it over in my hand. The weight of it is heavier than I remember.
This thing used to go everywhere with us. Trips, games, birthdays, nights in cheap hotels when we were too broke to care.
I thumb the power button. The screen flickers once. Then again. And somehow, it still turns on.
“Guess you’ve got more life left than I thought,” I murmur.
The gallery icon blinks in the corner. I press it.
A list of files fills the tiny screen, dozens of clips, all labeled by date.
And when I scroll to the top, there it is:
001.MOV
I hover my thumb over the play button.
