Page 2 of I’ll Find You

Her eyes drift from my face to the untied laces of my combat boots before finding mine again, and wherever they fall, warmth follows, spreading beneath my skin in slow, deliberate waves until I'm no longer sure whether she's looking at me or seeing straight into my soul. For one suspended moment, neither of us looks away.

The change is almost imperceptible, revealed only in the slight narrowing of her eyes as the warmth within them begins to fade, as though whatever had passed between us has dissolved into nothing at all. If not for the lingering chill racing across my skin, I'd convince myself I'd imagined the entire thing. Only then do I realize she isn't looking at me anymore, but past me. I groan inwardly. I don't have to turn around to know what she's found. A short, thin-framed girl, with pink hair and a nose ring darts past me. Still, I don't look away. My eyes remain fixed on Rose, searching her face for the connection that had found us only moments before, wondering how something so impossible could vanish just as quickly as it came.

Rose holds my full attention. I can’t help but wonder if she smells as sweet as her name. Her gaze drifts to the flash of pink hair disappearing out the door, and something shifts behind her eyes. The warmth that had drawn me in only moments before fades beneath a flicker of disapproval before she turns away from me entirely, taking whatever fragile connection had existed between us with her.

The loss is as immediate as it is irrational. It settles beneath my skin, leaving behind an emptiness I have no right to feel after knowing her for all of five minutes, yet I find myself wanting nothing more than to see her look at me the way she did before. I can't change what she saw. But I'd be damned if I let it be the only thing she remembered about me. A faint smile ghosts across my lips despite myself. Poor Rose. She has no idea the lengths I will go to make her mine.

Dad comes down the stairs with the same urgency I had only minutes before, but the moment he sees who's standing in the foyer, he stops cold. “Rose?” he questions in disbelief. He crosses the remaining distance more slowly now, as though she's an apparition that might disappear if he moves too quickly. Rose doesn't hesitate. She closes the space between them and throws her arms around him, tears slipping free as she clings to him.

I stare, trying to make sense of what I'm seeing. Mom's eyes glisten as she watches them embrace, her hand lifting to her mouth. Wait. What? My pulse hammers against my ribs as a single thought crashes into me, stealing the air from my lungs. God, please don’t let this be my sister. Fate can’t be that cruel.

I don’t move. I don’t breathe.

“Come sit. Let’s get you something to drink,” my dad says, guiding her toward the kitchen. Rose follows him, but as they pass through the hallway, her steps slow. Her attention drifts to the photographs lining the wall before settling on one in particular. She stops. Her hand rises to her mouth.

“You kept it after all these years?” she whispers, as if she’s just remembering the drawing she gifted him.

Dad joins her at the wall, his eyes following hers to the framed drawing. A small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth as she looks up at him, and something unspoken passes between them—something neither of them needs words to explain. For a moment, it feels as though they're standing somewhere else entirely, reliving a memory that's been waiting years to find its way home. I watch them in silence, my chest tightening before relief washes over me. This is the Rose. The little girl my parents have spent years talking about. Everything clicks into place, and I finally step forward to join them.

They lead us into the kitchen, where Rose reaches for one of the chairs gathered around the large island. I move before she can pull it out herself, sliding it back for her.

“Thank you,” she says, her posture stiff, manners polite. When I take the seat beside her, her eyes find mine once more, as unreadable as they were the moment I opened the door.

Mom heads to the refrigerator and pulls out four bottles of Jarritos. She pops the caps off with the wall-mounted opener beside the fridge, then passes one to Dad. Their eyes meet for the briefest moment, a quiet exchange that speaks of years spent building a life together without ever needing words. She hands the rest of us a bottle, and I settle back in my chair, listening as they fill the silence with stories of everything the years between them had stolen and, somehow, returned at this moment.

“So do you still live in Boston, Rose?” Dad asks. All eyes turn to her. A small smile touches her lips, the corners lifting as if she’s remembering something.

“Well,” she begins carefully, “I actually live in New Hampshire now.” She hesitates, and I sit up a little straighter, glancing at Dad. I notice, and he does, too. “I’m going to school there,” she says, then looks directly at him. “Do you remember that last conversation we had?”

