⚠️ Content Warning: This chapter contains depictions of alcohol abuse, addiction, and relapse. May be distressing for some readers.

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Ava POV

I was going to die.

Or at least, it felt like it.

I knew tequila was a bad idea.

Mixing it with vodka?

Oh, what a god-awful idea.

Well, it didn't feel so terrible in the moment.

I'd never forget that night for the rest of my life.

I barely remembered it—but at some point, I'd been on top of the table, dress askew, dancing to "Party in the U.S.A." by Miley Cyrus.

I mean, come on.

Who wouldn't dance to that song?

Then I was trying—and failing—to drive home.

Alex stopped that plan real quick.

I could still feel his scowl as he snatched the keys from my hands.

I stumbled forward to grab them back, eyes blurring.

"Please give them back."

I thought I landed that sentence, but it came out more like,

"Please g-e ack uh."

"The fact that you even entertained the idea," Alex said, shaking his head, "is bold for you, Ava."

I was walking home promptly after that.

Then I broke a heel and walked barefoot, feet cold against the wet concrete.

One hand holding my ruined heels, the other wrapped around myself.

And they were my favorite heels, too...

And then I was home—fumbling with the keys, racing to the toilet.

Throwing up had always been a mystery to me.

How the hell was I still retching when my stomach was emptier than a desert canteen?

Yet there I was—hunched over a toilet I hadn't cleaned in...

A month?

Maybe two.

Ew.

The sound of the door peeling open came later.

Still startled me, even though I knew it was coming.

I'd felt it—heard it—slithering through the silence of the house, dragging itself from the front door to find me.

I didn't move.

He had a key.

Of course he did.

The sound of keys fumbling, the familiar creak of the door—

He entered like this was still his place.

And in some ways, it was.

He'd lived here for years, floating in and out of my life like a ghost I couldn't bury.

A bolt of realization struck through the haze—

I looked down at myself.

Partially dressed.

Didn't matter. He'd seen—

Touched.

Gods.

Licked.

Every. Single. Part. Of. Me.

I shoved that memory so deep it scraped the inside of my ribs.

Then came another wave of nausea.

But this one wasn't from alcohol.

This one had a name.

Frankie.

My mother.

Who left rehab two nights ago without telling anyone.

Who didn't answer my calls.

Who was supposed to be sober. This time. Finally.

I'd spent all day looking for her. Calling hospitals. Driving around old haunts.

Nothing.

And when the sun dipped low and the sky turned that bruised, hopeless shade of violet—

I gave in.

A bottle was easier to find than Frankie ever was.

I felt him before I heard him.

Standing behind me like a question I couldn't answer.

"What the fuck, Ava."

"Pleased to see you too," I muttered, voice hoarse and nasal from puking.

He crouched beside me, jaw tight—disapproval etched in every angle.

But underneath it...

Pity?

I couldn't tell.

Didn't care.

He grabbed a washcloth and wiped at my face.

"You need a shower," he said, already turning the knob.

Water sputtered—wish, wish, wish—before falling into a steady sigh.

Then he began peeling off my clothes.

No words.

No shame.

Just that unbearable tension between us—familiar, aching, unsaid.

The kind you leave out in the open to rot.

"Where are Lilia and Elias?"

His voice was quieter now, as he slipped off my slip dress.

"My mother's," I whispered.

Not Frankie.

The other one. The one who actually answers the phone.

My stepmother—well, ex-stepmother.

My father fucked that one up.

She took the kids without question when she saw the shake in my hands this morning.

His cold hands made me gasp.

"Sorry," he muttered. "Just give me a second—I'm almost done."

When I was bare, he lifted me gently, setting me on the shower tiles like something fragile.

And that's when I reached for his face.

I hadn't really looked at him this whole time.

Maybe because—

God. Maybe it was shame.

I didn't know anymore.

"Don't leave."

He froze.

That look.

He was holding back.

"I won't—fuck."

He ran a hand through his hair.

"We can't do this right now, Ava. Harper—"

Ah.

