Page 147 of Next Level Up
Carter snickers and heads to my bedroom. “Where are the pack boxes baby?”
“Closet, there’s one under the kitchen sink and one in the bathroom.”
Tate cracks his knuckles. “On it.” Just as they disappear down the hallway, the front door bursts open.
Cassie walks in and stops dead in the doorway, eyeing the twins as they bring in a couple boxes from the back rooms. “Ohgood, The boyfriends are here. Do I get a moving day checklist or just emotional whiplash?”
I half laugh and hug her tightly. “Thanks for coming.”
“Duh. I came to steal your moisturizer and emotionally blackmail you into visiting me weekly.”
“You don’t need to blackmail me.”
She pulls back, fake-gasping. “Is this growth? Is this you becoming a healthy communicator?”
I flip her off. “God, I’m gonna miss this.”
Carter comes back with a small tote, setting it by the door. Tate trails behind, lugging my ridiculously huge cat paw rug like it weighs fifty pounds.
Cassie gestures vaguely toward the chaos. “So… this is it, huh?”
I nod slowly. “I’m officially moved out.”
She hums, unscrewing her drink lid. “I mean it Haven, you better fucking visit.”
“I will.”
“Like, annoyingly often. I want late-night voice notes, you raiding my pantry. I want judgmental commentary on my life choices.”
“You’ll get it all,” I promise, blinking fast. “I’m not replacing you Cassie.”
She stares at me and then exhales slowly. “I know. But damn if it doesn’t feel like the end of an era.”
I reach for her hand. “It’s not an end. It’s just… a different season.”
“Bitch,” she mutters, sniffling. “Don’t get poetic or I’ll actually cry.”
Behind us, Carter’s quietly fidgeting with a charger and a zip tie. Tate’s holding a box labeledMiscellaneouslooking at a framed photo of me and Cassie.
Cassie wipes under one eye, then looks at them both. “Okay, chaos twins. Let’s load the car before I start sobbing about my abandonment issues.”
Tate chuckles. “Just say the word and we’ll carry you out like a dramatic aunt who refuses to let go.”
“Don’t tempt me.”
We pack the last of it in less than ten minutes. Tate slams the trunk closed, Carter makes sure everything’s wedged tight, and I take one last look at the place I used to call home. I close the door, lock it and slide the key into Cassie’s hand. “Thank you for dropping the key off at the office.”
“You ready?” Carter asks, his fingers laced with mine.
“Yeah,” I breathe. “I am.”
Cassie hugs me one last time, then waves us off with two middle fingers and a choked laugh.
Tate’s driving back again, and Carter climbs into the passenger seat, his fingers laced with mine over the center console. I curl up in the backseat, boxed in with my rug and smaller totes.
We hit the freeway just as the sky goes dusky—pale lavender streaked with fire, the kind of dramatic color palette that looks fake through a windshield.
Carter starts humming along to the song on the radio. Tate mutters about someone in the left lane driving like they’re on a death wish.
