Page 32 of A Hard Habit to Break

And then there was their old high school, abandoned in favor of an upgraded model over in Whynot.

It stood like a ghost—windows boarded, roof sagging, the once-proud brick faded to a tired brown. The rusted swing set in the yard creaked in the breeze, a lonely soundtrack to the silence.

Rachel didn’t say a word. She opened the door and stepped out, the wind lifting her curls around her shoulders as she walked toward the chain-link fence that separated them from the ruins.

“Excuse me while I examine this real estate diamond in the rough up close. Talk about location, location, location. This elevation is sublime.” Benji jumped out, ducked under the padlocked fence, and disappeared from view.

Noah followed Rachel at a measured pace.

“What? What happened to it?” she whispered.

“Funding. Lack of it. People leaving… not coming back.” Noah kept the disappointment from his voice, but a splinter of the old hurt entered his thoughts.

“Why didn’t anybody tell me?”

“When did you make that easy?” She’d been the one to cut communication.

Her back went straight, but her hands trembled slightly as she reached for the fence. “This used to be alive,” she said quietly. “Laughter, music blasting with us loaded in the tailgate… I learned how to design ‘properly’ in art class. Mrs. Zuniga made me redraw my final project three times before she said it was my best work.”

Noah stood beside her, unsure of what to say. She didn’t invite his comfort anymore. Even when they were kids, Rachel loved her freedom. A part of her lived for the adventure, while he loved the comforts of a home.

But now… now she looked vulnerable. Not weak, just worn down in that specific way only someone who cared too much ever looked.

“We used to cut across that field, and I’d walk you home after practice,” he said, keeping his voice low. “We’d argue about math homework and who’d win the science fair contest.” She did, of course.

Rachel’s lips curved, but the smile didn’t hold. Her eyes shimmered.

“Looks less imposing, harmless even,” she murmured.

“The best days of our lives,” he mused.

“You had a blast. If I had a letterman’s jacket back then, it would’ve read ‘Tease Me.’ And not in a sexy manner.”

Noah brushed her shoulder with his, just as they used to during lunch, seated as close as the patrolling teachers allowed. “Not when I was around.”

“True,” she said, her lips pressed into a thin line. “But the mean girls and the bad boys found a way, with their sly digs. In the end, my school colors weren’t yellow and brown, they were black and blue.”

He squeezed her tighter, a muscled wall of protection she could lean on. He knew she wouldn’t.

Noah stood by as tears flowed freely down her cheeks. Shedidn’t stop them. Instead, she held still, perhaps lost to a once-upon-a-time relic robbed of its former glory.

Noah hesitated, then gently pulled her into his arms. She didn’t protest, and the tension in her muscles relaxed when he lowered her head to his chest the way she used to when they shared their dreams under the bleachers. “It’s okay, Six.”

She didn’t move for a moment. Then she tilted her head up just enough for him to see her eyes. He felt her need to touch a piece of the past. It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t grand. But it was tangible. He could be her rock, still standing, a remnant of their foundation.

“I should’ve stayed away,” she muttered. “From this.”

Did she mean Service? The scene of their breakup? Touching him? If only life could offer him a simple reprieve for all the emotion he’d tangled up in this one woman. Did she want off this mountain, out of his arms, away from the comfort he readily offered?

“It won’t help. But everything about you being in my arms feels right,” he whispered against her ear.

“Don’t talk. Just hold me.”

And Noah knew, as surely as he knew how to hook a fire hose in the dark, that this was the first real step toward something neither of them had planned.

A knocking sound echoed from the back of the truck cab.

The next sound was the grind of the rear window being lowered. “RJ, are you… Are you crying?” came Matt Johnson’s muffled baritone.