Dani Rivera, October 19th 2018, Laurel, Montana
The first thing Dani registered was the pounding. The pounding in her skull, a rhythmic, merciless throb that seemed to pulse in time with her heartbeat. Each beat sent a fresh wave of nausea rolling through her stomach.
The second thing she registered was the smell. Stale beer. Remnants of Chinese takeout. The low quality of cheap motel soap that hadn't quite masked the underlying mustiness of a room that had seen too many people and not enough cleaning.
She cracked one eye open, immediately regretting it as the thin morning light filtering through the gap in the heavy curtains felt like a knife stabbing directly into her brain. She groaned, pressing her face back into the scratchy pillow that smelled like industrial detergent.
The Liberty Motel. Right. Still here. Still in Laurel, Montana, a town that felt about as welcoming as a frozen tundra.
Dani forced herself to sit up, the room tilting dangerously as she did. The place was a disaster. Empty beer bottles lined the dresser and nightstand. A pizza box lay open on the floor, one sad, congealed slice still inside. Sam's duffel bag was spilling clothes onto the chair by the window. Her own backpack was slumped in the corner.
Sam. Where was Sam?
She turned her head—slowly, carefully—and saw him sprawled on the other bed, in his pajamas, one arm flung over his face. His chest rose and fell in the deep, steady rhythm of sleep. Good. She hadn't woken him yet with her hungover flailing.
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand, the vibration searing in Dani's ears in the quiet room. She fumbled for it, squinting at the screen through the haze of her headache.
Unknown Number: Hi Dani, this is Margaret, Jess's aunt. Jess gave me your number. I have a studio apartment available if you're still looking. $400/month, utilities included. It's small, and kind of beat up but more importantly cheap. Let me know if you want to see it.
Dani stared at the message for a long moment, her brain struggling to process the words through the fog of her hangover. An apartment. A real place to stay. Not this depressing motel room with its peeling wallpaper and the constant hum of the ancient heating unit.
Four hundred dollars a month. That was... manageable. Barely. Between the money she'd saved and whatever work she could find here, she could swing it for a few months at least.
But why was she even considering it?
The question sat heavy in her chest. She set the phone down without responding and dragged herself out of bed, her legs unsteady. The bathroom was a tiny, dingy cube with a shower that had probably never been truly clean, but right now she didn't care. She needed to wash the smell of stale alcohol and bad decisions off her skin.
She turned the water as hot as it would go—which wasn't very—and stepped under the weak spray. The water pressure was pathetic, but it was warm enough to be tolerable. She closed her eyes and let it run over her face, trying to wash away the pounding in her head and the hollow ache in her chest.
What am I doing here? she thought.
The question wouldn't leave her alone. She'd been asking herself the same thing for days now, ever since that disastrous moment on the sidewalk when Laurel had looked at her, really looked at her, and then ran.
The plan had seemed so clear back in California. Find Laurel. Tell her they'd never stopped looking. Bring her home. It was supposed to be simple. Romantic, even, in a desperate, reckless sort of way. Dani would show up, Laurel would see her, and everything would just... click back into place. They'd get in the Saturn and drive away from this frozen hellhole, back to warmth and sunshine and a life where Laurel could be herself.
Except it hadn't been simple. Nothing about this was simple.
Laurel hadn't fallen into her arms. She hadn't smiled with relief and said, Thank god you're here. She'd looked at Dani with something that felt like horror, like Dani was the last person in the world she wanted to see. And then she'd run, disappearing around that corner like a ghost, leaving Dani standing there with her heart in pieces.
Dani pressed her forehead against the cold tile wall, the water running down her back. She'd been so stupid. So naïve. She'd built up this fantasy in her head during the year of searching; the romantic reunion, the tearful embrace, the happy ending. She hadn't prepared herself for the reality: that Laurel was trapped, drowning, barely surviving. That seeing Dani might make things worse, not better.
I should leave.
The thought crept in, insidious and logical. She'd found Laurel. She knew she was alive, knew where she was. That had been the goal, right? Find her. Make sure she was okay. Mission accomplished, in the loosest possible sense of the phrase.
She could go back to California. Back to Sofia's couch. Back to the job she'd left behind at the record store, if they'd even take her back. Back to a life that made sense, where she wasn't hemorrhaging money on motel rooms and living on gas station food, waiting for a girl who didn't want to see her.
Sofia. God.
Her older sister had been the one to pull Dani out of the wreckage after everything fell apart. After April's memorial, after Laurel had been taken away by her grandparents, after Sam had moved in with a friend's family and Dani had been left adrift.
Sofia had shown up like a guardian angel. She'd been living in Oakland with her roommate, working two jobs and barely scraping by, but she'd tried to made room. She'd tried fighting through the legal red tape to get temporary custody, had let Dani sleep on her couch, had helped her study for the GED after Dani dropped out of high school. Dani had only ended up being in the system for six months.
And Dani had repaid that kindness by... what? Obsessing over a lost love? Spending every dollar she saved on this quixotic road trip? Dragging Sam across three states on a mission that was starting to feel more like self-destruction than rescue?
She turned off the water and stood there dripping, her head still pounding but slightly clearer now. The steam had fogged up the small mirror above the sink, obscuring her reflection. Maybe that was for the best. She wasn't sure she wanted to see herself right now.
Sam was awake when she emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in a thin towel that had seen better days. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, head in his hands, looking about as rough as she felt.
