Our Little Moments (Westwood Spring #1)

Chapter 1

Stella

W hen I open my eyes, I wish I were still dreaming.

The sunlight barely peaks through my blinds, casting a dim glow that only seems to make everything feel . . . lifeless.

I can’t shake the hollow feeling in my chest; I haven’t been able to get rid of it since that night.

Sighing, I get up from my bed and stare.

And stare.

And stare some more.

Derek’s home flashes through my mind. He loves competing in magical tournaments just as much as I do, maybe even more so. It’s why we became friends in the first place. We wanted to help each other become better, learn to fight, and control our magic.

His house is all gray—gray walls, gray bed, gray curtains. Even though his house is monochrome, it’s full of, well . . . him. There are trophies and posters of his victories amongst the constant gray.

It’s a place where his life is written in every corner.

My apartment, on the other hand, feels empty. Like I’m living in a stranger’s house.

A stranger’s life.

I push the thought away because it’s a ridiculous concept. I chose this life.

I fought . . .

I can’t finish the sentence when my throat starts closing up, choking on the words.

It’s fine, Stella.

You’ll get your powers back and your life will go back to the way it was.

It’s just a minor setback.

An incessant pounding starts in my head as my thoughts become a jumbled mess.

What if my life as I know it is fading away? What if I have to start all over again?

The thought sends shivers down my spine.

I can’t start over. I finally succeeded.

I haven’t sacrificed every second of every single day since I was sixteen just to lose it all on a random Thursday night.

Still, the doubt is a lingering whisper I can’t ignore.

Don’t worry, you’ll get your life back soon. Then everything else will get back on track.

Walking to the front door, I make sure everything is in order: the kitchen is clean, the fridge is stocked, my bed is made, and my desk is in order.

But even that doesn’t make a smile creep up. I’ve always needed everything to be organized, otherwise, I’m uneasy the whole day.

I grab my keys, step out, and look back at my home. I can’t shake the thought that everything feels wrong—like I forgot to hang a coat or turn off the oven or throw the trash out.

Sighing again, I leave my apartment, yearning for a spark of hope.

You’re going to see Derek. He’ll have a solution.

You won’t be an embarrassment for much longer.

Have some faith.

You’re Stella Brookstone.

You always find solutions.

…

I get to the coffee shop twenty minutes early, as always.

I order our usual and head to sit in our spot, waiting for my Derek to arrive.

Anticipation is thumping in my veins.

Please have good news.

Please have good news.

Please have good news.

Please, please, please.

A portal opens right outside the coffee shop, and I know my only friend is here. He’s always been able to open portals—it’s his magical ability after all, which is powerful when it comes to tournaments, and really useful in his daily life.

Tournaments are magical competitions held a few times throughout the year where people like me and him—who have powers—all compete against each other. We all face each other in a temple, and if you run or get pushed out, you’ve lost your chance at fame and money, which a lot of people need.

Winning requires speed, strength and powerful control over your magic.

Training is all about sharpening these abilities to the best they can be to have the highest chances of winning.

Luckily, people with healing abilities are always nearby to come and help if necessary.

It would be bad press if competitors got injured badly during these competitions.

When Derek walks through the door—when I see his apologetic face—despair hits me so hard I can barely breathe.

I’ve lost everything. There’s nothing more I can do.

“Hey,” he says as he slides into the seat across from me.

The world fades, and all that’s left is the frantic pounding of my heart.

No, no, no, no.

There must be something I can do. There has to be a way to get my magic back. I can try harder; I can train more; I can try new techniques. Whatever it takes, I’ll do it.

Derek’s knuckles brush mine, bringing me back to reality. He gives me a smile, knowing where my head went.

“Hi,” I finally reply. “How was your training yesterday?” I ask, desperate to shift my focus away from the mess that is my life.

His eyes are exasperated as they find mine. “Come on, Stella. Don’t give me that bullshit. I know you.”

I know you .

It’s a punch to the gut.

Everything in me wants to run away from the look of pity he’s giving me, to run away from the crushing sense of failure that’s been haunting me for months .

I break eye contact, unable to take it anymore.

“Do you have any news?”

