Chapter 26
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
MY MOON MY MAN
HAZEL
The farther we get from the hotel, the more convinced I become that Zack has decided to personally duel the steering wheel, because he is gripping it like it insulted his family lineage and owes him an apology.
The rain turns the highway into a stretch of shining gray ribbon, the sky low and heavy like it’s pressing down on us.
The silence inside the car is thick enough I could probably slice it with a credit card.
I tuck my legs up beneath me, twist in my seat to look at him, and smile brightly, because if there’s one thing I refuse to do today, it’s let the mood win.
“So,” I announce cheerfully, stretching the word out just to see if it makes him flinch. “On a scale from one to ten, how much do you regret agreeing to bring me on this very illegal, very suspicious, definitely-not-a-road-trip adventure?”
“This is not a road trip,” he says immediately, his eyes fixed on the road like it might confess something under pressure.
I grin wider. “Wow. Strong denial. I give it twenty more miles before you start asking what snacks we have.”
“I already know what snacks we have,” he mutters.
“Oh,” I say, delighted. “So you were listening when I packed. Character growth. I love to see it.”
The corner of his mouth twitches, and I take that tiny victory like a trophy.
I lean my head back against the seat, watching the trees blur past the window, their bare branches clawing at the sky like they’re auditioning to be ominous.
Normally, that sort of thing would spark a spiral, but today I choose joy.
Or at least the loud, sarcastic version of it that I’m very good at performing.
Zack’s jaw flexes, unclenches, then tightens again, and I watch it with interest. “You know,” I add, casually, “most people turn on music for long drives. Or podcasts. Or anything that isn’t the auditory equivalent of brooding.”
“I like the quiet,” he says instead.
“Bold claim,” I reply. “Your jaw says otherwise.”
He exhales through his nose, a sound that is absolutely, definitely, not a laugh.
I beam at him, anyway. I know that jaw. I know what it looks like when he’s worried, and I also know teasing him is one of the few things that reliably pulls him back into the moment with me instead of wherever his thoughts are trying to drag him.
Detroit doesn’t scare me the way it scares him.
I don’t tell him that, because it’s not entirely true.
I just experience fear differently. I joke through it.
I smile at it. I give it a nickname and pretend it’s less dangerous that way.
Michigan is history for Zack—heavy, complicated, and soaked in memories he never asked for.
For me, it’s just another place the universe might try to prove a point, and I refuse to let it win preemptively.
Michigan was my nightmare until I decided the life it wrote for me wasn’t the one I wanted. I wouldn’t let it take over.
“You okay?” he asks after a while, his voice rougher than before.
I flash him my brightest smile. “Define okay.”
“You’ve been suspiciously quiet.”
“That is slander,” I say, offended. “I’ve been giving you my absolute best material.”
He glances at me, and for a second the tension in his face eases. “You’re distracting.”
“Excellent,” I say. “That’s literally my job.”
The truth, which I keep tucked safely behind the jokes, is that there’s a strange energy buzzing in my chest, like anticipation without context. I glance at my phone, half-expecting it to light up, half-hoping it won’t. It stays dark, and I decide that’s a good thing. Probably. Definitely.
“Do you ever get the feeling,” I ask lightly, tracing patterns on my knee, “that the universe is setting up a really dramatic third act and forgot to ask if you consented?”
Zack doesn’t answer right away. “Yes,” he says eventually. “That’s usually when I start planning.”
I nod approvingly. “See? This is why we make a good team. You plan, I provide emotional support and unnecessary commentary.”
The rain starts coming down harder, drumming against the windshield, and I pull my hoodie tighter around myself, still smiling and determined. May is definitely rainier than I remember it being in years past.
“Look,” I continue, my voice softening just a bit, “if Detroit turns out to be terrible, we’ll leave. Get food. Pretend this was just a long drive with weird vibes. I’m very good at pretending.”
He shakes his head. “It’s not that simple.”
“It never is,” I agree easily. “But I’m very adaptable. Like a raccoon with feelings.”
That gets a real almost-smile, and I bask in it shamelessly. I push on, because momentum is everything. “Also, if something goes wrong, you don’t get to go all dark and broody on my behalf, okay? I like you alive, functional, and only mildly terrifying.”
He lets out a short, humorless laugh. “No promises.”
“Rude,” I say, grinning. “I’m putting that on your permanent record.”
The silence settles again, but it’s softer now—less sharp around the edges—like static between radio stations instead of a warning siren. The road signs tick down the distance, numbers shrinking, and when DETROIT: 47 MILES flashes past, my phone vibrates in my hand so suddenly I nearly drop it.
I freeze, just for a second.
Unknown number.
My smile wavers, barely noticeable, before I lock the screen and shove the phone into my pocket. “Everything okay?” Zack asks, instantly alert. He’s too fucking observant for his own good.
“Yeah,” I say, easily. “Spam. Probably someone trying to emotionally manipulate me about my car warranty.”
I grin at him, bright and unbothered, and turn my attention back to the window, refusing to let the moment linger. Whatever’s waiting for us in Detroit doesn’t get to steal this from me—not the jokes, the lightness, or the way Zack’s shoulders have loosened just a little because I’m here.
I keep talking. I keep smiling. I keep the sunshine turned all the way up.
Because if I don’t? I might notice how quiet the road has become.