The current girlfriend.

How had we always missed each other?

Like two cars, parallel—

Never colliding.

Just running alongside one another in opposite directions.

Fifteen years.

Fifteen of knowing each other.

How had the lines never completely crossed?

Never a couple.

Always together.

"Fuck Harper."

I couldn't think of someone else touching—

Holding.

Even smelling River.

Just.

Fuck that.

He looked at me, eyes burning.

...Shit.

Of course I said that out loud.

⸻

River POV

"She's on the table dancing, River," Alex said over the phone.

I could barely hear him over the music blaring through the bar.

Specifically—"Party in the U.S.A."

Okay.

That did sound like her.

I couldn't help the small smile that crept onto my face, imagining her.

Hair wild. Heels off. Arms up.

"She okay?" I asked.

There was a long pause.

"Wait—hold on," Alex said, muffled.

It sounded like he set the phone down.

A minute passed.

Then—

"Fucking Ava. She tried to drive home." He said, voice tight.

My heart stopped.

"I know you guys aren't... whatever," he added after a beat. "But please check on her, River."

She tried to drive? Even Ava wouldn't do that.

What the hell had gotten her that worked up?

The Ava I remembered was mostly sunshine.

Loud laughter.

Stupid jokes.

Messy buns and unapologetic joy

But something had shifted before we broke up.

She'd shut down.

And when I asked, she just said:

"I'm done."

No explanation. Just gone.

"I understand," I said. "I'll be there in fifteen."

The drive was probably faster than her walk.

And I was right.

I parked just in time to watch her stagger into the building.

When I reached her apartment, I simply walked in, opening the door with the key she'd given me months ago.

I know. I should've returned it.

But I hadn't.

Because part of me always hoped we'd find our way back.

I headed straight for the bathroom.

I could hear her—getting sick.

The truth slipped out before I could stop it.

"What the fuck, Ava."

"Pleased to see you too," she mumbled, slumped over the toilet, her head half inside the bowl.

I crouched beside her. My jaw locked tight.

I wanted to say it.

Do you want to end up like Frankie?

I wanted to hurt her a little—

Like she'd hurt me.

By shutting me out.

By deciding for both of us.

By leaving without letting me understand.

To say it wasn't fair.

That I hadn't agreed.

But I didn't.

I just felt that familiar ache bloom in my chest—slow, heavy, impossible to name.

Was it pity?

Was it guilt?

I didn't know.

She never let me in far enough to tell.

"You need a shower," I said, rising to turn it on.

Steam filled the bathroom.

I steadied my hands as I helped her undress.

I'm a doctor.

I've seen hundreds of bodies.

Still—my ears burned.

Pale, soft skin.

Curves I knew by memory.

Hair curling down her back.

Those relentless green eyes.

I peeled off her black silk dress, then her favorite heels—the ones with Gucci written in Sharpie on the bottom.

That was so Ava.

I'd tried to give her a new pair for her birthday once, after seeing how worn hers were.

She rolled her eyes. "Fuck expensive brands. These heels have lasted longer than Louis Vuitton ever will."

Then she grabbed a Sharpie from the kitchen drawer, flipped the shoes over, and scrawled across the soles.

"Now they're Gucci. See?"

That little twinkle in her eye—like it was the best idea she'd ever had.

God, I missed that.

⸻

"Where are Lilia and Elias?" I asked quietly.

"My mother's," she whispered.

My cold hands made her flinch.

"Sorry," I muttered. "Just give me a second—I'm almost done."

She didn't fight me.

Didn't speak.

Just let me help her.

When she was finally in the shower, I eased her down and propped her against the tile wall.

Steam curled between us.

Then she reached for me—

Hands on my face like I held every answer she'd never been given.

And maybe I did.

Or maybe she just wanted to believe that I could.

"Don't leave," she whispered.

Her hands slid down, fists clutching my shirt like a lifeline.

I won't.

Ever.

God, I wanted to say it.

That I'd stay forever if she'd just tell me what happened.

"I won't—fuck."