We both know I’m asking if he has any idea if there’s something I can do to get my life back.

I tap my fingernails against the coffee cup as I wait for his answer.

“Well, I don’t have much.” He sighs. “But I’ve talked about what happened to you during the last tournament with one of our old competitors. He started helping people like us train our magic a couple of months after he quit the tournament.”

Fighters quitting magical tournaments are more frequent than fighters staying.

Winning one of those competitions is especially rare. The fighters are all ruthless—determined to win at all costs.

I would know, I’ve gone through these tournaments. And I won. I won for several years in a row.

But instead of feeling pride, all I feel is hopelessness. That life slipped from my hands, and I had to watch it happen, helpless to prevent it. I remember every detail from that night.

The shame comes back and eats me alive. I failed.

“Stella?” Derek calls, a worried glint in his eyes.

“Sorry. Got distracted,” I mutter apologetically.

“I was saying I managed to talk to him. He said he’d be honored to help you train. He witnessed a few of his students get their powers back.”

I recognize that tone. It’s the one he uses when there’s a catch.

“But?” I prompt.

He sighs. “He doesn’t know exactly how to get them back. He saw it happen, but he doesn’t understand how it happens . . .”

Well, if it’s my best shot, what other choice do I have?

Maybe I’m missing something.

Neither of us speak, and for a moment, every rational part of me pauses.

I’m weary down to my very bones.

I can’t push through this. I’ve tried. So many goddamn times.

And the exhaustion won’t go away.

For a second, every part of me is silently begging him to see me. I’m seconds away from crying, desperation getting the best of me.

I can’t find my way back.

Nothing looks familiar anymore.

I don’t know what to do.

I’m sorry for failing, for disappointing you all.

Please help me solve this.

I’m lost and no one sees me.

The last thought stops me because . . . it isn’t true. My best friend is in front of me, trying to help because he knows I’m struggling.

But . . . does he really know how much?

Does he know what it feels like? To chase after something your whole life, only to have it ripped away from you.

Of course you want it back, but there’s also that fear of things changing.

What if my career isn’t the same anymore?

Who am I if not the winner everyone praises?

One of the most powerful figures the city has ever seen?

What if I can’t get back to the life, the victories, the growth I’ve had for years and am left disappointed in myself?

But, at the same time, if I don’t fight to get my life back, then what do I do? I never had a backup plan. It was a given: I either succeeded or I would die trying.

What am I supposed to be doing?

Wrapping my hands around my cup, I glance outside, watching as people walk with smiles on their faces on this rare sunny day.

As I watch every one of them, a smile kicks at the corner of my mouth. I can practically feel their joy from here.

When was the last time you smiled like that?

I know I haven’t since I lost my abilities but . . . what about before then? When I can’t remember, a dull headache starts pounding at the base of my skull.

Derek’s still waiting for a reply, and for the first time, I’m indecisive.

I don’t know what to do.

God, I haven’t felt like this in more than a decade.

“I’ll definitely think about it,” I finally say as I take a sip of my coffee.

“Good.” He gives me a tight smile, and I can so clearly read what he’s thinking.

I wish I could do more to help you. I’m sorry. I’ll keep trying.

I glance back outside, and hope starts to bloom as I make a decision.

I need to figure out what I’m doing wrong—why I’m a mess. Yes, my life is a mess, but I’ve handled worse and managed to keep myself together.

I’m Stella Brookstone. I’ve always got a plan. I’m never a mess.

“Stella?” Derek’s shoe nudges mine under the table. “You okay?”

Crap, I’m all over the place today.

I need stronger coffee and a five-day nap.

“I think I need a break.” The words slip out of my mouth with a sigh—a thought I’d meant to keep to myself. My friend’s eyes widen with surprise, but he waits for me to elaborate.

As my words settle between the two of us, they gain strength. I think I’m on the right track. “I’m going to take a break—from all of this. I think that’s what I should have done on the first day.”

He eyes me with confusion. “But you’ll keep training, right?”

I know why he’s asking. We both know the next tournament is in less than a month. If I don’t participate, then everything I’ve worked for will have been for nothing. The city, the tournament, the fans, they’ll all move on, and I’ll be left behind .

