Track 21
JAKE
IT’S RAINING AGAIN today. I can’t say it’s much of a surprise for this time of year, but it feels like a purposeful reminder of where I’d rather be when the weather acts up like this—wrapped in her arms, the way we were those first few carefree days of winter break.
They’ve grown farther and farther behind us, but their memory still lives vividly in my mind.
I set my gaze out the window and watch the rain fall, each drop calling the images front and center.
It rained those last days of December, and for the first time in my life, I didn’t care at all.
It was as if the world had stilled for us, and with the ticking clock counting down on our dwindling time, I was thankful for every second.
We spent those days similar to that first night—lying together and falling between sleep and euphoria—splurging on Chinese food and tacos while we barely left the bed.
Alana told me more about her life—about the little she remembered before her dad’s accident and the dark parts that came after.
How quick his pill addiction went from barely there to taking over their entire lives.
About how abusive he became once he started drowning his excessive pain in alcohol.
And how her mother had almost no choice but to run away.
My heart broke for her with every word she shared, even at the things she didn’t say—like how saddened her heart must’ve been to never know if her mother was coming back or why she didn’t take her with her—a burden no child should ever experience.
The heavy parts of her life made every beautiful moment she shared hit that much harder.
My heart warmed at every mention of her brother, her hero.
The way her eyes would shine brightly with every story she shared.
Simple things like him brushing her hair into pigtails for school at a young age and him running beside her as she learned to ride a bike.
The way he fell and scraped his knee, raw and bloody, but never stopped cheering her on.
The endearment she carried was more than love; it was true admiration.
Gratitude. It made me want to reach out to him personally and thank him for loving her so genuinely, to tell him how much I care for her and how I’ll always take care of her the way he did.
I watched her smile brighten and her eyes twinkle as she shared heartfelt memory after memory. But each time, the light would dim, blanketed with guilt. I wished so much that I could change everything for her.
I told her about my life, too. About the simplicity of it. Other than a cheating father who ran off when I was a kid, and a heartbroken mother who pretty much did the same a few years later, my life was fairly black and white.
I learned how to cook because I had to.
I learned how to do laundry because I had to.
I learned how to get myself to school, how to sign permission slips, how to sit through empty houses and pretend silence was normal.
I learned how to stop asking questions that never had answers.
I learned how to pack things away before they could hurt me.
I learned how to never show my need for anyone—because needing people was the fastest way to losing them.
By the time I was grown, independence was more survival than strength. And the one time I had let anyone in, it nearly destroyed me.
It was odd how natural it all came out. The way sharing things with Alana felt like talking to myself. She understood it all so well and seemed to grasp the things I didn’t say in the same way I had for her—things I never saw until now.
“There’s nothing simple about that life, Jake,” she said.
“You’re very strong to have come out of it so well-rounded.
The way you understand and just accept things the way they are—it’s so…
heartbreakingly beautiful. And the way you see what needs to be done without cowering from it.
You just do it, no matter what. And it’s always the right thing.
” She paused. “I admire that so much about you.”
My heart felt too big for my chest to hear the way I was seen through her eyes. It was a gift.
“You’re the right thing,” I whispered against her lips. “You will always be the right thing.”
She kissed me so deeply then, it was as if my soul had been set on fire.
Nothing in my life ever felt more right than that moment with her in my arms. Nothing ever fit so seamlessly, so perfectly, like it was always meant to find its way. Nothing will ever matter more than her—more than this, more than us.
She is everything. My hopes. My dreams. The reason the sun still shines after every storm. The reason the stars have a home in the night sky beside the moon. She is why people believe. Why I believe.
Months ago, we were strangers in an alley, talking about Heaven and stars and things I never thought could be real. If she asked me again, I’d tell her I know now that there is a God. That there always was.
She’s the proof.
On the fourth day of break, the winter sun peeked in through her dusty rose-colored curtains. The amber light danced across her flawless skin, her slightly parted lips, the high curve of her cheekbone. In the golden aura that surrounded her, she was an angel.
