December 31, 2029
The house felt staged the morning after the funeral.
Dishes washed. Casserole containers stacked. Flowers already beginning to wilt in polite silence.
Grief had structure yesterday.
Today was just sunlight through blinds and the sound of my parents moving carefully around each other like nothing had shifted.
I was still blonde.
Temporary condition.
Mom stood at the stove in her blue sweater, stirring oatmeal like repetition could fix anything. Dad sat at the table with the newspaper open but unread.
“Did you sleep?” Mom asked.
“Yes.”
Define sleep.
Dad lowered the paper.
“So,” he said casually, “how’s school?”
There it was.
“It’s fine.”
Lie adjacent.
Mom placed tea in front of me without asking.
“We heard there were some… complications.”
Neighborhood surveillance.
“It wasn’t that simple.”
Dad folded the paper fully now.
“You’ve always been bright,” he said. “It’s disappointing when you don’t apply yourself.”
Disappointing.
Not angry.
Worse.
Mom sat across from me, hands wrapped around her mug.
“We just don’t want you making impulsive decisions,” she said. “You’ve made a lot of sudden changes.”
Translation: we don’t recognize you.
“I didn’t wake up and flip a coin.”
Dad leaned back.
“You’ve always had a tendency to overcorrect.”
Clinical.
Measured.
Mom blew on her tea and added, almost gently:
“Your brother always paused before doing something permanent.”
My sister.
Dad nodded once.
“He thought things through.”
She did.
I didn’t correct them out loud.
Not today.
“We just want stability for you, Taylor,” Mom said softly.
For Taylor.
They still assumed I was settling back in Spokane for a while.
I let them.
The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
Efficiency.
Auré texted in the afternoon.
Are you still in town?
There it was.
Not Are you leaving.
Not When are you going back.
Are you still in town?
She assumes I’ve been here.
That I’ve been local.
That Spokane still holds me.
Yeah, I replied.
Technically true.
We met near the high school just before ten. Snow crusted the edges of the track. The bleachers gleamed silver under the stadium lights.
“You’ve been around?” she asked as we climbed up.
“Some.”
Define around.
“How long?”
“Long enough.”
She looked at me sideways.
“That’s vague.”
“I’ve been busy.”
Not a lie.
Just incomplete.
She nodded slowly, filing it away.
Fireworks cracked somewhere across town — premature bursts of red against black sky.
We sat near the top of the bleachers, close enough that our thighs touched through denim.
The contact was immediate.
“You feel different,” she said quietly.
“That happens.”
She studied me.
“I just didn’t realize you’d been back.”
“I come and go.”
Careful.
Her brows pulled together slightly, but she didn’t press.
Good.
Because one more direct question and something might slip.
Midnight loomed closer. The air felt electric.
“You ever think about how weird it is that we’re back here?” she asked.
“Constantly.”
That slipped.
She smiled.
And then it got quiet.
Not awkward.
Charged.
A group down by the parking lot started counting down too early.
Ten.
Nine.
Her hand slid over mine, fingers threading through like they remembered the shape automatically.
Eight.
Seven.
She stepped closer.
Six.
Five.
“You don’t want to regret things,” she said softly.
Four.
Three.
Her other hand slid into my hair.
Two.
One.
Fireworks exploded overhead.
And she kissed me.
Not soft.
Not cautious.
Immediate.
Hungry.
My hands were on her waist before I consciously moved, pulling her into my lap like instinct had been waiting years.
She gasped.
Then melted.
The kiss deepened fast, mouths parting, breath tangling in cold air turned warm between us.
Public.
We were in a public field.
Which only made it sharper.
My hands slid lower without thinking, finding the curve of her ass through denim.
God.
She’d always had a great ass.
It was better now.
Stronger.
My palms spread over it, squeezing instinctively.
She moaned into my mouth.
Low.
Unfiltered.
That sound went straight through me.
I tightened my grip and dragged her closer, hips pressing flush against mine.
She didn’t pull away.
She shifted with me.
Encouraging.
Her mouth broke from mine to move down my jaw, then to the right side of my neck.
And when her lips touched there—
Everything in me detonated.
Heat shot down my spine so fast my vision blurred.
I made a sound that was half breath, half warning.
She lingered.
Teeth grazing.
Lips pressing slow.
My body reacted violently to it.
I was throbbing, pulse heavy and insistent, the friction between us no longer subtle.
My hands tightened again, fingers digging into her ass like there was no tomorrow, slapping it with both my hands.
She laughed softly, breathless, and rocked her hips once.
That nearly ended me.
Her hands slid under my coat, palms flattening against my chest, squeezing through fabric, testing, curious and bold.
My breath went ragged.
I kissed her harder.
Rougher.
My mouth moved down her throat and back, teeth grazing lightly before I could stop myself.
Fireworks kept exploding above us, white light flashing over skin and denim and snow.
“Taylor,” she breathed into my neck.
I barely registered it.
I was past thinking.
My hand moved again, urgent, mapping her body through layers like I needed proof she was real.
My fingers found themselves between her legs. She was just as moist as me if not more.
She shifted in my lap, and the friction made it impossible to ignore how far gone I was.
I forgot how much I enjoyed seeing her lose control with my touch.
“Taylor,” she said again.
Clear.
Attached to want.
And everything snapped.
She was kissing Taylor.
Her fingers were tangled in blonde.
Her mouth was whispering the wrong name into my skin.
I pulled back abruptly, chest heaving.
Her lips were swollen. Her pupils blown wide.
“What?” she asked.
“We shouldn’t.”
Confusion flickered.
“You were just—”
“I know.”
“I thought you wanted this.”
“I do.”
That part was true.
Painfully true.
“But not like this.”
“Then how?” she demanded, hurt creeping in.
I couldn’t answer that without unraveling everything.
“You don’t know what you’re doing,” I said instead.
She stared at me.
“I’m kissing you.”
Exactly.
But not me.
“It feels like you’re punishing me,” she said quietly.
“I’m not.”
I am.
She slid off my lap slowly.
Cold rushed back in where her body had been.
“Happy New Year, Taylor,” she said.
Distance in it now.
She climbed down first.
I stayed seated.
Still burning.
Still insanely, painfully horny.
My body hadn’t gotten the memo that it was over.
She paused at her car and looked back once.
Then she got in.
Headlights swept across the field.
And she drove away.
I sat there long after the fireworks faded.
Cold metal under my palms.
Heat still coiled low and stubborn and furious.
She wanted me.
I wanted her.
And I stopped it.
Tomorrow I leave.
Tomorrow the blonde goes.
Tomorrow I stop being Taylor.
And when I see her again—
I won’t pull back.
That’s the part that should scare me, but it doesn't.
