Page 4 of I’ll Find You

The car winds along the narrow path, and low-hanging trees press close on either side. Shadows stretch across the road beneath the late afternoon sun. Garner State Park should feel like freedom, with the open air, the rush of the river, and the scent of bluebonnets and wildflowers carried on the breeze, but I can't shake what happened back at Dr. Flores' house. I should be thinking about the weekend ahead, yet every idle moment fills with thoughts of Alexander instead. His voice remains in the back of my mind, each word carrying the weight of a promise I never asked him to make, threading itself through the laughter and conversation filling the car. The farther we drive, the more impossible it becomes to convince myself I've left him behind.

We pull up to the cabins, which sit tucked beside it. Weathered units face each other across a small clearing. Between them, a fire pit waits in the center, ringed with cinder blocks, blackened over the years from old flames. Beyond, a wide slab of rock sits, exposed to the full sun. The metallic pieces glint in the stone, and I stride over to it for the promise of its warmth. I step out, letting the heat crawl up my leg as I sit there, pretending to be absorbed in the sunlight and feigning calm. I’m not calm. My body hums with his memory. His voice, the curve of his lips, the focus in his stare all stay with me. I don't know what to do with any of it, so I let the thoughts circle until they've occupied every corner of my mind.

Even across miles of open space encompassing thousands of acres, the feel of him is still there, his shadow beside mine, weaving its phantom limbs on the breeze as it lifts my hair, blowing it around. The rush of the water nearby fills my ears, drowning out my thoughts, and for a brief moment, I almost forget.

I hear footsteps approaching, breaking me free of my intrusive thoughts. I don’t have to look to know who it is. Maxwell’s gait is confident. Years of getting everything he wants, combined with a long-standing history of family wealth, have helped make him feel invincible. His strides are long, carried by his muscular legs, cultivated by spending hours in the gym, shaping his body into the perfect form. One I take in and can’t help but admire as his sneakers stop before me. Maybe that’s what I need—a distraction. When I finally glance up at his body, his hands are shoved into his pockets. His smile is perfectly casual. I’ve learned what smiles like that hide, the secrets, expectations, and small deceptions dressed up as charm and well-bred pedigree.

He steps beside me, waiting for what I’m not sure. Perhaps it’s an invitation to sit. Reluctantly, I sigh and scoot over on the rock, giving him space he hasn’t earned next to me. He lowers himself too close for comfort, folding his long legs that touch mine, resting his arms across his knees, and angling his body toward me. I can feel him watching, words perched at the edge of his tongue. He’s deciding whether to speak. Whether it’s a good time to ask the question he’s been wanting to ask since we started this trip together. But if you remain silent and listen, people will tell you everything without you needing to say a word. And I can feel it, his moment rising, yet I wait for it, cringing inwardly and dreading it.

“So,” he says, testing the air between us. When I don’t answer, he takes it as his opportunity. He clears his throat, fingers brushing the back of his neck. He’s nervous. It’s one of his tells. When he finally speaks again, the words fall out all at once. “I’d like to take our relationship to the next level.”

The breath I didn’t know I was holding catches sharp in my throat. For a moment, all I can do is stare at him. I’m more stunned than anything else. What we have is easy. A series of uncomplicated hookups that suit us both. A way to blow off steam between studying sessions and intoxicating weekends at the bar. Well, his anyway. There are no promises and no expectations. It works because it means nothing, and it’s safe.

It was safe until now, that is. And then unbidden, I remember Alexander’s promise to see me around. The way his eyes had held mine in a silent battle of wills over who would break eye contact first. I remember how I felt standing near him. For a moment, I gave him a tiny glimpse of the real me. The tiny crack in my carefully placed mask for just a second. The one I promised never to let anyone see. Because when you let someone in, they own a part of you.

I saw how that kind of love destroyed my mother. It was a toxic love, and I won’t let that kind of love destroy me. But with his voice still echoing in my head, and Maxwell’s face waiting expectantly in front of me, I do the very thing I promised myself I wouldn’t. I ignore every screaming red flag, every warning flashing in my mind. Maxwell is still talking, waiting for my answer, and undoubtedly listing the reasons why this is a good idea. All I can think of is how different it is with him. It’s predictable, boring, safe. I should tell him no. But my body betrays me, and my mouth moves before my heart can intervene.

Anything is safer than whatever waits for me behind Alexander Flores’s eyes. “Okay,” I hear myself say, the words leaving my mouth before I have the chance to stop it.

His eyebrows rise, surprise flashing across his face before it’s smoothed away by a smile. He looks like he’s won something. Maybe he has by default. But as I watch him, one thing locks into place. I will never love him. He’s the safer choice, and that’s all. Dating him doesn't mean loving him. Those are two very different things. Love was never part of the bargain.

“Okay,” he repeats, sealing it.

I tell myself I've made the right decision. Maxwell is safe. Predictable. He'll never tempt me to lower the walls I've spent years building. He doesn't look at me the way Alex does, and that's exactly why I said yes.

So why does walking away from Alex feel less like choosing safety and more like abandoning something I was only beginning to understand?