I ran my fingers through her soft waves and peppered kisses along her face, her lips, her neck. Then I shifted carefully, trying not to wake her. She stirred beneath the sheets, long dark lashes fluttering open.
“Going somewhere?” she asked through a lazy smile.
“Shh, go back to sleep,” I murmured. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”
She stretched, long and slow. “Seems like you’re sneaking off in the middle of the night. Not very gentlemanly of you, Cooper. After how generous you’ve been these last few days, I have to say, I’m a little surprised.”
I huffed out a laugh. “It’s morning, actually, and I wasn’t sneaking. I was admiring during a quiet goodbye.”
Her lips curved into a smile. “Admiring what?”
I brought my lips against her ear, kissing her just beneath it. “An angel,” I whispered as I climbed on top of her, pushing her knees open with my thigh. “Halo. Wings. The whole nine.” I kissed her again. “She’s the real deal.”
She smiled against my neck as her arms and legs wrapped around me. I instantly became hard and rubbed against her, her moan dancing along my skin. It made it that much harder to leave.
She kissed my chest. “So where are you going?”
“Home. I need clothes. And soap that doesn’t smell like flowers and oranges. People might start to talk.”
She laughed. “You have clothes.”
“I’ve been wearing the same shirt for four days. At this point, it’s becoming a part of me.” She giggled, and I rolled off her, finding my jeans and stepping into them. She perched up on her elbow, a sultry grin meeting her lips and a seductive haze coating her silvery eyes.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Admiring,” she hummed. Something about it warmed my chest. I walked back to the bed and kissed her softly.
“Fine. We’ll go,” she said when I pulled away.
“We?” An excited thrill shot through me.
“Yeah,” she sat up, long legs dangling over the edge of her bed. “I need coffee. And I want to see what your bedroom looks like. I bet it’s all sexy and manly and stuff.”
I laughed, thinking of my blank slate of a bedroom—a navy comforter in a gray room with a window half the size of hers. “I’d lower your expectations.”
She grabbed a hoodie and slipped it on. “Impossible. I’ve already decided it smells like you.”
I slipped my hands around her waist. “I’d much rather it smell like you.”
“Well, you already smell like me. Now it’s my turn.”
My voice turned gravelly, low and suggestive. “I could help you with that now, if you want.”
“Mmm, I want,” she sang, jumping up into my arms and pressing her mouth against mine.
An hour later, we were right back where we started—getting dressed before grabbing a cup of coffee and heading to my apartment.
What I didn’t know was it would be the last time.
ALANA
Nate wasn’t home when we got to Jake’s place, so thankfully, we didn’t have to deal with his endless commentary.
As promised, Jake gave me a tour of his bedroom: a bed pushed against the wall, a wooden dresser that had clearly seen better days, and a lone lamp perched on top like an afterthought. That was it. No clutter. No personality on display.
It was underwhelming, exactly as he’d warned me it would be.
And yet, my chest still lit up the moment we stepped inside.
I breathed in without thinking, a soft, silly smile tugging at my lips. I’d been right—it smelled exactly like him. Clean and familiar. Warm. Like safety.
I trailed my finger along the edge of his dresser, his eyes on me as he leaned against the wall.
“I told you it wasn’t much,” he said.
I looked around again before my eyes met his. “I think it's perfect. Lots of room for new beginnings.” He gave me that heartwarming downward grin I loved so much.
He said he was going to grab a couple things, so I moved to the living room to wait on the couch.
The wooden coffee table was covered in mail, envelopes scattered across it. I figured it was Nate’s and Jake’s mixed together, so I started to organize it into piles while I waited—one for each of them.
Most of it looked like junk, which made it feel much less intrusive than it was to sort through personal mail, not that Jake would mind, I’m sure. And Nate was always a tell-all kind of person. I doubted he’d mind either way.
Somewhere in the middle of the stack, though, was a book. It was small and white and oddly familiar. At first, I could only see the bottom half of the cover, which displayed the image of a white front porch. But a second later, I realized what book it was, and my heart squeezed.