Page 72 of The Run Back Home

Another fleeting kiss.

"That's only until you graduate."

Her eyes sink shut slowly.

"Then, you're all mine again," I say, tucking my hand past her cheek. "And then we have forever."

14

Lenny

Luxe is loud. The lights are bright and the bass is rattling through the speakers strong enough that when it bounces off my chest it feels like a second heartbeat. The club scene is so far out of my comfort zone coming from small-town Mage and spending the last six years buried in clinicals and bouncing between hospitals.

But I kind of like it.

I've been stuck in a funk ever since Jace's apartment—ever since I got to Golden City if I'm honest. I have pent-up feelings that have resurfaced and a newfound energy I can't seem to place anywhere except his goddamn doorstep, apparently. So, it's nice to be out somewhere that's not the hospital. Somewhere social where I know I can't secretly shop for his sleep remedies.

Somewhere that might distract me from noticing he still hasn't texted me—and reminding me I haven't texted him either.

The ride over helped too. And the airplane bottles Dylan brought in her clutch and handed me the second we stepped out of the Uber. Sometimes with traveling and being away from everything and everyone I've ever known, it's easy to forget I'm still just a twenty-four-year-old girl. A fun, successful, single girl who deserves a break and a night out with her friend.

"Over here," Dylan calls, ahead of me, grabbing my hand and leading me through a crowd of people. "Wes said to go right upstairs."

She pulls me toward a winding wrought iron staircase. By the third step, I'm grateful it was still nice enough outside to wear my go-to wedges with my skin-tight black jeans and flowy, silk tank. Had I been forced into anything with a thinner heel, Dyl would be dragging me up here.

"I wasn't sure that bouncer was gonna let me in," I yell to her, my eyes wandering around the club as our view grows higher. I scan the dozens of people dancing below us, grinning to myself as a group of guys chug beers in the middle of the floor.

"That's because you look like a totally different person in your license photo."

Instinctively, I brush my fingers through my short, black cut.

"You need to get it retaken with your new badass hair."

I huff out a laugh as we round the last turn of the stairs.

Everyone thinks that the drastic change was to make myself appear older, more mature—maybe strip away that girl-next-door-look I spent the first two decades of my life in. But the reality is, it was less about changing who I am and more about not looking like the girl he loved.

Everything changed for me after high school. New school, new path.

A whole life without Jace.

And the way he loved the way I looked was all I'd ever known.

Which made moving on even harder. Because seeing myself in the mirror felt like looking at… us.

I think I believed that if I looked different, maybe I wouldn't always feel like the version of myself that belonged to him. Like I wouldn't be so tied to him—to who we were together.

I think I believed he'd be easier to outrun. Easier to forget.

And he was.

For a little while.

By the time I'm done overthinking the picture, we've made it to the top of the staircase. Dylan strides right to the hostess in the tight black mini skirt, and seconds later, she's escorting us to a corner booth.

The spot screams luxury, with cushions in stark white leather that cover both the seat and the back. There's a deep red curtain pulled to either side of it for a privacy option and a low, round table, illuminated by LED lights that shine from underneath where a bottle of champagne sits in a gold-plated ice bucket etched with Luxe.

"Enjoy," the hostess says as she smiles and walks away, and it's only now that my ears have stopped ringing enough to realize that the volume up here is quieter—just enough to actually hear ourselves talk without screaming.