"Morning," she said, her voice hoarse.
He grunted in response.
"There's coffee in the lobby," she offered. "I think. If you can call it coffee."
"I'll take it," he muttered. He looked up at her, his eyes bloodshot and tired. "You okay?"
"Hungover," she admitted. "Sorry about last night."
"You called me at midnight from a dive bar on the edge of town, slurring about how nothing makes sense anymore," Sam said, his tone matter-of-fact. "I've definitely seen you worse."
Dani winced. "I don't really remember that part."
"Lucky you." Sam stood, stretching with a series of pops and cracks that sounded painful. "The bartender was cool, though. Didn't give me shit about picking up a drunk friend. Just made sure you settled your tab first."
"How much did I spend?" Dani asked, dreading the answer.
"Forty bucks."
She closed her eyes. Forty dollars she didn't have to spare. "I'm an idiot."
"You're heartbroken," Sam corrected. "There's a difference." He grabbed his jacket from the chair. "I'm gonna go get that coffee. Get dressed. We should talk."
The words we should talk hung in the air after he left, heavy with implication. Dani pulled on yesterday's jeans and a clean-ish band tee from her backpack, then sat on the edge of the bed and stared at her phone.
The message from Jess's aunt was still there, unanswered.
An apartment. A place to stay. A foothold in this town.
It felt like a commitment. Like crossing a line from searching to staying. And staying meant... what? Waiting? Hoping? Watching from a distance while Laurel suffered, unable to help?
Her phone buzzed again. This time it was Sofia.
Sofia: Hey little sis. Haven't heard from you in a few days. You doing okay? Find what you were looking for?
The question was loaded. Sofia knew about Laurel—knew the whole story, really. She'd been supportive, in her practical, no-nonsense way. But she'd also been skeptical.
"What are you going to do when you find her?" Sofia had asked the night before Dani left. "What if she doesn't want to come back? What if she's moved on?"
"Then at least I'll know," Dani had said.
Sofia had just looked at her with those sad, knowing eyes. "Will you, though? Or will you keep hoping?"
Dani typed out a response now, her thumbs moving slowly.
Dani: Found her. It's complicated. Still figuring things out.
Sofia: Need me to come get you?
The offer was genuine. Sofia would drop everything, would drive up here if Dani asked. She'd done it before. But Dani couldn't ask her to do it again.
Dani: No. I'm okay. Just need some time.
Sofia: You sure?
Dani: Yeah. I'll call you soon. Promise.
She set the phone down before Sofia could press further. Sam returned a few minutes later with two Styrofoam cups of what could generously be called coffee. It was weak and bitter, but it was hot, and Dani wrapped her hands around the cup gratefully.
They sat in silence for a while, sipping the terrible coffee and avoiding eye contact.
Finally, Sam spoke. "You want to talk about why you got wasted last night?"
"Not really."
"Dani."
She sighed, setting her cup down on the nightstand. "I don't know what I'm doing here, Sam. I thought I did. I thought we'd find her and it would be... I don't know. Different."
"Different how?"
"Just different." She picked at a loose thread on her jeans. "I didn't think she'd run from me. I didn't think seeing me would make things worse for her."
Sam was quiet for a moment. "It's not you," he said finally. "You know that, right? It's not about you. She's going through something we can't even imagine. Living as someone she's not, with a father who..." He trailed off, shaking his head. "She's in survival mode. Seeing us probably reminded her of everything she's lost. That's not your fault."
"Feels like my fault."
"I know." Sam leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "But it's not. And beating yourself up about it—drinking yourself stupid at some bar—that's not going to help her. Or you."
"So what do I do?" Dani asked, her voice small. "Do we just... leave?"
Sam looked at her for a long moment. "Is that what you want to do?"
"I don't know," she admitted. "Part of me wants to run back to California and pretend this never happened. But the other part..." She swallowed hard. "I didn't come all this way just to give up because it got hard."
"It's more than hard, Dani. It's impossible. We can't just take her. She's still a minor. Her dad has custody. If we try anything, we go to jail and she goes right back to him, probably worse off than before."
"I know," Dani said miserably. "Jess already gave me that lecture."
"Then what's the plan? We stay here and watch from the sidelines? Wait for her to turn eighteen in a few months and hope she still wants anything to do with us?"
"I don't know!" The words came out sharper than she intended. "I don't have a plan, Sam. I never had a plan beyond finding her. I just... I thought love would be enough. I thought if she knew we were here, if she knew we never stopped looking, that would matter."
"It does matter," Sam said gently. "But it's not enough to save her. Not right now."
Dani felt tears prickling at her eyes. She blinked them back furiously. "So we just leave her here to suffer?"
"No," Sam said. "We stay. We give her time. We let her know we're here if she needs us. But we also have to accept that she might not be ready. She might not reach out. And we have to be okay with that."
"I'm not okay with that."
"I know." Sam reached over and squeezed her shoulder. "But we don't have a choice. Not unless you want to make things worse for her."
Dani picked up her phone again, staring at the message from Jess's aunt. "Jess's aunt has an apartment. Four hundred a month."
Sam raised his eyebrows. "That's... actually not terrible for an apartment."
"It means staying," Dani said. "Really staying. Not just camping out in a motel room for a few days."
"Would that be so bad?"
"I don't know. Would it? I'm throwing away everything Sofia did for me. I'm keeping you here when you should be finishing school. We're running out of money. And for what? To sit in this town and hope Laurel texts me back?" She laughed bitterly. "It's pathetic."
