And that?
Yeah, I’m not over the moon about it.
“You are my guardian angel,” Logan says as we merge back onto the highway. “I’ve been asked to step out of the car moretimes than I can count—border guards, cops, you name it. They either assume I’m on something, want to harass me because of who I am… or just try to cop a feel.”
“Ew. What?”
Logan snorts, bitter. “Yeah. It can get skeezy. But whatever. You okay?”
“I… I guess? That was weird though, right?”
He shrugs. “I try to stay out of the newspapers and off the internet. You know how it is.”
“Well,” I say, teasing gently, “at least some things haven’t changed.”
Logan doesn't rush. He takes the turns slow, keeps the speed under control. We pass the signs I’ve seen a thousand times but somehow can’t place anymore. The quiet, sleepy streets of Vancouver. Places I used to drive through without thinking.
And then I see it—the first familiar place.
The corner shop.
The little café with the faded neon sign and the cracked windows where I used to stop for coffee after school. The place that sold the best muffins in the world—Braden swore they were magic. I can almost hear his laugh, taste the sweetness on my tongue.
My chest tightens. "I used to come here all the time."
Logan glances at me, his voice soft. "Yeah? What did you get?"
I blink away the lump in my throat. "Blueberry muffin... and a cappuccino. Every morning."
A small smile tugs at the corner of Logan’s mouth. "Yeah. You used to steal half of my muffin, too."
I laugh softly, the sound almost foreign. "I remember."
As we continue down the street, I start to recognize more—each block a ghost of something I used to know. The diner on the left, with its old-school sign that flickered half the time, still hanging crooked in the same place. The park where I used towalk with Braden and Logan, making stupid bets on who could get the swings the highest without falling off or throwing up. The bench by the pond where we carved our names into the wood, promising we’d never forget each other.
And then... my street.
I hold my breath, my eyes scanning the row of houses. I see the house down the way with the red door, where Mrs. Patterson used to live before she passed. The small garden where kids used to play, now overgrown with weeds.
But it’s the white house at the end of the street that pulls me in. The one with the wraparound porch.
Home.
Logan slows as we approach, and I feel the weight of it settle over me. My stomach twists with nerves.
I haven’t been here since I ran, since everything changed.
I don’t speak for a moment, just let the silence sink in. The house looks the same—timeless. The porch, the meadow beyond. The way the light catches the windows at the perfect angle, casting soft shadows over the yard.
“Are you okay?” Logan’s voice pulls me from the fog of memories. He’s parked now, the engine purring softly beneath us.
I nod, even though it feels like a thousand different emotions are battling inside of me. “Yeah… just didn’t expect it to feel so… heavy.”
He leans over, brushing his thumb over my hand. “You don’t have to be ready. You don’t have to carry all of it at once. We can take it slow, I am not going to force you out the car, angel.”
I look at him, meeting his eyes for the first time since we turned onto the street. There’s something steady in his gaze, something that says he’ll never push me to do anything I’m not ready for.
But he’ll be here, beside me. Through it all.
