ck townhouse in Brooklyn. Thick green ivy choked the front windows, and

red facade, her chest tightening with bittersweet nostalgia. This dilapidated townhouse was the only prope

, hoisting it effortlessly over the tailgate as if it weighed nothing at all. He slung his

deadbolt. She had to throw her entire body

EEE

ing a stale, heavy cloud of du

silent ghosts. Along the narrow hallway, the walls were lined with vibr

ed toward the steep wooden staircase. "The guest room is at the end

quiet nod.

e stairs, the ancient floorboards

He dropped his duffel bag onto the floor. He didn't care about the squalor in the slightest. He stood in the center of the room an

rk kitchen. She turned the brass hand

CLANG-

t out an aggressive, sputtering stream of thick, brown rust water th

gasped, jum

own the stairs. Cruz appeared in

er the sink. Without a word, he calmly rolled his flannel sleeves up to his elb

ped to his knees. Slid his broad shoulders completely under the cramped wo

of his back flex and bunch through his shirt as he torqued the rusted pipes. A sudden, quiet wave of gratit

he grabbed the corner of the heavy canvas sheet covering the sofa and gave it a shar

e washed the rust from his hands in the now-crystal-clear running wat

dead in h

g against the corner wall, covered in overlapping

the center was a

ring an oversized bright yellow summer camp t-shirt, grinning brig

nized the chocolate. It was the exact memor

he reached out. His calloused fingertip barely grazed the white border of the Polaroid,

ru

f tap water. Seeing him frozen before the board, she f

into place. He knew the place. He knew the rain. But standi

al, pointing a steady finger at t

A soft, melancholic smile touched her lips

e nostalgic. "My mother sent me there the summer after my grandfather p

erous, groaning creak under his tighten

, taking a slow, forced swallow

well?" he asked, his

into this strange, bruised boy sitting alone under a cabin eave in the freezing downpour. He was

motionless, his chest t

My mother always told me that sweet things make the pain hurt a little less. I told him that, shov

o a breathless, strained murmur. "Do you r

head with a fai

y front window. "I forgot his face entirely. I just remember his eyes. He looked so lost... l

one and groaning. "Great. The local C

he dust-mottled sunlight,

n't for

earthquake. He turned his head slowly, his dark eyes meetin

, his jaw setting with absolute, u

nbreakable vow: You failed to protect her. From this day forwar

Alayna asked, lookin

his calm facade. He reached into his duffel bag, pulled out a stack of local takeou

on the bare, dusty floorboards, eating hot

hing Cruz effortlessly pop the c

s, the dead, abandoned hou

her face, drinking in the quiet domestic peace