"It's not pathetic," Sam said firmly. "It's loyal. Maybe stupid, maybe reckless, but not pathetic. You love her. That's not something to be ashamed of."
"Even if she doesn't love me back anymore?"
Sam was quiet for a moment. "I don't think that's true," he said finally. "I think she's scared. I think she's broken. But I don't think she stopped loving you."
Dani wanted to believe that. God, she wanted to believe that so badly. But the memory of Laurel's face on that sidewalk—the horror, the shame, the desperate need to escape—made it hard.
"What would you do?" she asked. "If you were me?"
Sam considered the question. "Honestly? I'd probably stay. Not forever. But long enough to know for sure. Long enough to give her a chance to reach out, if she wants to." He paused. "But I'm not you. And I'm not the one who's in love with her…. And I'm not the one who got shitfaced last night and made out with a stranger.”
Dani's face went hot. "I didn't—we didn't—"
"You did," Sam said, but there was no judgment in his voice. "The bartender mentioned it when I picked you up. Said you and some girl were getting pretty cozy in the corner booth."
Dani buried her face in her hands. "Oh god."
"It's okay," Sam said. "You're allowed to be human, Dani. You're allowed to be messy and make mistakes. You don't have to be perfect."
"I feel like shit about it."
"I know. But maybe..." Sam hesitated. "Maybe that's a sign. Maybe you're holding on so tight to this idea of Laurel that you're not letting yourself actually live. You're eighteen years old, Dani. You've spent the last year in limbo, searching for someone who might not want to be found. At some point, you have to ask yourself if this is healthy."
The words stung because they were true. Dani had put her entire life on hold for this.
"I know it's not healthy," Dani said quietly. "But I don't know how to stop. I don't know how to just... move on when I know she's suffering."
"You don't have to move on," Sam said. "But you do have to decide if you're staying for her, or if you're staying because you can't let go of who you used to be."
The question hit like a punch to the gut.
Before Dani could respond, her phone buzzed again. This time it was Jess.
CaptainJessSparrow: Hey. I talked to Laurel last night. She's doing a little better. I think. She got her dad to sign the permission slip for Winter Guard.
CaptainJessSparrow: I know she's not ready to see you yet. But I wanted you to know she's still fighting.
CaptainJessSparrow: Also, did you get my aunt's message about the apartment?
Dani stared at the texts. Laurel got her dad to sign the permission slip. That meant she was still in guard. Still performing. Still holding onto the one thing that made her feel like herself.
She's still fighting.
Dani made a decision.
She typed out a response to Jess's aunt first.
Dani: Hi Margaret. Yes, I'd love to see the apartment. When can I come by?
Then she texted Jess back.
Dani: Tell her I'm proud of her. Tell her I'm staying. Tell her I'll be here when she's ready.
She looked up at Sam, who was watching her with a mixture of concern and resignation.
"We're staying?" he asked.
"We're staying," Dani confirmed. "Not forever. But for now. I need to know I did everything I could."
Sam nodded slowly. "Okay. Then we need to get our shit together. Find jobs. Get that apartment. Actually figure out how to survive here."
"I know."
"And you need to not do what you did last night again.”
"I know that too."
"And maybe..." Sam hesitated. "Maybe you need to accept that even if we stay, even if we're here for her, Laurel might not come back to us. She might never be the person you remember."
Dani's throat tightened. "I know," she whispered. "But I have to try.”
Laurel Melody Parker, October 19th 2018, Laurel, Montana
When had she fallen asleep? She startled up, looking for the journal that had fallen off her chest onto the floor. The bedside lamp was still on and it was the only light in the room. It was still pitch black outside, a consequence of Laurel’s habit of wanting to leave before seeing Derrick. She grabbed her phone and noticed the time 3:57 am.
The dream—no, the memory—clung to her like spider webs. Richard's clinical discussions about her "biological identity." The slow, creeping horror of feeling her body betray her as the hormones left her system. The absolute powerlessness of being sixteen and utterly at the mercy of people who saw her existence as a problem to be solved.
She sat up slowly, her body aching from the awkward position she'd slept in. The permission slip for Winter Guard was still in her bag, signed by Derrick's grudging hand. Such a small thing, but it felt like a miracle after everything. After the months of living in Richard's condo, after the slow, grinding process of forgetting herself into survival.
Her phone buzzed softly. A text from Ashton.
SmashinAshton: Can't sleep either?
She stared at the message for a long moment, surprised by how much relief it brought her. Someone else was awake at 3:47 in the morning. Someone else was thinking about her.
ML: Bad dreams
SmashinAshton: About?
>LaurelLore changed her username to LaurelLore<
LaurelLore: Hey look i forgot to change my username
SmashinAshton: You didn't answer my question
LaurelLore: Ah right
LaurelLore: Just a nightmare, nothing to worry abt
SmashinAshton: You're doing okay now though?
LaurelLore: I'm doing my best
LaurelLore: I'm gonna grab some water then go back to bed.
LaurelLore: Goodnight ash
SmashinAshton: Goodnight Laurel
SmashinAshton: See you tonight
When she woke up again, she reached over to her lamp and turned it on, the light pierced her vision. The first thing she saw was her undrank water that she grabbed. She sighed before taking a sip. Friday. Senior Night. The last home game, the last time she'd perform this show, the last time she'd stand under those lights and feel like herself, at least until Winter Guard started.