Chapter

Three

Alexander

I've searched every classroom, every walkway, and every corner of campus. I scan the commons until my eyes burn, convinced every scarf, every hat, and every hidden face might somehow be hers. At this point, I might have convinced myself she was a figment of my imagination if my body hadn't betrayed me the day we met. Her face is seared into my memory, impossible to forget. She lingers at the edge of every thought, a constant ache I willingly carry if it means I might see her again. I need to know what happened between us was real and not something my mind invented to drive me insane with the need for a woman I can't have.

I don't live on campus, but I might as well. I stay long after my classes end, wandering the grounds like a ghost unwilling to leave its unfinished business behind. Every instinct tells me she's here, yet every day proves me wrong. Eventually, I force myself to call it quits, already planning tomorrow's search, hoping this time it ends with me finding the woman who walked away from my parents' house.

With that determination, I force myself to go back to the townhouse my parents bought for me—a sound investment, they called it. Housing around here is scarce, but that’s not why they bought it. They wanted me settled, close, and within driving distance to the campus. They don’t realize I barely sleep there. I spend more hours on campus than anywhere else, and it’s not because of my classes.

I spend hours lurking in the expansive library, watching and waiting, hoping she'll finally appear.

“Damn it,” I mumble, admitting another day of defeat as I trudge across the parking lot to my car without another sighting of Rose. The sun is beginning to disappear as nightfall settles over Dartmouth. Dense forest surrounds the campus, and the crisp autumn air carries the promise of another long New England winter. Housing near the medical center is nearly impossible to find, especially during residency season, but none of that matters to me. All that matters is that she's here somewhere. Breathing the same air. Walking the same paths. Maybe one day I'll turn around in line and find her standing behind me. Surprise will flash across those wide, round eyes before she buries it beneath that carefully crafted mask and pretends I don't affect her the way she affects me. Yet every day ends the same, with her slipping through my fingers before I ever have the chance to reach her.

As I take the exit toward my place, I crank the music up. “Let it be me,” plays the singer’s melodic vocals carrying out a raw plea for a woman he can’t let go of. His mournful ballad pours out through the speakers as daylight begins to lessen, streaking the sky with its bluish hue across the horizon. The winter solstice is approaching soon. It’s the longest night of the year, and it feels fitting. The world is tilting on its axis as it leans toward darkness, and it suits me because it matches my somber mood.

The air outside has become crisp, with the promise of winter, snow, and the kind of ice that turns the highways into sheets of glass and rural backroads into death traps. The lake on the left breathes in the last bits of dying light and exhales them out in silver puffs against the blackening sky.

I follow the curve of the road as the view opens ahead, leading me toward the dog park near my townhome. People are scattered across the field with their dogs, tossing brightly colored discs into the air. The dogs leap after them, crashing through piles of fallen leaves that burst upward before drifting back to the ground. Laughter carries on the wind, taunting me with the kind of happiness that's supposed to feel familiar. A couple stands shoulder to shoulder, fingers intertwined as their dogs weave between their legs. They look content. Complete. Everything I should want, yet I can't bring myself to envy them because my thoughts are somewhere else entirely.

The world keeps moving, indifferent to the fact that mine came to a halt the moment Rose walked through my parents' front door. Around me, conversations drift on the breeze while dogs race through piles of fallen leaves and their owners laugh as though nothing has changed. The moment I saw Rose, something awakened in me. It was a pull I never knew existed, one that burned through every certainty I'd ever had about myself. I'd spent my life believing I needed no one.

Then I met Rose. It wasn’t a lustful desire nor a fleeting attraction, it was something older. Something deeper, etched into my soul and seared into my flesh. My chest aches for her. My mind screams, knowing with every fiber of my being that she is mine, just as I am hers. I don’t want someone else’s touch or another’s presence. Definitely not another’s warmth from a random hook-up. I want her and only her. The ache burrows deeper, refusing to loosen its grip no matter how hard I fight it. Fate carved her into me the moment she appeared, and nothing in this world or the next will ever make her leave my sight again once I find her.

The world keeps trying to pull me back to the life I had before Rose, but I don't think I can go back. My parents always told me that family isn't only the one you're born into. It's also the one fate places in your path. Their closest friends became ours, and their children became my cousins in every way that mattered. I grew up watching my father find his soulmate in my mother, proof that fate doesn't merely cross paths. It claims hearts and forges bonds that become family.

I grip the steering wheel a little tighter as the sky deepens into night. My Uncle Jameson texted, wanting to know if I need help with my studies. He’s eager for me to take over the family business in cybersecurity with him. With the promise to return his text with a follow-up call soon, I pull into the parking space in front of my place and shut off the engine. The two bags of groceries that I purchased at the co-op sit in the passenger seat, mocking me, knowing that I will be dining alone. I grab both bags, sling my backpack over my shoulder, and try to juggle everything while unlocking the door. The keys slip through my fingers, and they hit the concrete with a metallic clunk.

“Shit.” The word falls out in a ragged breath. I bend over to grab them, but the movement sends my backpack sliding off my shoulder. It smacks into one of the bags and sends apples rolling across the ground. “Perfect,” I mutter.