Despite all of that, I shrug, trying to look unbothered. “I haven’t really thought about it yet.”

His eyes sparkle with laughter. You? Not thinking about your future? Not thinking an idea through? Who is this woman?

But completely ignoring training for a couple of weeks sounds amazing. I grab my phone out of my purse, ready to look up places to go to take a break, but instead, I land on a picture I took last week.

Something about it captures my attention, and I look more closely.

It’s the poster I saw on my way back from dinner with my parents, about a small town.

Westwood Spring.

There are a lot of small towns away from the city, but this one is well-known because everyone who lives there has magical abilities.

I grew up in the city, where having powers is a rare gift most do not have, and my curiosity got the best of me.

What’s it like to live in a town where everyone has magic? Where having magic is normal ?

Derek chuckles. “What does that look mean?”

I smile. “It means I have a plan.”

…

As soon as I get back to my apartment, I start packing. Westwood Spring, like several of the small towns around the city, can be reached by a train, which would save me the hours it would take me to drive there.

After about two hours, my suitcase is ready, and this time, when I leave my apartment, it feels like a weight has been lifted off of my shoulders.

Derek drives me to the train station, which I’m immensely grateful for considering the late hour, and we don’t say a word as we wait in his car for the train to arrive.

“Please don’t be mad at me,” he mutters.

Before I can ask any questions or understand what he means, a familiar car parks next to us.

“You told them?” I ask in disbelief as my parents get out of their vehicle.

“Yeah. I couldn’t just let them wonder where you are and worry about you more than they already do.”

Should I have called my parents to tell them I’m going away for an undetermined amount of time? Yes, I should have.

But they’re always so worried about me.

I get out of the car, muttering, “I’m not mad at you. For now .”

He laughs as I shut the door.

My mom wraps me in a hug before I can even say a word. We’ve seen each other often in the last few years, but it never felt like it feels now. I hug her back, and I hate to admit that I missed this.

As soon as my mom lets me go, my dad swallows me in the tightest hug I’ve ever received. Barely breathing, I laugh, a little teary-eyed, as I hug both of my parents goodbye.

Before I know it, the train’s already pulling in, its brakes screeching as it slows. People start moving, and I realize it’s time to board.

I wipe away my tears as I go to grab my suitcase. “Thanks for coming to say goodbye.”

My dad’s face is etched with so much sadness that I can’t speak anymore. “You thought we’d let you leave without a goodbye?”

I can’t find the words to respond. I walk onto the train, looking back at my best friend and my family.

When the train starts moving, the importance of what I’m doing starts to sink in.

God, what am I doing? Why am I leaving them?

WHAT THE HELL AM I DOING!?

Panic starts settling in.

I’m not spontaneous. I always have a plan.

You don’t have a plan.

You better get used to it.

Everything is changing.

…

When I get to Westwood Spring, I’m so exhausted I can barely keep my eyes open.

Everything blurs—the colors of the houses, the soft glow of lanterns lining the quiet streets, the distant hum of wind chimes swaying in the breeze.

Thankfully, I spot a cozy-looking inn at the corner of the street.

Warm lights flicker from inside the windows, and a wooden sign swings above the door, creaking gently.

“Welcome!” a woman calls from the entrance before I even get to the door.

“Hi,” I say, trying to sound normal. “I’d like a room for the night.”

“Of course,” she says with a bright smile.

I nod and start digging through my purse for my wallet, but before I can find it, she holds out a key.

I blink at her. “Wait—how much do I owe you?”

She just smiles again. “We don’t take money here, dear. Just get some rest. You can figure things out in the morning.”

I stand there for a second, frozen and thrown off.

How does she know I don’t have anything figured out?

Does it really show that much?

Crap, why does it feel like everyone’s pitying me these days?

“I’ll pay you back,” I mumble, taking the key and heading for the stairs.

I don’t catch what she says after that. My brain’s too tired to care.

The room is small, but clean. The bed looks . . . honestly, amazing.

I barely even sit down before I’m lying back, staring at the ceiling for a second.

The light is soft. The sheets are warm.

Sleep pulls me under before I can think too hard about any of it.