Chapter 19
April
We’ve been driving for a little while now—maybe an hour into the third leg of the trip—and the hum of the road has settled into something comforting.
I stare out the window, watching as New Mexico fades into the horizon behind us. The landscape is changing again, and so am I.
It’s wild to think that just two days ago I was sitting on a plane, fidgeting in seat 16A, hoping my life would finally start on the other side of a layover in Houston, and then everything… unraveled.
No flights. No backup plan. No real certainty of anything.
Somehow, in the middle of that chaos, I met a stranger who offered me a ride and turned out to be less of a serial killer and more… thoughtful, patient, funny. The kind of man who lets me nap with the music low. Who stops at scenic overlooks so I can take pictures. A man who fills up gas tanks and coffee cups like it’s second nature to take care of me.
Then there’s Cloudcroft—Lori, Fred, Peaches—that tiny town left something in me. A pine-scented magic I don’t want to wash off.
I grab my phone and scroll to the group chat.
ME
We’re officially on our way to Arizona now.
He wants to stop in a town called Casa Grande.
I just looked it up, it’s near Phoenix and apparently super pretty.
There’s a cactus park.
A literal park, full of cacti.
Who even am I?
It takes less than thirty seconds for them to jump in.
JUNE
Girl.
Are you in love with this man or the desert
??
MAY
I mean, either way, someone’s getting a ring.
JUNE
We should start dress shopping now.
Pastels? Earth tones? Boho chic?
MAY
Depends.
What vibe is her wedding
Road trip elopement? Desert chic? Chicken-themed?
JUNE
She probably already chose her dress. We just need to figure out our bridesmaids looks.
MAY
Something neutral.
We don’t want to distract from the love story of the century.
ME
You two are out of control.
JUNE
You’re the one falling for a man with good forearms and emotional availability.
We’re just planning accordingly.
I laugh—out loud this time—and glance sideways at Max.
He’s focused on the road, one hand on the wheel, sunglasses low on his nose. He smiles slightly, the corners of his mouth tugging like it’s second nature now, and yeah, I’m in trouble.
Big trouble.
“What’s going on in the battlefield today?”
I snort.
“The usual chaos. The girls are using this opportunity to make fun of me. What else is new?”
He grins like he’s already picturing it. Honestly, he probably is.
“I’m the oldest and somehow still the easiest target.”
“It’s a little sibling rite of passage” he says.
I scroll through the music until I find the 80s playlist again—Fleetwood Mac, Tears for Fears, The Police. I skip a few tracks, then smile when the unmistakable bassline o.
“Another One Bites the Dust”
by Queen kicks in. The car practically vibrates with it. Confident, cool, unexpected—just like this trip.
“Mood music,”
I say.
“Are you ready for the game of all road trip games?”
Max raises an eyebrow but taps the wheel in rhythm.
“I’m definitely intrigued.”
“Okay,”
I say, suddenly way more excited than I should be.
“We’re combining two games. It’s either going to be brilliant or weird. Or both.”
“That sounds on brand for us.”
“First part is called Confession Detour. Every time we hit a stop sign, you have to confess something a stranger would never guess about you. Something unexpected.”
“So… honesty roulette.”
“Exactly.”
“And the second part?”
“Give Me a Memory. We take turns asking for a specific kind of memory. Happy, sad, embarrassing, sweet. Whatever we want.”
“Alright,”
he says, clearly amused.
“But I’m warning you, I don’t have many skeletons.”
“Liar. Everyone has something.”
Right on cue, we approach a stop sign, and he slows to a stop and glances over.
“First one’s mine?”
“Yup. Hit me with a confession.”
He drums his fingers on the wheel for a beat.
“Okay... I used to collect coins when I was a kid. Like seriously. Coin sleeves, magnifying glass, the whole thing.”
My brows lift before I can stop them, my lips parting in surprise.
“That is… surprisingly wholesome.”
“My grandpa gave me a new coin from every state he drove through.”
I smile.
“That’s actually adorable.”
“Your turn.”
We hit another stop sign less than a minute later. I groan dramatically.
“Ugh, fine. Confession time. I have an irrational fear of escalators.”
He squints.
“Like… riding them?”
“Yeah. I can do it, but I hate every second. I’ve watched too many horror stories of shoelaces getting sucked in. One day it’s me and my Converse gone in a blur.”
He laughs—really laughs.
“Alright. That’s incredible.”
We keep driving, the music humming low in the background, and after a few quiet miles, I glance at him.
