Chapter 27
Clara
The weather is perfect for baseball.
Blue sky. Soft breeze.
The kind of afternoon that makes you believe in normal things.
Like hot dogs and sunscreen and cheering too loud from aluminum bleachers.
Evan looks so small out there in his oversized uniform.
His cap keeps slipping down over his eyes, and every time he adjusts it, my heart squeezes.
He doesn’t deserve this.
None of it.
Poor Kelly.
First her soon-to-be ex-husband runs off with a woman half his age, taking their minivan like he’s fleeing a crime scene.
Then this morning she finds out he cleared their joint account.
And worse—he drained Evan’s college fund.
That part guts me.
Money can be replaced.
Pride can recover.
But stealing from your own child? That’s a special kind of cruelty.
Kelly is holding herself together with duct tape and caffeine.
She smiles.
She packs snacks.
She cheers like nothing is wrong.
But I’ve heard her crying at night through the thin hallway walls.
And it brings me face to face with the truth.
My stay here is temporary.
I don’t live in Woodhaven.
I live in Manhattan.
Even thinking the word makes something tighten around my ribs.
Manhattan.
Glass towers. Sidewalk noise. Reservations and deadlines, and curated brunches.
And yet—when I picture going back, it feels like leaving something unfinished.
Like I’m stepping out of a story mid-chapter.
Maybe I do belong here.
The thought slips in quietly.
Maybe I belong in a place where people wear flannel and the weather is insane.
Where neighbors know your name and greet you in the morning.
Where grizzly bears wander people’s yards and log cabins are an actual thing.
Where I actually meet a man who’s worthwhile.
But that’s crazy.
People don’t just uproot their lives because they start dating someone.
If that’s even what this is.
Shit.
I’m spiraling.
This is what I do.
I overthink.
I over analyze.
I build catastrophic scenarios in my head and then react to them like they’re real.
When I want something—when I decide I want it—I give it everything.
But this?
This feels different.
It’s more than want.
And even though it feels like Greyson and I might be something real—I don’t actually know how he sees us.
I don’t know what choosing means to him long-term.
For all I know, he’s just riding the wave.
Enjoying the sex. The novelty. The distraction.
I mean, the sex is amazing.
Mind-melting. Body-breaking. Heart-shifting.
But what if that’s all it is to him?
What if I assume he wants me and I do something reckless—like rent a place here, sign a lease, buy into this small-town life—and then he’s done in a week?
I’m not sure I could survive that kind of humiliation. Or the heartbreak—because I know this time it would be very real.
Not like Geoffrey.
And not like any of the boys pretending to be men I used to date.
“What’s going on in that brain of yours, Trouble?”
His voice pulls me back.
We’ve parked, and we’re walking toward the stands.
I can see Kelly and Willow already.
Thatcher’s on the field in a matching cap and a McCrae Lumber & Sawmill T-shirt.
Of course, because he sponsors and coaches the team.
I grin. He looks right where he belongs.
“Um, nothing,” I say automatically.
Lie.
I swallow.
“I was just wondering how long it’ll take Kelly’s place to sell,” I add, deciding to go for broke.
He slows slightly.
“What?”
“She called a realtor this morning. Put the house on the market. I guess living with someone for twenty something years puts its mark on a place.”
He goes quiet.
And my stomach drops.
Did I say something wrong?
A cluster of parents around our age glance at us as we walk by.
Curious. Assessing. I can feel it—small-town radar activating.
Then a woman peels away from the group.
Blonde. Glossy. Pretty. No wedding ring.
“Greyson Cole? As I live and breathe,” she calls, smiling like she’s remembering something private. “I was wondering what you’ve been up to all winter.”
Something sharp and ugly flares in my chest.
It’s bright fucking green.
And it has teeth.
Jealousy.
“Misty,” he says with a curt nod.
That’s it.
No introduction.
No, “This is Clara.”
He just keeps walking.
And I follow.
Like a puppy.
My heart sinks somewhere near my stomach.
Because maybe I’ve misread everything.
Maybe I’m the only one building castles out of moments.
We reach Willow and Kelly.
They greet us warmly.
Evan glances over from the field and waves.
I wave back automatically.
But inside?
I feel small.
Like the outsider.
Like the temporary guest who forgot she doesn’t actually live here.
Greyson sits beside me on the bleachers. His knee brushes mine.
I don’t pull away.
But I don’t lean in either.
And as the first pitch is thrown and the crack of the bat echoes across the field, I wonder—am I brave enough to ask for clarity? To demand he put a name to this thing?
Or did I already make the same mistake I always do?
Did I fall first when I wasn’t paying attention?
Did I fall alone?
And how good at pretending I didn’t am I?
I swallow.
Evan hits the ball.
And I stand and cheer with everyone else.