I ran a hand through my hair.

The guilt hit me hard.

I wasn't uninvolved.

Not really.

Harper was waiting.

And I'd let this drag out too long.

"We can't do this right now, Ava. Harper—"

Her grip loosened.

Her eyes lit up. Sharp. Angry.

"Fuck Harper."

I stared at her.

And for the first time in months—maybe longer—

I saw her.

Not the silence.

Not the distance.

Her.

She passed out not long after.

I dried her off.

Got her into her lilac pajamas.

Tucked her into bed.

Then curled into her old reading chair, blanket around my shoulders.

In case she got sick.

In case she needed me.

My phone buzzed.

Harper: When are you coming back?

I typed:

I'll be back in the morning. Just want to make sure she doesn't get sick.

Chime.

Harper: Can we talk about me officially moving in?

I stared at the bed.

Her hair splayed across the pillow.

That same spot on the right still molded to my body.

I typed:

We can talk about it in the morning.

But I already knew what I'd say.

Ava POV

My head was pounding when I woke up.

The words "Fuck Harper" were still ringing in my ears.

I couldn't believe I said that to him. That was the first time I'd seen River in weeks—

Since Harper moved in.

God. I wouldn't be surprised if he left me here to fend for myself after that.

A groan slipped out. I rolled side to side, tangled in my blankets, trying to shake the memory—and the shame—off like water from a dog's back.

Then I stood up too fast.

Big mistake.

The nausea from yesterday clung to the back of my throat. I steadied my breathing and squeezed my eyes shut.

Breathe. It's okay.

The world tilted, but I managed to hold on and exhaled with shaky relief.

Then I heard it—the shift of a body. My eyes snapped open.

There he was.

River.

He sat in the armchair beside my bed—old, bright red-orange, fabric peeling at the arms, but still cozy. My reading chair. I usually curled up there with a blanket and a cup of tea, watching Davenport through the window. I'd lucked out on this apartment after the landlord gave me a discount—someone had died here, apparently.

I didn't mind.

Haunt me.

I don't care.

But somehow, he looked like he belonged in that chair.

He was still wearing scrubs from yesterday.

Damn.

He probably just came off a 24-hour shift.

I'm such an asshole.

I bet Alex told him to "handle it." I was definitely going to rip Alex a new one.

River shifted again, and I froze.

I couldn't help staring.

That face. The one that always made girls stop and stare—

Like I was doing now.

His light brown, messy hair. Those sharp cheekbones. And if his eyes were open...

Those gray, almost silver eyes.

"Ava..." he murmured.

My face burned.

Don't think about him naked. Don't think about him naked. Think of... taxes. Cardboard. Anything.

But my mind betrayed me. The last time we were in this bed flickered behind my eyes—and I couldn't stop the squeal that burst out of me. I yanked the blanket over my head.

The floor creaked. He was definitely awake now.

"Don't bother hiding," he said, that rough morning voice curling around me like a warm sweater. "I'll pull the covers off you."

I peeked out, just enough for my eyes to meet his.

His hair was tousled, his expression serious. His gaze could've burned a hole through me.

"Ava Diana Moore," he said through clenched teeth.

Yep. I was in trouble.

I ducked under the covers again like a kid caught red-handed, but his hands found mine in two swift movements.

"You tried to drive?" he hissed. "What were you thinking, Ava?"

Heat surged into my cheeks.

He didn't realize how close he was—how his body hovered over mine, warm and familiar, like a heartbeat I'd once memorized.

Then he blinked. Backed off fast. His throat worked like he was about to say something—but nothing came out.

"I'm sorry," I mumbled. "It's just... Frankie. And the kids. It's just—"

His expression softened.

"I know Frankie left rehab. Alex told me. He called after he found you at the bar."

"But risking your life, Ava?" His voice dropped. "Please don't do that again."

He unclenched his fists with effort. Like it took everything he had not to shake sense into me.

I swallowed.

"Harper let you stay?" I asked quietly.

"Harper doesn't let me do anything," he said. "She trusts me."

