29.0 #2
He rubbed a hand along the back of his neck, avoiding my eyes. "The house in Jersey."
My stomach dropped. "You're kidding."
He shook his head. "I never sold it. It's still there. No one knows about it—just me, you, and Monte. That's why it's perfect. They won't find you there."
I stared at him, the word Jersey ringing in my ears like a bad song I'd sworn I'd never listen to again. The walls, the quiet mornings, the fights that bled into silence—it all came rushing back.
"Brooks," I said carefully, "I can't go back there."
"I know." His voice was gentle, but firm. "I know what that house means to you, but it's the safest option we have right now until I can get something else."
"Buying a house doesn't happen over night and that house is private. Secure. No staff, no cameras. If this leaks—and it will—you need a place where no one can reach you."
I ran a hand down my face, exhaling hard. "It just... feels like going backward."
He nodded once. "Maybe. But just for a little while. Until things settle."
I looked at him, at the bruised knuckles, the exhaustion pulling at the edges of his face, and realized he was scared too.
"You think Margot will really go that far?" I asked quietly.
He met my eyes. "I know she will."
For a long moment, neither of us said anything. The fridge hummed softly in the background, and the faint sound of Alina's cartoons drifted in from the living room.
Finally, I nodded. "Okay," I whispered. "Jersey."
His shoulders relaxed, just barely. "I'll have Monte drive down in a few, make sure everything's still in working order. You guys should head there tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?"
"Yeah." He stepped closer, resting a hand on my waist. "Pack what you need tonight. Clothes, toys, whatever'll make her feel comfortable. Just tell her it's a vacation," he said softly. "Somewhere quiet. Somewhere just the two of you."
The two of us. Not him, not us. Just me and Alina.
That stung more than I wanted to admit.
"Brooks," I said quietly. "What if this ruins everything? The campaign, your reputation—"
He cut me off, shaking his head. "I don't care about any of that right now. Let's just prioritize you guys safety."
Something in his voice made me believe him.
I nodded again, smaller this time. "Okay."
He brushed his thumb along my jaw, eyes softening. "We'll figure it out."
By the time Brooks left that night, the house was quiet again.
Alina had fallen asleep early, curled up with her stuffed rabbit and the nightlight humming in the corner. I stood in the doorway for a long time, watching her chest rise and fall, trying to convince myself everything was still normal.
It wasn't.
I pulled out a suitcase from under the bed and set it on the floor. The sound of the zipper dragging open echoed through the room. One by one, I started folding her clothes — tiny shirts, socks that never seemed to stay paired, the pink hoodie she refused to take off most days.
Every motion felt heavier than it should've.
The last time I'd packed a bag like this, it was after that night at the club — after that man grabbed me, after the panic and the shame and the way the city suddenly felt like it had turned on me.
Back then, leaving Philly had felt like survival.
Brooks had found me right in the middle of the wreckage, and somehow, it turned into something almost beautiful. Almost safe.
But now...
Now it felt like I was running again.
Different reason. Same urgency in my chest. Same cold fear clawing at my ribs.
What if history was about to repeat itself?
I glanced around the room — the half-finished puzzle on the dresser, the cup of markers Alina always left uncapped. The life we'd built here, fragile as it was, was finally starting to feel steady. And now, it was slipping through my fingers all over again.
I sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on my knees, hands pressed to my face.
Everywhere I looked, the memories followed. The last time I left Philly, I'd told myself I was starting over — that maybe New Jersey could be a clean slate. But that house had held every version of our undoing: the fights, the distance, the silence that filled the spaces where love used to be.
And now Brooks wanted me to go back there.
Back to the place where I'd first realized how breakable we were.
I took a shaky breath, looking over at Alina again.
This time, it wasn't about me.
If it kept her safe — from cameras, from headlines, from people who didn't care about anything but a name — then I'd go. Even if it meant facing the ghosts waiting in that house.
I closed the suitcase halfway and leaned against it for a second, whispering to no one, "Please don't let this end the same way."
The words hung there, fragile and honest.
When I finally stood, I zipped the suitcase shut, the sound sharp in the stillness. Tomorrow we'd leave again. Same road. Same weight in my chest.
Different kind of fear.
The next morning came too fast.
Boxes lined the hallway like quiet goodbyes. The faint smell of cardboard and dust clung to the air. Monte and Brooks were already outside when I woke up, the thud of boxes against the moving van breaking the stillness that used to fill our mornings.
From the window, I could see them talking — Brooks in a gray T-shirt, the morning sun cutting against his shoulders. Monte said something that made him laugh, brief and real, the kind that used to belong to a life that felt lighter.
When I came downstairs, Alina was at the door, still in her pajamas, clutching her stuffed bunny.
Monte turned and crouched down to her level. "Hey there, little one."
She tilted her head, studying him like she was trying to figure out if he was safe. "Are you my grandpa?"
Monte blinked, then let out a warm laugh. "Not quite, sweetheart."
Brooks laughed too, the sound low and surprised. "He just looks old enough to be," he teased, earning a glare from Monte.
Alina giggled, proud of herself for making everyone react.
I smiled, but it didn't quite reach. Something about her question hit too deep. Both of my parents were gone. And the thought that she might never meet his — that she might grow up knowing only pieces of where she came from — made my chest ache in a way I couldn't show.
I turned back toward the kitchen, pretending to busy myself with cleaning.
By the time Brooks came in, the counters were spotless, my hands trembling just enough to give me away. He paused in the doorway, a box under his arm, watching me.
"You okay?"
I nodded quickly. "Yeah. Just... trying to get everything together."