Chapter 34
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Paige
I have to count as I inhale and exhale. If I don’t, I might not remember to breathe at all.
I might breathe too hard.
I very much think I would pass out.
Everything’s hitting me all at once.
The silence in the air, the ache in my chest.
The uncertainty and the absolute certainty it’s warring with.
How could I get it so wrong?
How could it be wrong when it felt so right?
Slamming my eyes shut, I swallow, blowing out a choppy breath before steeling myself and forcing my feet to carry me forward.
The sun is rising now, and I don’t want to see it, so I quicken my steps, weaving around the corner, only to come to a startling stop.
I nearly fall to my knees at the sight, a choked sob tearing up my throat.
The graffiti-covered boards that Carry helped me nail over the windows are nowhere to be found, and in their place are sleek, clean panes. A gorgeous, sweeping circle in the center—my logo. It’s a dusty, soft yellow and lavender with the name in the center.
Paige’s Playground: Youth Dance and Rec Center.
“What…” My sob starts slowly, and I bury my face in my hands as it grows, my limbs shaking.
It’s right where I’d always intended it to be but never got the chance to put up.
And it’s not only the windows and logo—there also are soft, silky curtains drawn closed behind the glass, hiding what’s beyond it.
Reaching out, I hover my fingers over my name, tracing the P but without smudging the glass.
With trembling hands, I step up to the door. It takes me two tries to get the key in, and then I’m pulling it open.
This time, I do drop, falling against the wall, my hand flying to my mouth as a sob breaks free, my back sliding down until my butt hits the floor—the brand-new, freshly polished beautiful floor.
I can’t even handle it, covering my eyes as I try to make sense of this. As I try to breathe, the world around me goes still.
I sit that way for several moments before I force a full inhale, and my eyes flutter open.
The sight is…overwhelming. Dreamlike, with buttery yellow lights and the soft reflection of lavender.
The walls, once cracked with mildew stains seeping through, are now fresh and painted a bright white, burnished perfectly by the golden lighting spilling from the fixtures above.
There’s no more crumbling drywall, no exposed beams, nothing left to remind me of the year of neglect following the storm that hollowed this place.
I flatten my palms on the gorgeous new floors and take a deep breath, my lips tipping up slightly at the crisp scents—the faint trace of wood and polish, something earthy that contrasts with it, and I suddenly need to know where it’s coming from. What it is and where I’ll find it.
I force myself to my feet, tucking my hair behind my ears as I slowly, hesitantly, move farther inside the space.
There are no holes in the ceiling where the pipes had once shown through, no sagging corners threatening to collapse.
Instead, everything is tight, firm. The light from the mirrors reflects back at me—new mirrors rimmed with lights, almost blinding me with their warmth.
The light fabrics move gently along the windows as if they’re waiting for the rhythm of dance to come back, for the laughter of little kids to fill the room.
There’s a toolbox against the wall, a few empty boxes piled in the corner—remnants of the transformation.
There’s a half-built chair resting below the front window and some white slabs with hooks piled on top, like they have a clear purpose that just hasn’t been visualized yet.
A little brown bag full of I don’t know what and a half-empty water bottle beside it.
My gaze lifts again, then out of the corner of my eye, I spot something I didn’t even think to look for. My eyes snap right to it, and my hand flies to my chest.
It’s right there, in the exact place I hung it in my desperate moment to feel like I hadn’t lost it all. I took a hammer and a tiny nail and drove it into the crumbling wall. I think it was even a little crooked, but I didn’t care.
It’s not crooked anymore, and the wall behind it is no longer a musty, ruined shade of cream and rotting water.
But it is in the same exact spot, the small shiny frame in the center of a larger one the exact same shade, closing off the large space around it, almost as if to protect the space, to deem it ours—mine and my dad’s—but it’s the 3D white butterflies scattered around it and the calligraphy that matches the font of my logo curved along the top that draw tears to my eyes.
A butterfly’s flight is eternal, carried by the winds of choice…
It’s the final thought my dad wanted to leave me with.
I clench my teeth when my lips start to tremble, the sentiment too much. Too real.
My fingers hover over the frame, and I gently pull it from the wall.
The photo is my favorite, from a moment when my dad still looked healthy, even though we already knew he was sick and there would be no getting better.