I knew what he meant.

You never did.

And...

He was right.

There were things I never trusted him with.

⸻

It was raining that day.

Not the soft kind where kids splash in puddles or couples kiss under umbrellas.

No, not that kind.

The kind of rain that soaks into your bones.

The kind that shows up at funerals.

The kind that falls when people shatter.

We were outside his parents' summer house in Madison. But it wasn't summer. It was the cusp of autumn—that strange, in-between season where everything feels like it's ending.

"Ava, you can't keep pushing me away..." River had said, voice low, almost broken.

My heart thundered. Guilt and pain knotted in my chest. I knew what I had to do.

He can't give everything up for me.

"I just can't do this anymore, River," I said through clenched teeth. Rain streaked my cheeks, blending with tears I wouldn't let him see. "I’m done. You need to let me go."

Then I turned and ran.

I didn't look back to see if he followed.

⸻

Back in the present, I swallowed hard.

River's eyes were still on me. Unreadable.

And just like before, I wanted to run.

But something in me—something tired of running—stayed.

I pushed the blanket off my shoulders.

Not much.

But enough.

I looked away, face still flushed—but the heat had cooled into something heavier.

Shame.

"You must be happy then... with her," I said, barely above a whisper.

"We are happy," he said—too quickly. Too sharp.

It sounded like he was trying to convince himself, not me.

Boy, you don't have to convince me of anything.

She probably has her toothbrush next to yours by now.

Or at least... I assume.

I haven't been there in a while—obviously.

He shifted.

"And you and Sam?"

My eyes snapped to his.

Just stab me straight in the heart, why don't you?

"We—well, we're not together anymore."

"I see."

"You could probably assume that, considering he didn't pick me up or anything..."

He raised a brow. "Oh, I just thought you enjoyed inconveniencing me, Ava Moore."

I smirked. "Not at all, River Bell."

His mouth twitched. Almost a smile. But not quite.

The silence stretched between us—not the sharp, awkward kind we used to fall into when we were angry, but something softer. Sadder. Like the space between waves, just before they crash.

"I missed this," I said suddenly. The words slipped out before I could catch them. "Not... this," I added quickly, waving a hand. "The bickering. The passive-aggressive commentary. I just mean..."

You.

But I didn't say it.

River looked down, thumb grazing a scar on his knuckle. A habit. One I hadn't realized I'd missed until now.

"I know what you mean," he said. His voice was quiet. Gentle. "I miss it too."

I stared at him.

"Do you?"

He nodded, once. No hesitation.

And that broke something open in me.

I wanted to reach across the space between us, just to touch him. His wrist. His hand. His sleeve. Something. Anything. But I didn't.

Because he had a toothbrush next to hers now.

Because we weren't that version of ourselves anymore.

"Do you ever think about if we'd met later?" I asked. "Like... if the timing had been different?"

He didn't answer right away.

Then:

"Sometimes."

We didn't speak after that.

He just looked at me like he wanted to say something more. Maybe I looked at him the same way.

But neither of us did.

Because if we said it—whatever it was—

We couldn't take it back.

So we sat there.

In the quiet.

In the ache.

In the space between everything we were and everything we weren't.

Ava POV

The next time I saw him was at Bailey Coffee Shop.

We'd been coming here since we were kids. But he'd moved across town, and I assumed he'd found a closer place—something more convenient. More Harper-approved.

Still, I'd chosen the most spectacular outfit. Colorful. Intentional. I worked with kids—of course I knew how to put an outfit together.

I ordered a lavender matcha. I needed calming caffeine after the shift I just had.

I probably smelled.

I sniffed under my arm.

Yep. Like I hadn't showered in three days.

Which was basically true—36 hours on the floor will do that to you. Hospital time.

And I'm sure the kids who gifted me vomit, blood, and every bodily fluid in between didn't help.

Especially the little boy I met this morning.

Gregory.

Or as I'd dubbed him, Greggy.

He was new. I could tell by the way his parents hovered, by the wide-eyed way he clutched his jacket.

