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When I stopped him in front of the small ruddy-bricked house, my pulse jumped and my mind dizzied. For a moment, panic inched its way inside me. Awful memories bloomed like poisonous flowers in the garden of my mind, their thorns sinking into my flesh.

I swallowed, staring at the cracked bricks and dilapidated doorframe. “I used to live here.”

Scotty was silent for a beat. “You want to say goodbye?”

I blinked through the foggy glass. “I don’t know.”

I hadn’t stepped foot on this street in the two years I’d been away. It was too painful, too triggering. I was petrified my father would be lurking behind trees and bushes, eager to swoop me up and carry me back to that hellhole.

My mother had never reached out. Never called, never visited me. There were days when the notion had festered in my blood like a disease. But, as Whitney had said, what was meant to be, would be. Only time could paint the clearest picture, and time had showed me in striking pigments that my mother didn’t deserve me. She wasn’t worthy of my love.

Once upon a time, I thought I missed her.

But it was she who’d missed out on me.

Not all mothers were meant to be caretakers.

Not all monsters were meant to be rehabilitated.

And not all love stories were meant to last.

Finally, I dropped back to my seat and shook my head, turning to Scotty as I buckled my seatbelt. “I’m ready now.”

CHAPTER 34

“You’ve got mail.”

I popped my head up from the slew of boxes strewn across the second bedroom of Scotty’s apartment.

My apartment.

The window was cracked, the hot August air doing little to cool the muggy space cursed with defective air conditioning. Car horns blared from the busy street, and I did my best to pretend they were the melodic lull of ocean waves. Unfortunately, living by the beach cost a pretty penny here in Charleston, so it was a solid fifteen minutes to sand and shorelines.

Sweat cased my hairline as I tightened my ponytail and pulled to a stand, meeting Scotty in the bedroom doorway. We’d driven into town four days ago, and I was still slowly unpacking. Doing anything was hard enough when there was a dark cloud hanging over my head, but filling rooms with decorations and colorful knickknacks felt like a Herculean task.

I managed a small smile, glancing at the priority mail package in Scotty’s hand. “That’s for me?”

“Yep.” He nodded, handing it to me. “No return address. Doesn’t weigh anything.”

“Hmm. Mysterious.” Thanking him, I took the padded envelope and retreated back into the room while he shuffled into the kitchen to whip up a pot of spaghetti.

I hopped onto the lilac bed covers and crossed my legs, peering down at the address label.

My heart stuttered.

I recognized the handwriting.

With a closed-up throat and a jack-hammering pulse, I tore through the package with my fingernails and jabbed a hand inside. Something soft tickled my fingertips. Fuzzy and plush. I shimmied it out of the bubble wrap, then glanced down at the item resting in my palm.

It was a Beanie Baby.

A blush-pink bunny rabbit.

I gasped, my eyes watering as I looked back inside the packaging and discovered a note. Eager to read his words, to imagine to his voice in the privacy of my mind, I fingered the cream sheet of stationary and tugged it free, my hands shaking.

Through a wall of tears, I read.

Comet,