The day passed in the usual blur of classes and avoidance. She ate lunch in the library, did her best to become invisible in the hallways, ignored the whispers that seemed to follow her everywhere she went. Ana Yankowski shot her a particularly venomous look in the hallway, but Laurel was too over it to care. Let Ana have her petty cruelties. Tonight, Laurel would be on the field, and Ana would be cheering from the sidelines for a football team that may very well be on it's last game.
After school, she stopped by Miss Vick's office to turn in the permission slip. Miss Vick looked at it for a long moment, then at Laurel.
"How did you manage this?" she asked.
"I asked nicely," Laurel said.
Miss Vick raised an eyebrow but didn't push. "Winter Guard starts the Monday after Thanksgiving. Practices will be Tuesday and Thursday evenings, six to eight. Competitions most Saturdays from January through April. It's a big commitment."
"I know."
She arrived at the stadium early, sitting on the bleachers, hands tucked into her hoodie pockets. The field was empty except for the grounds crew marking the yard lines, their breath visible in the cold October air. The forecast called for freezing rain tomorrow, but they'd be in Spokane by then. One more performance. One more chance to be herself under the lights.
Except tonight wouldn't be like that. Tonight, Derrick would be in the stands. Tonight, she'd have to perform as Montana—no makeup, men's uniform, the careful mask she'd been wearing for months. Tomorrow in Spokane, she could be Laurel again. Tomorrow, she wanted to wear the women's uniform and feel like herself. But tonight was about survival.
She pulled out her phone, scrolling mindlessly through nothing in particular. The weight of Senior Night pressed down on her. This was supposed to be a celebration, a milestone. Instead, it felt like another performance, another lie she had to maintain.
A memory surfaced, unbidden: her first Senior Night back in California, at Marisol Heights High. She'd been an 8th grader then in the color guard, watching the senior guard members get called out one by one, including Dani's sister Sofia, their families cheering from the stands. April had been there, beaming with pride even though it wasn't Laurel's night yet. Dani had sat next to her in the bleachers, their hands intertwined, planning what Laurel's Senior Night would be like.
"I'm going to make the biggest sign," Dani had declared. "Like, embarrassingly big. With glitter."
"Please don't," Laurel had laughed.
"Too late. I'm already planning it."
But there would be no glitter sign tonight. No April in the stands with tears of pride. No Dani holding her hand. Just Derrick, arms crossed, watching his son perform in something he'd never understand.
"Hey."
Laurel looked up to find Jess standing there, guard bag over her shoulder, her blonde hair pulled into a high ponytail. Despite everything that had happened between them, the sight of her brought a wave of relief.
"Hey," Laurel said.
"Ready for tonight?" Jess asked, sitting down beside her.
"Not really."
"Me neither." Jess was quiet for a moment. "It's weird, you know? Last home game. Last time performing this show here. Last Senior Night. I keep thinking I should feel more... I don't know, sentimental about it."
"And you don't?"
"I feel stressed," Jess admitted. "I keep running through the choreography in my head, making sure I remember every count. It's like my brain won't let me just enjoy it."
Laurel understood that. The need to control something, anything, when everything else felt like chaos.
"My mom keeps asking if I'm excited," Jess continued, picking at a loose thread on her guard jacket. "Like, she wants me to be all emotional and nostalgic. But mostly I just feel... tired? Is that bad?"
"I don't think so," Laurel said. "I think it's honest."
Jess glanced at her, something soft in her expression. "How are you doing? Really?"
"I'm here," Laurel said. It was the best answer she could give.
"That counts for something." Jess stood up, offering her hand. "Come on. Let's get to the band room. I want to help you get ready."
Inside the band room, the familiar chaos of pre-game preparation was already underway. Instruments being assembled, uniforms being adjusted, the overlapping voices of eighty students all trying to get ready at once. The percussion section was testing their drums in the corner, creating a rhythmic thunder that vibrated through the floor. Brass players ran scales, the discordant warm-up notes blending into a metallic symphony. The energy was electric, nervous, the particular kind of controlled chaos that happened before every performance.
Jess led Laurel through the crowd to a quieter corner near the instrument storage, past the tuba section and the clarinet players frantically oiling their reeds. A few underclassmen waved at them as they passed. Chase was already there, stretching against the wall, his blonde hair perfectly styled for the impending performance.
"Ladies," he said with a grin. "...And Montana. Ready for the big night?"
"Born ready," Jess replied, but there was a tightness around her eyes.
"Sit," Jess commanded Laurel, gesturing to a folding chair someone had left near the equipment lockers.
"Jess—"
"I know your dad's going to be here," Jess said quietly, positioning herself so her back was to the rest of the band room, creating a small pocket of privacy. "I know you can't do the full makeup. But that doesn't mean I can't make you look good. Trust me?"
Laurel sat, her stomach knotting. The vulnerability of letting Jess this close again, of accepting her help after everything, felt overwhelming. But she nodded.
Jess pulled out her small makeup kit—the same one she'd used on the bus rides, the same one that had helped Laurel feel like herself even in small ways. But tonight was different. Tonight, Jess worked carefully, subtly. She started with primer, her touch gentle and practiced.
"Close your eyes," Jess murmured.