I was handing out morning meds when I spotted him.

I crouched in front of him, flashed my name tag with a smile.

"If you tell me a joke," I whispered, "I'll tell you my name."

He blinked at me. Then:

"Really?!"

I nodded, solemn as a knight.

"Uh... why did the chicken cross the road?"

"Hmm..." I tapped my chin. "Was it to get pancakes on the other side?"

"Pancakes?"

"Yep. We've got a whole pancake club here. For new chickens joining our flock."

His parents exchanged a look. His mom gave a nod.

"It's okay, Gregory. Go have fun."

I grabbed his hand like we were heading off on a secret mission.

"Wait—you didn't tell me your name!"

"It's Ava the Whimsical," I said with a bow.

He giggled.

I made a mental note to check in with his parents later.

The first few days of chemo were always the worst.

⸻

Back at the coffee shop :

God, please don't let me run into anyone I know.

Too late.

I turned—and there he was.

Or more specifically, he.

River.

Those unforgettable gray eyes, locked on mine across the room.

I looked away. Pretended I hadn't seen him.

Searched for the nearest exit.

Then peeked again.

And there it was. That look.

The one that could pull a confession from a corpse. The one that made arguments crumble before they began.

I shook my head.

He casually pointed at the chair across from him.

Ugh. Fine.

I was halfway to sitting when she slid in beside him.

Harper.

River looked calm. Like—well, an actual river.

Calm as the Nile.

Calm as uh—

He's just... calm.

I shifted in my seat.

This is fine. Totally fine.

I clutched my iced matcha like a life preserver. Condensation dripped onto my scrubs, but whatever. My fingers needed something to hold onto. My dignity had already left the building.

"It's nice to see you. Here. Today."

I smiled. Too wide. Too fake. The kind that belongs on a cereal box.

River didn't smile back.

"You and I have been coming here since we were kids," he said.

"Let's not pretend this is surprising."

Right. That tone.

Dry as overcooked toast.

I nodded slowly.

Willed the floor to open up and swallow me whole.

⸻

River POV

I'd notice that inky black hair anywhere.

Ava.

She slipped in, hair tied with that technicolor scrunchie her mom gave her—on one of her rare sober days. Purple-and-pink scrubs. A ridiculous name tag: "Tell me a joke, I'll tell you my name."

I half-smiled.

She always had a way about her.

The smile soured when she looked right at me—then tried to pretend she hadn't.

But I saw her.

She knew better than to play that game.

She looked like a mouse caught in a trap.

But still, she came.

Sat down across from Harper and me.

She smiled like she wanted to disappear.

I knew that smile.

I'd seen it when she got caught sneaking out of AP Bio.

When her grandfather called during chemo.

When I left her bedroom without saying goodbye.

Ava's "this is fine but I'm dying" smile.

And yet, here she was—mismatched scrubs, technicolor scrunchie, that ridiculous name tag.

And those eyes. Still green. Still full of everything she never says.

We used to tell each other everything.

I could read her from across the room.

We passed notes in class like little secrets. Inside jokes and tiny truths scribbled in the margins of textbooks.

She wasn't just my first love.

She was my best friend.

And then she shut me out.

I still don't know why.

Was it Frankie? The kids? Was it my mother?

Rachel had always been more frigid than torrid. Controlled. Calculated. She smiled like secrets lived behind her teeth.

Or—God help me—was it me?

Ava never said.

She never told me. Just said she was done.

I need to figure this out.

I need to hear it from her lips. Real answers. Not polite lies.

Because I can't—truly—move on until I do.

Then Harper's arm slid around mine.

Light. Possessive.

I didn't flinch.

But I didn't lean in, either.

⸻

Harper POV

They thought I couldn't see it.

The unfinished sentence in River's jaw.

The way Ava wouldn't quite meet my eyes.

It was almost sweet—like watching two kids pretend they hadn't written each other tragic love letters and lit them on fire.

I wonder how she does under pressure.

I let my gaze drift over her—slow, deliberate.

She wasn't anything special.

