Chapter 19
JADE
The suitcase wheels click softly against the wooden slats of the rental cottage’s porch as my parents drag their bags out.
The afternoon Cape Cod light is gold and quiet, catching on the frost forming along the dune grass.
My little brother and sister are chasing each other around the gravel driveway, laughing, totally oblivious to the knot forming in my stomach.
Mom squeezes me one more time, brushing hair away from my face the way she’s done since I was five.
“You call me when you get home tonight, okay?” she says.
And that word—home—just hangs there.
Ohio.
My old room.
My old school district.
My old life.
It feels… foreign now. A movie I watched too many times and can quote but never want to rewatch again.
Dad asks casually, lightheartedly, “So, sweetheart… we’re thinking of doing a big Christmas at the house. Are you planning on coming home?”
The question hits me like cold water.
I freeze.
Home.
I don’t answer at first. Seconds pass. Too many. I see Mom’s smile falter just a little, and guilt spikes in me until it burns under my ribs.
But then I exhale.
Small. Shaky. Real.
“Mom… Dad…”
I look down at my boots, at the sand stuck to the rubber soles.
At the salt-worn steps.
At the Cape sky.
At the seagulls wheeling over the water.
At the ocean that somehow feels like it knows me better than I know myself.
And the truth comes out before I can soften it:
“I… am home.”
Their faces lift, confused at first. I swallow.
“I think… Rhode Island is home now.”
Mom’s hand flies to her mouth, her eyes immediately filling with tears. “Honey…”
I rush to clarify, my own voice thick.
“No—no, it’s not what you think. I love you both. So much. I love Ohio. That’s where I grew up. It’s where everything started.”
I take another breath. “But… something about here—about the sea, the cliffs, the cold, the little towns, even the storms… I don’t know.”
My throat tightens. “I feel more me here than I ever did back there.”
Mom steps closer, cupping my cheeks gently, her thumbs brushing just under my eyes. Her tears are quiet, soft, not sad.
“Oh, sweetheart…” She laughs wetly. “Do you think I’m upset? That I’d be angry because you’re growing up? Because you’re finding your own place in the world?”
“I just didn’t want you to feel like I was abandoning you.”
“Oh, Jade.” She shakes her head, pulling me into her chest. “This is all I ever wanted for you.”
I blink up at her. “What do you mean?”
Mom takes a breath, her voice warm and trembling.
“I wanted you to become your own person. To belong somewhere because you chose it, not because it was familiar. Not because it was safe.”
She laughs. “You have no idea how much you remind me of your grandfather when he was your age.”
I sniff. “Yeah? How?”
“He always said Rhode Island was where he could breathe.” Her smile softens. “That little fishing shack—your Aunt Susan’s house now? He kept it all those years because this place made him feel alive.”
Behind us, Aunt Susan huffs and folds her arms dramatically.
“Hey—hey—HEY. Nobody slanders my future dream house. That ‘fishing shack’ is going to be HGTV-worthy once I’m done with it.”
We all laugh, and the tension unravels from my shoulders like a release valve opening.
Mom cups my face once more.
“I’m proud of you,” she whispers. “And no, honey… I’m not upset that you want to stay here for Christmas.”
She presses her forehead to mine. “That just means you’ve found somewhere that lets you finally grow.”
My eyes burn again.
I hate crying.
But this is different.
This is relief.
This is permission to stop splitting myself into pieces.
“I’ll call you Christmas morning,” I say quietly.
“We’ll open presents together over FaceTime,” Dad adds. “Your brother and sister will demand it.”
Mom nods. “And we’ll come visit after the new year, once everything settles.”
Aunt Susan steps behind me, looping an arm around my shoulders.
“Don’t worry, Jade. We’ll take good care of you. We’re gonna get the biggest tree the cats won’t destroy, bake a million cookies—though half will burn because Irene thinks she knows better than the recipe—”
From the kitchen window Irene shouts, “I HEARD THAT!”
We all laugh.
And for the first time in a long time…
I feel rooted.
Not trapped.
Not running.
Not hiding.
Rooted.
Here.
With the sea wind.
And the cliffs.
And the cats.
And Aunt Susan.
And this strange, messy, healing life I didn’t plan for—but maybe needed.
“Yeah,” I say softly. “I think Christmas here is going to be perfect.”
Dad clears his throat the way he always does when he’s about to say something serious.
He glances out the window — at Mom hugging Aunt Susan, at my siblings racing around the car, at the Cape wind whipping off the water — before gently nudging me back inside the cottage.
“Jade… come here a second.”
I follow him toward the little dining table. The wood is old, beach-weathered, the kind of table that probably held a thousand memories before we ever stepped foot in this place. Dad pulls out a chair, sits, then reaches into his jacket.