Laurel obeyed, feeling the softness as Jess worked against her skin. Jess worked in silence, occasionally stepping back to examine her work, then leaning in again. Just a little concealer to hide the dark circles that had become permanent fixtures under Laurel's eyes. Only a touch to even out her skin tone, to hide the imperfections that came from not eating enough, from not sleeping well. Nothing dramatic, nothing that would read as makeup to casual observation, but enough to make Laurel feel a little more put together, a little more human.
"Your skin's really dry," Jess observed quietly. "Are you moisturizing?"
"Sometimes," Laurel admitted.
"That means no." Jess pulled out a small container of tinted lip balm. "This'll help. And it's subtle enough that nobody will notice."
"You're really good at this," Laurel said as Jess applied it with careful precision.
"I've had practice." Jess stepped back, examining her work with a critical eye, but Laurel suspected that this might just be an excuse for Jess to stare at her lips. "My mom used to do theater makeup. She taught me some tricks." She made one final adjustment, smoothing a stray hair back into place. "There. You look good. Tired, but good."
"Thanks," Laurel said, her voice soft. She wanted to say more, wanted to thank Jess for still being here, for still caring even after Laurel had been so cruel to her. But the words stuck in her throat.
Jess seemed to understand anyway. She squeezed Laurel's shoulder gently. "Come on. Let's get changed."
They got into their uniforms—Laurel in the men's version with the pants and vest, Jess in the women's bodysuit. The locker room was cramped and chaotic, girls changing quickly while trying to maintain some semblance of modesty. Charlotte was struggling with her zipper, and Hannah helped her while Zoey touched up her mascara in a small compact mirror.
Laurel changed in the corner with the boys, moving quickly, keeping her eyes down. The men's uniform felt wrong, as it always did. The pants hung differently than the bodysuit would have. The vest was boxy and shapeless. But tomorrow—tomorrow she wanted to wear the right one. Tomorrow in Spokane, Derrick wouldn't be there to see.
The contrast between what she was wearing and what Jess wore was painful, but Laurel pushed the feeling down. One more night. She could do this for one more night.
She caught sight of herself in the mirror, the subtle makeup Jess had applied did help, made her look less like a ghost. But the uniform... the uniform was all wrong. She looked away quickly, focusing on adjusting her gloves, on making sure her flag was properly secured.
"You okay?" Evelyn asked, appearing beside her. She was already in her uniform, her dark hair pulled back in a sleek bun.
"Yeah," Laurel said automatically.
Evelyn studied her for a moment. "You know, for what it's worth, I think it's bullshit that you can't just wear what you want. It's because of your dad right?"
Laurel's head snapped up, surprise flickering across her face.
Evelyn was taken aback. “Did I say something wrong?”
Laurel shook her head. “No it's just surprising is all.”
“Hey, what are friends for? I complain about my parents all the time.” She squeezed Laurel's shoulder. “You're gonna do great and if you need to spin in something more scandalous I have a backyard M.”
“M?” Laurel responded quizzically.
“Yeah it's a cute nickname for you” Evelyn said with a smile before stepping away.
They gathered their equipment and headed out to the main band room. Drake Martinez was waiting there, leaning against the wall with his characteristic quiet intensity. As Laurel passed, he straightened up and fell into step beside her.
Without a word, he pressed a twenty-dollar bill into Laurel's hand.
"What—" Laurel started.
"For food," Drake said simply, his voice low enough that others wouldn't hear. "I noticed in the locker room the other day. You're getting too skinny. Take care of yourself."
Laurel stared at him, momentarily speechless. Drake had always been quiet, keeping to himself, one of only three, technically two, boys in the color guard. She hadn't thought he'd been paying attention to her at all.
"Drake, I can't—"
"Yes, you can," he said firmly. "Consider it a loan if it makes you feel better. But please, Montana. Eat something. You're one of our best performers. We need you healthy."
Before Laurel could respond, he was gone, disappearing back into the crowd of students gathering their instruments. She stared at the money in her hand, unexpected tears pricking her eyes. She'd been so focused on just surviving that she hadn't realized other people were noticing. Other people were worried.
"He's right, you know," Jess said gently, appearing at her shoulder. "You need to eat."
"I know," Laurel whispered, pocketing the money. "I'm trying."
"Try harder," Jess said, but there was no judgment in her voice. Just concern. "Please.”
They headed out to the stadium together, joining the rest of the band and guard in the bleachers. The evening air was sharp and cold, autumn giving way to the threat of winter. The sun was already sinking toward the mountains, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink that seemed too beautiful for how Laurel felt inside.
The stands were already filling up—students, parents, alumni. Senior Night always drew a crowd, but tonight seemed especially packed. Every seat in the home bleachers was filling fast, and people were starting to spill into the visitor section. Laurel High football was one of the few things this town still cared about, one of the few sources of pride in a community that had seen better days.
They'd won a state championship when Laurel was ten, when she'd come with Derrick and pretended to care about the game just to make him happy. She remembered the roar of the crowd, the way Derrick's face had lit up with pride as the final seconds ticked down. She remembered him lifting her—still small then, still young enough that he could—and spinning her around, shouting about Montana pride. She'd forced herself to smile, to share in his joy, even though all she'd wanted was to go play with Ashton.
Tonight, she scanned the stands and spotted him in his usual section, about ten rows up on the forty-yard line. Arms crossed, watching the field with that familiar intensity. Ron was next to him, Derrick's brother, along with a few other Payton relatives. Her stomach twisted.
