Rain always felt colder when you were trying not to cry.

You didn’t remember leaving your house.

One minute you were standing in the living room — your mother clutching her cross like it could somehow protect her from you — and the next you were outside with nothing but the clothes you’d worn to dinner and the echo of your father’s voice ringing in your ears.

Something is wrong with you.

You are choosing sin.

Not under my roof.

The words chased you down the sidewalk harder than the wind did.

Your socks were soaked through inside your sneakers, each step squishing uncomfortably as rain plastered your hair to your forehead. Your hands shook, curled tight into the sleeves of your hoodie like that might hold you together.

Your phone was gone.

That hurt almost as much as everything else.

Not because of the phone itself — but because Eve’s messages were on there. Pictures. Dumb selfies. Her stupid voice notes she sent when she was bored during math class.

The picture she took freshman year after giving you the letter.

The letter you still kept folded carefully inside your wallet.

Your fingers instinctively pressed against it now, checking.

Still there.

Still safe.

You swallowed hard.

Freshman year felt like a lifetime ago.

You could still remember sitting on the bleachers after school, the soccer field empty except for the two of you. Eve had been unusually quiet, which should have been your first warning something was wrong. Eve Baxter was never quiet.

She’d shoved an envelope into your hands without looking at you.

“Don’t read it until you get home,” she’d muttered.

You absolutely had not listened.

You’d opened it ten seconds later.

Your knees had almost given out reading it.

I think I’ve loved you since middle school.

You laugh at my jokes even when they suck.

You look at people like you actually see them.

If you don’t feel the same please pretend this never happened because I literally will not survive the embarrassment.

You’d cried then too.

Happy tears.

Terrified tears.

And when you’d looked up, Eve had been staring at the ground like she expected rejection.

You’d tackled her so hard you both fell off the bleachers.

Best moment of your life.

Until tonight.

A car drove past, splashing water onto the curb and snapping you back into the present.

Your throat burned.

You hadn’t even grabbed a jacket.

Your parents’ porch light was gone now, hidden behind distance and rain.

Good.

You didn’t think you could survive seeing it again.

The glowing sign of Outdoor Man Sporting Goods finally came into view through the storm.

Relief hit so suddenly your knees almost buckled.

Mike’s store.

You hadn’t even planned it consciously.

Your feet had just… taken you there.

Because where else were you supposed to go?

You hesitated outside the big front windows.

The store lights were still on even though it was late. Mike worked late a lot — inventory, paperwork, whatever mysterious dad-business things he always complained about at dinner.

Your reflection stared back at you in the glass.

You looked awful.

Hair dripping.

Eyes red.

Mascara smudged under your lashes.

For a second doubt crept in.

What if you were bothering them?

What if—

The bell above the door jingled when you pushed it open.

Warm air wrapped around you immediately, smelling like leather, coffee, and camping equipment.

It almost broke you right there.

Mike stood behind the counter flipping through paperwork, glasses perched low on his nose.

He didn’t look up right away.

“Store’s closed unless you’re here to buy a kayak at nine at night,” he said dryly.

Your voice came out small.

“…Hi, Mike.”

He froze.

Slowly, he looked up.

And everything changed.

His brows pulled together instantly.

“Kiddo?”

You hadn’t realized how hard you were holding yourself together until that one word.

Your lip trembled.

You tried to smile.

It failed spectacularly.

“I— I didn’t know where else to go.”

Mike was already moving.

The chair scraped loudly behind him as he crossed the floor in long strides.

“Hey— hey,” he said softly, hands