“Okay. Give me a memory. One that still makes you feel safe.”
He’s quiet for a long moment, then says.
“One of my favorite memories is my mom dancing around the house every Saturday morning while she cleaned. I’m talking full choreography with a mop as her microphone. Whitney Houston, Gloria Estefan, Jon Secada—if it was loud and dramatic, it was on the playlist.”
I smile instantly, picturing it.
“That sounds like the best kind of chaos.”
“It was. She’d sing, twirl, drag me into a two-step across the kitchen tiles. Then after lunch, we’d walk to the park. No matter what, even if I didn’t want to. She said fresh air was therapy.”
“She sounds amazing.”
“She was.”
His fingers tap once on the steering wheel. Then he adds, quieter.
“She died when I was fifteen. Lupus. The last couple years were rough.”
My heart catches.
“Max…”
He shakes his head.
“It was a long time ago. But I still think about those Saturdays. The way the whole house felt brighter because of her.”
“And your dad?”
“Got remarried pretty quickly after. Different life, different rules. We don’t talk much anymore.”
I sit with that for a beat, not wanting to rush past it.
“She sounds like the kind of mom who made everything feel safe.”
“She did. Even when she was hurting.”
He glances over at me and gives a small, sad smile.
“I think she’d like you.”
My throat tightens.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. You laugh with your whole face. She would’ve loved that.”
“Okay,”
I say, voice a little softer.
“Your turn. Give me one.”
“Give me your happiest memory.”
I stare out the window for a second, watching a cactus flash by. A slow smile pulls at my lips.
“When June was born.”
He tilts his head.
“Not May?”
“I was too young when May was born, and I don’t really remember it, but I remember June so clearly. I remember Mom being pregnant, her belly huge, and me talking to it constantly like I was already her favorite sister.”
I laugh softly, the memory vivid in my mind.
“I was five, and for some reason, I took the whole big sister role very seriously. Mom would always say, ‘You’re going to be the best sister,’ and I believed her. Like, deeply.”
“Of course you did.”
“The day Mom went into labor, I was terrified but also weirdly excited. I knew this was the beginning of something big. I remember sitting in the waiting room, clutching this little stuffed bunny we had bought for the baby, and when I finally saw her... this tiny wrinkly pink little thing...”
I pause, emotion clogging my throat for a moment.
“It felt like getting a brand new toy I wasn’t allowed to touch very much but loved with my whole heart anyway.”
He chuckles softly.
“That’s adorable.”
“She was so small and so loud, but oh so perfect. I think that’s when I first understood what responsibility felt like. Not in a heavy way, but in a ‘this matters’ kind of way. Like, this little person matters, and I get to be part of her story.”
I glance over at him, eyes soft.
“I’ve been trying to be part of it ever since.”
His gaze holds mine for a moment, something warm and steady flickering behind his eyes.
“You talk about them like they’re your whole world.”
“They are.”
She says it so easily, but I can tell how much it means to her. The memory lights her up from the inside—soft and proud and so full of love for her sisters it makes something tug in my chest.
“You talk about them like they’re your whole world.”
She smiles. It’s not a big one, just soft and knowing.
“They are.”
I look back at the road, her words still settling in my chest.
“I wish I’d had that,”
I murmur.
“Siblings.”
She turns slightly toward me, waiting.
“Technically, I do,”
I add.
“My dad had two kids with his second wife. A boy and a girl. They’re… fine.”
“You don’t sound sure,”
she says gently.
“I’m not. I mean, I see them sometimes. Holidays, maybe a birthday here and there, but we didn’t grow up together. They have their own world, their own jokes. I’m just… not part of it.”
I tap my thumb against the steering wheel once, then let it rest.
“It’s a weird feeling, knowing you’re technically related to someone, but when they hug you, it feels like a stranger putting their arms around you.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see her reach for her water bottle.
“I’m glad you have them,”
I add after a moment, glancing at her.
“May and June. That kind of love? It’s rare. Don’t let go of it.”
She doesn’t say anything right away, but I feel it, the weight of what we’re building and how, slowly, it’s becoming something I don’t want to live without.
She’s quiet for a few beats, then says with a smile.
“Thankfully, you have Nico. Sounds like you two have been up to no good for a while.”
I chuckle.
“Yeah… Nico’s been the brother I never had since the moment we met.”
I glance over, then back at the road.
“I told you we met in college. It hadn’t been long after I lost my mom. My dad was already off building a new family, about to have a baby with his new wife, and I was… not in a good place. Not angry exactly. Just...disconnected. Sad. Everything felt pointless.”