The football team took the field for warm-ups, and Laurel's eyes immediately found Ashton. He was easy to spot—tall, confident, moving with that effortless athleticism that made everything look easy. Number 17, wide receiver, his purple and pewter uniform pristine in the fading light. He was running routes, catching passes from Brett Cole with practiced precision.
He glanced up at the band section and their eyes met across the distance. Even from here, Laurel could see the concern in his expression. He gave her a small nod, and she felt something in her chest ease slightly. Ashton knew. Ashton understood, at least a little bit. And he was still here.
Jess's phone buzzed. She pulled it out, read the message, and her expression shifted—surprise, concern, uncertainty.
"What?" Laurel asked.
"It's Dani," Jess said carefully, turning her phone so Laurel couldn't see the screen. "She and Sam finished moving into the apartment today. She's... she's here. At the game. She's asking if you want to see her."
Laurel's breath caught. Dani was here. Right now. Somewhere in this stadium. Probably in the stands, watching, waiting, hoping.
The panic that flooded through her was immediate and overwhelming. Not here. Not now. Not like this, in this uniform, with Derrick ten rows up and a hundred eyes watching.
"I..." Laurel looked around at the packed bleachers, at the football field, at the familiar chaos of a Friday night game. Her heart was racing, her palms sweating inside her gloves. "I just want to have fun tonight," she said finally, and she could hear the desperation in her own voice. "I want to spin and perform and hang out with you guys. I want to have a great performance and spend time with the guard. This is one of our last times together until Winter Guard starts. I'm not ready to see her yet."
It felt like a betrayal even as she said it. Dani had traveled hundreds of miles to find her. Dani was staying in this horrible town, giving up her life in California, all for Laurel. And Laurel was hiding from her.
But she couldn't do it. Not tonight. Not when she was already holding herself together with tape and prayers.
Jess nodded, understanding in her eyes. She texted back quickly, her thumbs moving over the screen with practiced speed. "Okay. She gets it. She says she's proud of you for getting the permission slip signed. She says she'll be here when you're ready."
The words made Laurel's throat tighten. She blinked back tears, forcing herself to focus on the field, on the here and now.
The game started, the cold air biting at their faces as the sun began to set. The forecast called for freezing rain tomorrow, but tonight was clear—cold and sharp and perfect for football. The lights clicked on, flooding the field with that particular harsh white glow that made everything feel both more real and less real at the same time.
Laurel tried to focus on the present, on the band playing stand tunes, on the easy chatter of her teammates around her. The fight song echoed across the stadium as Laurel High received the opening kickoff. The crowd roared. The smell of popcorn and hot dogs wafted up from the concession stand. It was all so achingly normal.
Chase was explaining an elaborate new toss he wanted to try in Winter Guard, something involving a triple and a body roll that sounded either incredible or disastrous. Evelyn was debating with Charlotte about the merits of different flag colors for their winter show.
Hannah and Zoey were rating the football players on a scale of one to ten, much to Drake's quiet amusement. He sat with his headphones around his neck, shaking his head at their commentary but smiling despite himself.
"Okay, Brett Cole," Hannah declared. "Solid eight. Good face, great arm, but his personality is trash."
"Agreed," Zoey said. "Kyle Morrison?"
"Six. Maybe seven if you squint."
"What do you think, Montana?" Hannah asked, turning to Laurel with a mischievous grin. "Is Ashton Brooks a solid nine or a full ten?"
Laurel felt her face heat, warmth creeping up her neck despite the cold. "I think you should focus on the game."
"That's not an answer!" Zoey teased.
"He's a ten," Jess supplied helpfully, a knowing smile playing at her lips. "Obviously. I mean, look at him. But they definitely think he's a ten” Jess said, elbowing Laurel.
They all turned to watch as Ashton caught a pass on the sideline, his long legs eating up the yards before he was pushed out of bounds. Even from here, Laurel could see the grace in his movements, the controlled power.
"Okay, yeah, ten," Hannah conceded. "Definitely a ten."
The easy teasing, the normal teenage banter—it felt good. It felt like she could breathe. For a few hours, she could almost forget the weight of everything else. She could almost pretend she was just another high school senior at a football game, gossiping with friends, waiting to perform.
The first quarter passed quickly. Laurel High was up 7-0 on a touchdown pass from Brett to one of the senior running backs. The band played, the crowd cheered, and Laurel let herself get lost in the rhythm of it all.
During the break between first and second quarter, Miss Vick appeared at their section, clipboard in hand, her purple-streaked hair pulled back in her usual messy bun.
"All right, guard," she called out. "Quick check-in. Everyone have their equipment? Gloves? Water?"
A chorus of affirmative responses.
"Good. We're performing at halftime as usual, but tonight's special. Senior recognition happens right before. Montana, Jess, Evelyn—you three will line up on the track with your parents. They'll announce your names, your plans for next year, and then you run out to join the formation. Clear?"
Laurel's stomach dropped. She'd forgotten about that part. The senior recognition meant standing on the track with Derrick. Being announced as Montana Lee Payton. Having her "plans for next year" broadcast to the entire stadium when she had no idea what those plans even were.
"Clear," she managed.
Miss Vick studied her for a moment, and Laurel had the uncomfortable feeling that the instructor could see right through her careful mask. But Miss Vick just nodded and moved on to check on the band seniors.
"You okay?" Jess asked quietly.
"Just nervous," Laurel said. It was true enough.
"Your dad knows he has to come down to the track, right?"