It was Mother’s Day, and I surprised him with a picnic lunch and movie tickets tied to a Best Mom Ever balloon.
My lips curve at the memory. We had a good laugh over that.
My nose stings as tears threaten once more, and I pull the image closer, running my fingers along his face. That’s when I catch the hint of color at the bottom, where the slightly torn water damage ruined this image after the flood.
My brow furrows, and I flip it over, moving the little tabs to pull the back free, and my breath catches in my throat, my hands trembling as I stare down at the picture that should not be there.
It’s the photo of me and Chase, the one that should be sitting on the dresser in my dorm. I pull it free, my heart aching at the sight of his face, at the feelings shining back on it.
He hadn’t even admitted he liked me yet here, but it’s so clear to see where we were headed. He’s looking at me like he wants to show me the world and I’m looking at him like he’s already mine.
And then I flip it over, and a choked sob tears up my throat at the scribble on the back.
I stop breathing. The words hit me like a freight train. It’s almost as if I can’t process them fully, like they don’t belong.
But they do.
I can feel them.
I can feel him…
“Freedom is the soul’s journey, where love transcends time and space.
I will always love you, no matter the distance.
I will always be yours, no matter the lifetime.
Love, like a butterfly, always finds its way home.
You are my home, Angel.” I read it aloud, my eyes snapping up to the quote on the wall.
“Of course.” I remember reading the line I once spoke to him.
It was him.
This… My eyes slide across the space. This gorgeous, beyond-my-wildest-dreams space was done by him.
Chase.
I start to shake, tears welling as I catch sight of the little jar of glowing butterflies lights, and those tears fall without fail.
But…how?
I—
“Hi, Angel.”
My lungs squeeze, and I whip around.
And there he is, standing just inside the door, the expression on his face that of a broken-down man full of fear and desperate for hope.
I don’t understand it. I don’t understand any of this, and when I open my mouth to say that, all that comes out is a broken sob.
My hands come up, my eyes close and then strong arms are around me, hauling me in to a warm chest.
I don’t mean to melt, but every inch of me does and I clutch his shirt, holding on for dear life.
Chase
God, she’s even more beautiful than I remember, if that’s possible, even as she cries.
She grabs on to me like she’s afraid I’ll disappear, her little fingers clutching my T-shirt like a lifeline, and it breaks me. She starts to sob, and I tuck her in tighter.
“It’s okay,” I whisper, fighting back my own emotions, my breath uneven as I struggle to hold it together. But it’s harder now with her crying against me, her familiar scent swirling around me, the warmth of her grounding me after so many weeks without her.
This isn’t how any of this was supposed to go.
I was going to surprise her the day she got home, drive her here and show her. I was going to explain everything, let her know that never, not even for a fleeting second did I not choose her.
Everything I did from the minute I left that restaurant that day was for her.
I didn’t expect it to be an easy conversation, considering, but it never crossed my mind that she would…that she would doubt me. But how could she not?
I’ve kept secrets that affect our relationship, hiding the truth about my future at AU, or lack thereof, I guess I should say.
Of course she’d have reason to question me. Question us.
But I never left her. I messaged and called while she was away so she knew that I was here, waiting for her to come back to me.
I never expected her grandfather would tell her the truth about what he did and what he had thought I did, if he even told her the truth about all of it.
He said if she knew the deal was off, so I thought that meant I was safe to handle things here, and then when they got back, there would be nothing he could do.
The money would be gone, her studio would be fixed, and she would be free. And mine.
How could I be so foolish?
How could I chance that, even for the shortest moment in time, this beautiful woman might be forced to doubt my love for her?
She lifts her head, those blue eyes shining as they lock with mine, and the words pour out of me before I can even think twice.
“I didn’t leave you,” I rush, taking her face in my hands with the gentlest of touch.
“I would never, ever leave you. I would die on your doorstep, just waiting for you to let me in if you decided you didn’t want me one day, but I would never fucking leave you.
For no one. For nothing. I need you to understand that.
You can question any and every move I make in my life, I will welcome it, but please, never ever question my love. ”
Tears stream down her cheeks, her lips trembling. “I—I’m just so confused,” she whispers. “What happened, Chase? What am I missing?”
“Perhaps I can answer that.”