AllFreeNovel
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After high school, I moved away to college to become an RN, and most of my nursing career has been spent as a travel nurse, living out of extended-stay hotels or renting an Airbnb on the company’s dime. Whether it was a sketchy back-alley apartment, a high-rise condo in the city, or a three-bedroom home with a pool all to myself—they all felt how this feels. Fine.Okay. Mundane. Four walls, a place to store your clothes, microwave dinners, and sleep.
There’s only one place I’ve ever lived that felt like a home. My time there was brief, but it was the only place I felt wanted.
Less than a ten-minute drive from where I stand is a home with similar oak cabinets, refurbished wooden floors that lead from the foyer all the way to the kitchen, and honeysuckle growing along the front steps. A home where there was a sense of comfort so strong it was impossible not to fall asleep on the worn suede couch, listening to the sound of the rain lightly pattering on the patio doors.
It’s been three years since I’ve seen that house, refusing to drive by or acknowledge its existence. I’m not sure if it belongs to the same family, or if the honeysuckle still blooms each May.
“Jenna?” her voice is a pin, popping the daydream I had fallen into.
“Sorry, what?”
“Did you want to head upstairs to the second floor, or if you’ve had enough, I have one more we can look at this afternoon?”
I spin on the balls of my feet, forcing myself away from those thoughts, from the memory of my true dream home and walk towards the front door. “I’m ready to move on, let’s go see the next one.”
Chapter Three
Eight Years Earlier
“P
ick up. Pick up, pick up, pick up,” I mumble into the phone, keeping it tucked between my chin and shoulder as I hastily move around my bedroom, rummaging through the mess in my closet to pull out my volleyball duffel. I toss it on the bed, then turn to open my dresser drawer. Scooping out an armful of socks, the ringing ends, and I hear a groggy, “Hello?”
“Hey,” my voice cracking now that I hear his voice.
The shuffle on the other side tells me he hears the tears in my throat, begging to burst out.
“Jenna. What's wrong? What's going on?”
I can imagine him right now, scrambling out of bed and slipping on the sneakers he keeps right by his doorway. His worn football hoodie slung over the desk chair; the scent of his cologne still trapped within the fibers.
“Can you come pick me up?” The first tear falls, and I swipe it away as quickly as it came, refusing to give in to its demands.
“Are you okay? What's going on?”
“Please,” I beg softly. “Can you come get me? I need a ride.”
“Jenna,” his voice is low and calm, “where do you need a ride to at one in the morning on a school night?”
I crack open my bedroom door and listen down the hall for signs of life; the hum of theNick at Nitescripted laughter is the only sound bouncing off the walls. No clanging of glasses, not even a cough from her Marlboro to indicate she is still awake. I tip-toe across the stained yellow carpet to the main bathroom, doing my best to remain invisible as I tuck my shampoo and conditioner bottles into my arms. And to be a bitch, I snatch up the only toothpaste left in the house.
“Jenna,” Emmett continues to hiss, begging for answers.
I wait until I am back in my bedroom, my sanctuary, before I answer him, “Can you give me a ride or not? It's fine if you can't, but I wanted to say goodbye, too.”
A loud exhale. “You know I'm already on my way and stop with this bullshit about saying goodbye. You're not going anywhere without me. How many times have we been over this?”
I swallow a sob at his kind words. Since the first day we met, he’s been my rock, the logic to my absurdness, the calm to my continual storm, and the anchor I so badly need when all I want to do is run away.
“This time it’s different,” I tell him as I load as many pairs of jeans and tees as I can into my already bursting duffel. “This time it's for real.”
It’s February in Chicago, and though most of the snow has melted, it’s still freezing outside. I’ve decided on the West Coast for my destination, and if I remember right, my aunt lives far enough south that winter coats aren’t needed. I slide on two hoodies and grab my denim jacket to pull over.
“Don’t pull in the drive. Mom will see the lights. Park a block away, by that old tree in the Johnson’s yard that has the broken branch.”
“I know the one.”
“Text me when you're there?”