"I texted him earlier. He knows."
The second quarter started. Laurel tried to focus on the game, on anything but the growing knot of anxiety in her stomach. Ashton caught another pass, this one for a first down, and the crowd erupted. She watched him jog back to the huddle, watched the easy confidence in his movements, and felt a pang of longing for that kind of sureness, that kind of comfort in his own skin.
Halftime approached. The band began gathering their instruments, the guard collecting flags and equipment. Laurel's hands were shaking as she picked up her flag, the familiar weight usually comforting but tonight just adding to her anxiety.
Dani Rivera, October 19th 2018, Laurel, Montana
The stadium was packed, the bleachers vibrating with the energy of a small town that lived for Friday night football. Dani wandered through the concourse, hands shoved in her jacket pockets, feeling utterly out of place. She'd never been much for football—had always found the culture around it exhausting and performative. But this was where Laurel was, so here she was.
The smell of the concession stand, popcorn, grease, something sweet, made her stomach turn. Or maybe that was just the anxiety. She'd been running on nervous energy for days now, ever since the encounter on the sidewalk, ever since Laurel had looked at her and run.
Sam had stayed back at the apartment, exhausted from a day of moving their meager possessions from the motel to Margaret's studio. It was tiny—barely bigger than a motel room, honestly—but it was theirs. A place to stay. A foothold. The rent was due at the beginning of December, and Dani had no idea how they'd make it, but that was a problem for future Dani.
Present Dani was focused on one thing: getting a glimpse of Laurel.
She checked her phone. Jess had texted back: She's not ready yet. But she's doing okay. Give her time.
Give her time. Right. Dani could do that. She'd been doing that for a year now. What was a little longer?
She bought a hot chocolate from the concession stand; overpriced and watery, but at least it was warm, and found a spot near the student section where she could watch without being too obvious. The stands were a sea of purple and pewter, face paint and spirit gear, teenagers screaming themselves hoarse over a game that would be forgotten by Monday.
Somewhere in those bleachers, Laurel was sitting with her team, preparing to perform. Dani wanted to see her, even from a distance. Just to know she was real. Just to confirm that the girl on the sidewalk hadn't been a ghost, hadn't been a figment of Dani's desperate imagination.
The crowd surged as the football team scored, and Dani got jostled, her hot chocolate sloshing dangerously. She stepped back to avoid the crush and bumped hard into someone behind her.
"Shit, sorry—" Dani started, turning around.
The girl she'd collided with turned around, and Dani's stomach dropped.
It was her. The girl from last night. The one from the bar, the one with the blonde hair and the sharp smile, the one Dani had made out with in a desperate attempt to feel something other than heartbreak.
The girl's face went pale, then red, her eyes widening in what looked like genuine panic. "Dani," she said, her voice tight, barely audible over the roar of the crowd. "No fucking way. Please tell me you don't go here."
"I don't," Dani said quickly, raising her hands in a placating gesture. "I'm just—I'm visiting."
The girl looked around nervously, her cheerleading jacket bright against the crush of students in regular clothes. Her gaze darted from face to face, checking to see if anyone was watching them. "We need to talk. Now."
Dani let herself be grabbed by the arm, let herself be dragged through the concourse, past the bathrooms and the ticket booth, toward the edge of the complex. The girl's grip was tight, almost painful, her perfectly manicured nails digging in even through Dani's jacket.
They ended up in the smoking section outside the main gate—a fenced-off area where a handful of adults were huddled against the cold, cigarettes glowing in the dark like fireflies. The smell of tobacco smoke mixed with the crisp October air. A few of the smokers glanced at them with mild curiosity before returning to their own conversations.
The girl released Dani's arm and crossed her own, her cheerleading jacket bright against the shadows. Her breath came out in quick, visible puffs. Up close, in the harsh overhead lights of the parking lot, she looked different from last night. Younger. More vulnerable. The confidence she'd had in the dark bar was gone, replaced by barely controlled panic.
"Okay," the girl said, her voice low and urgent, eyes scanning the area to make sure no one was paying attention to them. "You can't tell anyone about last night. Nobody. Do you understand?"
"I wasn't planning to," Dani said, genuinely confused. "Why would I—"
"Because I'm not—" The girl stopped, frustration flickering across her face. She ran a hand through her hair, messing up the perfect cheerleader waves. "Look, last night was a mistake. I was drunk, you were drunk, it didn't mean anything."
"Okay," Dani said slowly, trying to keep her voice calm and non-threatening. "I get that. I'm not trying to make it into something it wasn't."
The girl relaxed slightly, her shoulders dropping from their defensive hunch. "Good. Because if anyone found out... if certain people found out..." She shook her head, and Dani saw something like fear in her eyes. "It would be bad."
"Are you not out?" Dani asked gently, though she already knew the answer. She'd met so many girls like this, girls who experimented in secret, who needed the darkness and the alcohol to let themselves feel what they felt.
"I'm not anything," the girl said sharply, but there was a tremor in her voice that belied the firmness of her words. "I'm not gay. I was just... experimenting. It was one time."
Dani had heard this before, had been on the receiving end of this particular brand of denial more times than she cared to count. It still stung. It always stung. But she understood it too. She'd been there once before too.
"Okay," she said softly. "Your secret's safe with me. I don't even remember your name."
The girl hesitated, studying Dani's face as if trying to determine whether she could be trusted. "Ana. Ana Yankowski."