I see the moment he does as his dark eyes soften. “Of course,” he says, his voice softening, one reserved only for people he cares about.

“It was the day before I left with my aunt,” she continues with a composed voice. “You told me this didn’t define me, that I could choose my own path. To have the kind of life I wanted instead of the one I’d been given.” Mom blinks rapidly, her eyes already glistening. I glance between the two of them, and when I look back at Rose, her eyes shimmer, too. Not with sadness, but pride. “I believed you,” Rose continues. “I went to college.” She laughs softly, almost as though she still can't quite believe it herself. “I graduated from Dartmouth.” Dad's chair scrapes across the hardwood before the words have fully left her mouth. “I’m in medical school now, starting my third year,” she finishes.

He closes the distance between them in two strides and wraps her in a hug. “I’m so proud of you,” he says, his voice rough with emotion. “You’ve always been special, Rose.”

She melts into the embrace, and for the first time since she walked through our front door, I see her shoulders relax. He releases her from the embrace as she drops her hands, discreetly glancing at her watch. “I should probably get back,” she says with an apologetic smile. “I came with a few friends from medical school. One of them grew up around here, and we're headed to a nearby state park.” Disappointment ripples through the room, though no one tries to hide it. Promises to keep in touch are exchanged with the easy certainty of people determined not to lose each other again. I remain silent, watching her as though looking away might somehow hasten her leaving. She turns toward the front door. I clear my throat and push back my chair.

“I’ll walk her out.” No one questions it. Maybe because it sounds like the polite thing to do, but they don't hear the unmistakable insistence beneath the words. The moment I opened that door, something inside me shifted in a way I still can't explain. It wasn't simply that I wanted her. It was the impossible certainty that I'd been waiting for someone I hadn't known existed until she was standing in front of me.

Mom has always joked that I inherited my father's obsessive streak. Until today, I'd always laughed it off. Standing in the doorway with Rose only inches away, I'm not laughing anymore. She moves to pass me, but before she can step through the doorway, I move just enough to stop her. For one suspended moment, she's caught between staying and leaving.

“You know,” I say, leaning in just enough to catch her attention. She turns toward me, waiting. For the briefest moment, her gaze drops to my mouth before finding my eyes again. “I’ll be at Dartmouth too,” I say. “My dad’s alma mater.” A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. “So, I have a feeling I’ll be seeing you around. Maybe we can hang out sometime?”

She stills, her gaze snapping to mine. “I don’t know if your girlfriend would appreciate that,” she says, her lips turning downward, and the distaste in her tone is hard to miss.

A chuckle escapes me. I brush my thumb across my lower lip as I study her. “My little Rose,” I murmur, unable to hide the smile in my voice. “She’s not my girlfriend.” I hold her gaze a moment longer. “You don’t need to worry.”

I lower my hand and reach for her, never breaking her gaze. She doesn't pull away. We're only inches apart when I tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear, my fingertips barely grazing her skin. Her eyes soften, and for the briefest moment, she leans into the touch before catching herself. The moment slips away almost as quickly as it came, leaving me wondering if I'd imagined it. Surprise flickers across her face before it's carefully tucked behind a teasing smile.

She tilts her head ever so slightly. “Maybe I’ll see you around…little Alex.” The words are meant to tease, a lighthearted attempt to unravel whatever had passed between us, but all they do is draw me closer.

Aware that my parents are only a room away, I lean in until my mouth is near her ear, close enough to catch the faint scent of her perfume. My smile comes slowly, almost against my will, as I stay there for a moment longer than I should. Every instinct urges me to close the distance between us completely, to forget where we are and who might be listening. Before I can act on the impulse, she steps back.

“Damned to love,” she mumbles beneath her breath, putting space between us and breaking whatever spell had settled over the doorway.

“Nothing little about me, baby,” I say, rising to my full six-foot-four height.

She chuckles, walking backward, and I already hate the distance growing between us. “Promises, promises,” she teases as she bounces down the concrete steps.