She’s listening, really listening, and I am opening up like I never have before.
“Nico made me his own. No questions asked. One day, I was sitting alone in the campus café, and the next day, he was dragging me to intramural soccer and yelling at me for not owning more than two hoodies.”
She chuckles, and I smile.
“He made sure I was okay. Made sure I laughed. He listened, but when I needed it most, he’d just tell me to ‘get my head out of my own ass,’ as he so kindly put it.”
She lets out a full laugh, warm and real.
“He’s a special guy,”
I say, nodding.
“Married now, to an incredible woman. They’ve got two little girls—tiny, fierce, and already have him wrapped around their pinkies. He’d die for them without hesitation, and I’m pretty sure he’s the most excited person on the planet that I’m moving back to LA.”
There's a beat of silence. Then April turns toward me slightly, brows raised.
“Wait, moving back to LA, as in… this is you moving back to LA?”
I chuckle, nodding.
“Yeah, surprise.”
“But you only have a carry-on,”
she says, brows furrowed.
“Didn’t have much I needed to move. I shipped a couple of boxes ahead of me. Brought the essentials.”
She tilts her head, studying me.
“How long ago did you leave?”
“Two years ago.”
“And you don’t sound… thrilled to be going back.”
I grip the steering wheel a little tighter.
“That’s because I’m not.”
She’s quiet, waiting.
“I’m not doing it by choice.”
“What do you mean?”
she asks, tilting her head.
I sigh.
“Let’s just say I inherited a family business. One I’m supposed to take over by the time I turn thirty-two.”
There’s a small pause.
“And you’re… thirty-two now?”
“Will be. In two weeks.”
“Wow,”
she says, a little amused.
“And here I am on my way to try and change my life while you’re being forced to.”
I smile, soft, not defensive.
“It’s not so much forced. I’ve been trained for this job since I was a kid. Summer visits turned into business meetings. Family vacations turned into boardroom introductions. It’s just—”
I exhale slowly.
“It’s taken me a while to adjust to the idea that this is my fate.”
She just watches me.
“Sometimes I can’t help but think about how this has all just… been handed to me.”
There’s no bitterness in my voice. Just truth and that low hum of guilt and gratitude tangled up in one.
She shifts slightly in her seat, angling toward me, her voice steady.
“The only thing that’s been handed to you is your family’s legacy, and it sounds to me like your grandfather saw the potential in you very early on.”
I’m unsure how to respond to that.
“You should embrace that,”
she adds, softer now.
“I know, easier said than done, but I’m sure he’d be incredibly proud of you.”
The words settle deep and tuck themselves into a place I hadn’t realized was still raw, and for the first time in a long time, I believe they might be true.
The soft silence that follows is still settling when my phone buzzes against the center console.
I glance down.
Work.
Of course it is.
I sigh, already bracing myself as I swipe to answer.
“Yeah, this is Max …. Wait, when did that happen?”
April turns to look at me, concern in her eyes. I hold up a finger, mouthing One sec.
“No, that’s not what was agreed on. Forward the documents to my personal email. I’ll look them over now and send a response within the hour.”
I hang up and run a hand over my face.
“Everything okay?”
April asks.
“Yeah. Just a contract that somehow got revised with terms we never approved. I need to review it and send a response.”
She nods, tugging her hair into a messy bun like its game time.
“Want me to drive for a bit? So you can go through your email and focus.”
“Really?”
“Of course. Pull over and switch.”
I guide us to a turnout and put the car in park. We unbuckle, and I get out, stretching slightly as we trade places. Before I sit down, I glance at her.
“You do have a driver’s license, right?”
She snorts.
“Please. I’ve been driving since I was fifteen. You’re in good hands.”
She slides into the seat and starts adjusting the mirrors.
I settle in beside her, open my laptop, and begin scrolling through the document. Her playlist shifts to something mellow, soft acoustic guitar and vocals low enough not to distract me, and I get to work. Ten minutes in, I glance over, and she’s focused, calm. One hand on the wheel, the other resting on the console. Sunglasses pushed to the top of her head. Window cracked open just a little.
She doesn’t try to fill the silence. She just… lets me be, and it hits me—how rare that is. How valuable. Someone who shines so effortlessly but knows when to dim the light just enough to let you catch your breath.
God, what are the odds?
I turn back to the screen, and for once, I don’t feel the weight of it all.
I feel… steady.