His eyes are soft. Nervous. Proud.
“Before we leave, honey,” he says quietly, “there’s something I need to tell you.”
I sit across from him, heart fluttering because the tone in his voice… it feels like something big.
“This was supposed to be a surprise,” he continues, smoothing the envelope in his hand. “Something your mother and I wanted to give you after graduation. But… life doesn’t always happen in the order we expect.”
He laughs under his breath. “Especially yours, apparently.”
He pushes the envelope toward me.
My brows knit.
“Dad… what is this?”
“Open it.”
My fingers tremble as I slide the paper out.
A check.
My breath stops.
Twenty. Thousand. Dollars.
“Dad,” I whisper, voice catching. “Dad, what—?”
“I’ve been saving for your college since you were born,” he says simply. “Every bonus, every overtime shift, every tax return we could spare. I wanted you to have options. A future we never got to have.”
My throat tightens so hard it hurts.
“But it looks like,” he adds with a proud little smile, “you might be getting college paid for on your own. Between soccer, academics, everything you’re building… we might not need this for tuition anymore.”
He places his hand over mine.
“So it’s yours. Now. Today.”
My eyes sting.
“Dad… I can’t—”
“You can,” he cuts gently. “And you will.”
He squeezes my hand.
“I want you to buy a car, Jade. A good one. Something safe. Something reliable. Something that can handle these damn New England winters.”
He chuckles. “Something with four-wheel drive. And a dash cam. And a rear cam. And blind-spot alerts. And—”
“Dad…” I laugh through tears. “Okay. Okay, I get it.”
“No,” he presses, emotional now, voice wobbling just a little. “You’ve been through hell. And you kept going. You kept fighting. You kept standing up even when you were shaking. You deserve to feel safe and independent. You deserve something that belongs solely to you.”
I swallow hard as the weight of his words hits deeper than the wind outside.
“It was always your money, sweetheart,” he finishes. “Always meant for you. Use it. Enjoy it. And when you buy that car…”
His eyes crinkle. “FaceTime us so we can see it.”
Aunt Susan leans into the doorway, wiping her hands on a dishtowel, smirking.
“Well,” she says, “looks like we’re going car shopping this week.”
I can’t help it — the tears come. Hot, sudden, overwhelming.
I stand up so fast my chair scrapes. Dad rises too, and I throw my arms around him.
“I love you,” I whisper into his chest, the words shaking.
He cups the back of my head the way he did when I was little.
“I’m proud of you, Jade. So damn proud.”
He pulls back just enough to look me in the eyes. “And I can’t wait to get points and fly out here next year… and watch you play college soccer.”
My heart feels like it grows three sizes right then.
Not because of the money.
Not the car.
Not the future.
But because I finally understand something I didn’t before:
Home isn’t a place.
Home is the people who bet on you before the world ever The house gets quiet after my family leaves.
Too quiet.
My siblings’ laughter fades into the cold Cape wind as the car pulls out of the driveway, and then it’s just the four of us standing there — me, Aunt Susan, Irene, and Mason. The silence stretches. Thick. A little sad. A little peaceful.
Then Irene clears her throat dramatically.
“Hate to break the Hallmark moment,” she says, “but… Jade?”
Mason leans against the counter, smug as hell.
“It’s a really good thing you took that ‘phones in the basket’ rule seriously.”
I groan. “What now?”
“Nothing,” Mason singsongs, looking everywhere but at me. “Absolutely nothing.”
Irene crosses her arms, eyebrow raised. “Susan. You want to do the honors?”
Aunt Susan smirks, taps her phone screen like she’s about to drop a nuclear bomb.
“Honey… the boy is coming hard for you.”
My stomach flips. “Who—”
But I know.
I know before I even unlock the screen.
Leo Holt.
Prince of Royal Oaks.
Walking heartbreak.
Human wildfire.
And the second I open Instagram, TikTok, YouTube—
His face fills the screen.
The cliffs behind him.
The wind in his hair.
His voice low, raw, steady.
Every word aimed like an arrow straight at my chest.
My breath stutters.
My heart is pounding so fast I can hear it in my ears. Heat floods my cheeks. My palms get sweaty. My stomach swoops like I’m falling off a cliff myself.
He looks gorgeous.
Ridiculously gorgeous.
Unfairly gorgeous.
And worse—
vulnerable.
He’s talking about us like we were the sun and the moon.
Talking about me like I’m the girl he’d cross a warzone for.
Talking like he’s ready to burn down the entire gilded kingdom he grew up in just to stand beside me.
The screen blurs for a second before I realize my eyes are burning.
I whisper it without thinking.
Barely a breath.
Barely a sound.
“He’s so fucking hot.”
And then my entire body goes still.