Ridiculous scrubs. Sleep-deprived eyes. Hair barely held together with a technicolor scrunchie that screamed emotional support.

And she was a nurse?

I was surprised.

River radiated composure. Precision. Quiet brilliance.

That's what drew me to him the day we first met.

He was wearing a doctor's coat.

He looked delicious—clean-cut, professional, polished.

Exactly the kind of man I'd always imagined for myself.

My father was an engineer. My mother, a corporate attorney.

They spent years breathing grace and ambition into me.

River and I just made sense.

But the two of them?

They didn't.

And yet—Ava was becoming an issue.

River had changed since seeing her again.

He'd stopped initiating.

Stopped reaching.

Stopped... trying.

It was subtle. But I noticed. Of course I did.

He was pulling away. And I was starting to feel it.

I looked at her again.

I suppose she was pretty. In a tired, earnest kind of way.

But the one sitting beside River?

That was me.

I smoothed my hand down his forearm, my voice warm and sharp as glass.

"So this is the famous Ava," I said, smiling like I meant it.

"I feel like I already know you."

She blinked.

Caught between fight and flight.

Cute.

⸻

Ava POV

"Famous?" I repeated. A little too high-pitched. Choked a little on my matcha.

This is officially the worst threesome I've ever experienced in my life.

And I've never experienced a threesome. For the record.

River's jaw tightened—barely.

"River mentions you often," Harper said breezily, like her drink came with poison and pearls.

I narrowed my eyes at him.

She was exactly the kind of girl Rachel Bell would summon via Ouija board and a Neiman Marcus catalog.

Auburn hair. Doe eyes. Manicure from the gods.

Devil's incarnate twin.

With perfect posture.

He didn't look at me.

"Not that often," he muttered.

Oh. Oh really?

Last week you were in my bedroom, River. Don't act brand new.

I pushed my chair back suddenly, almost knocking over my drink.

"Well," I said, too loud. "As fun as this conversation is, I've gotta run. Late for a—uh... thing."

⸻

River POV

Her exit was graceless. Rushed. Familiar.

I should've said something. Reached for her.

Told Harper to stop.

Told Ava that I still remember the way she hums when she brushes her teeth. That I still keep a bottle of her shampoo in the shower.

The one Harper asked me to throw out.

This morning, actually.

That memory lit up behind my eyes like a bad night out.

Harper had been moving her things in, bit by bit.

I didn't mind. Not really.

It felt like the next step.

Like I was following a checklist someone else had written.

I never officially asked her to move in.

It was more of a "this is easier" kind of thing.

I was eating breakfast. Eggs, toast—simple stuff to settle my stomach before a shift from hell.

She was in the bathroom, tossing things out. Little things. Things that didn't "fit."

It felt invasive.

Like she was painting over carefully chosen wallpaper.

There were bits of Ava everywhere.

A scrunchie in the drawer.

A sweater shoved in the back of the closet.

And the shampoo.

Berry-scented. Hers.

She peeked out of the bathroom, holding it up.

"Is this fine to toss?"

"No," I said—too fast.

She paused, actually looked at it then.

Didn't say anything.

She didn't have to.

"It's almost empty," she said eventually. Calm. Restrained.

"Let's just toss it out."

She dropped it in the trash. I fished it back out.

"I said no, Harper."

Then, softer—tired:

"Let's just get coffee. Take a break from the move."

"Fine," she said.

And now here we are.

At Bailey Coffee.

With her.

And Ava.

And me not reaching for the only person I actually wanted to reach for.

She'd told me she was done.

And maybe she was.

So I just watched her go.

⸻

Harper POV

She practically bolted.

When Rachel mentioned this little problem, she said it would be easily remedied.

But River looked more than just "barely involved."

This wasn't casual. Not even close.

I'd need to arrange a lunch.

Learn a bit more about "Ava Moore."

I sipped my latte and crossed my legs, ankle over knee.

River didn't say a word.

He didn't have to.

His eyes were still on the door.

And that told me everything I needed to know.