The name didn't mean anything to Dani. She filed it away anyway. "I'm Dani Rivera. And for what it's worth, I'm sorry if I made things complicated for you."
Ana's expression softened slightly, some of the panic draining away. "You didn't. I made things complicated for myself." She pulled out a pack of cigarettes from her jacket pocket, offered one to Dani. Dani nodded and took one. Ana lit one for herself, then lit Dani’s, took a long drag, the cherry glowing bright in the darkness. "How old are you, anyway? You had a fake ID at the bar."
"Eighteen," Dani admitted. "You?"
"Eighteen." Ana laughed, but there was no humor in it, just a bitter edge. "So we're both idiots who could've gotten in serious trouble."
"Pretty much."
They stood in awkward silence for a moment, the sounds of the game drifting over the fence—cheers, the marching band playing something upbeat, the announcer's muffled voice. Ana smoked, her movements sharp and nervous, taking quick, shallow drags like she was trying to calm herself.
"Look," Ana said finally, stubbing out the cigarette even though it was only half-smoked, "there's a party tonight. After the game. Brett Cole's house—he's the quarterback. You should come."
Dani raised an eyebrow. "Why?"
"Because I feel bad about freaking out on you," Ana said, not quite meeting Dani's eyes. "And because if you're at the party, I can keep an eye on you. Make sure you don't accidentally say something to the wrong person."
"I already said I wouldn't tell anyone."
"I know. But humor me." Ana took another drag, held it, then exhaled slowly. "Besides, you said you're visiting. What else are you going to do in this shithole town on a Saturday night?"
Dani couldn't argue with that logic. And truthfully, the idea of sitting alone in that tiny apartment while Sam worked a shift at the gas station, under the table, sounded depressing.
"Okay," Dani said. "I'll come. But I'm not drinking."
"Fair." Ana pulled out her phone, the screen lighting up her face in the darkness. "Give me your number. I'll text you the address."
They exchanged numbers, Ana's fingers moving quickly over the screen. Dani noticed the phone case—expensive, designer, covered in stickers from places Ana had probably never been to.
"I should get back," Ana said, pocketing her phone and the cigarette pack. "Cheer squad's performing… Can't miss that."
"Wait," Dani said. "Can I ask you something? You don't have to answer."
Ana's guard went back up immediately, her shoulders tensing. "What?"
"Why were you at that bar last night? If you're so worried about being seen?"
Ana was quiet for a long moment, staring out at the parking lot, at the stream of cars still arriving for the game. "Because sometimes I need to be someone else," she said finally, her voice softer now, almost vulnerable. "Someone who's not Ana Yankowski, cheer captain, perfect daughter, straight-A student, future prom queen. Someone who can just... exist without all the expectations." She looked at Dani, really looked at her, and in that moment Dani saw past the perfect hair and the cheerleader smile to something raw underneath. "You get that, right?"
"Yeah," Dani said softly. "I get that."
Ana nodded, and for a second they were just two girls who understood each other, who were both trying to survive in different ways. Then the moment passed, and Ana's walls went back up.
"Hey, Dani?" she said, pausing at the gate. "Why are you here? In Laurel, I mean. You said you're visiting, but... nobody visits Laurel. This place is where people leave from, not come to."
Dani's throat tightened. She looked out at the stadium, at the lights glowing against the dark Montana sky, at the mountains looming in the distance. "I'm looking for someone. A girl I used to know. Her name's Laurel."
Ana's expression flickered with something—recognition? Surprise? But it was gone too quickly for Dani to be sure. Her face went carefully neutral, almost too neutral. "Laurel," she repeated. "At Laurel High, that's funny."
"Yeah," Dani said, watching Ana carefully. "Do you know her?"
"Maybe," Ana said slowly, and Dani's heart leaped. "But if I did, I'd tell you that person probably has their reasons for not wanting to be found. Sometimes the kindest thing you can do for someone is let them go."
The words stung, but before Dani could respond, Ana was turning away. "Good luck with that," she said, and then she was gone, disappearing back into the crowd, the metal gate clanging shut behind her.
Dani stood in the smoking section for a moment longer, finishing her cigarette trying to process what had just happened. Ana knew something. Dani was sure of it. The way she'd reacted to Laurel's name, the careful neutrality of her expression, it wasn't the blank confusion of someone who'd never heard the name before.
Her phone buzzed.
Unknown Number: This is Ana. Party's at 9pm. 2847 Windcrest Drive. Don't be late. And don't mention you know me if anyone asks.
Dani pocketed her phone and headed back toward the stadium. The halftime show was about to start, and somewhere down on that field, Laurel would be performing. Dani needed to see her, needed to confirm that she was real, that she was still fighting.
She found a spot in the shadows of the visitor bleachers where she could watch without being obvious. The visitor section was less crowded, filled mostly with parents and students from the opposing team. Dani tucked herself into a corner, pulling her jacket tighter against the cold, and waited.
The band marched onto the field first, a sea of purple and pewter under the harsh white lights. Then came the color guard, nine figures in shimmering uniforms carrying flags and equipment. Even from a distance, Dani could pick Laurel out—the way she moved, the set of her shoulders, the familiar grace that had always made Dani's heart skip.
But something was different. Laurel was in the men's uniform—pants and a vest instead of the bodysuit the other girls wore. And even from this distance, Dani could see the tension in her body, the way she held herself like she was trying to disappear, trying to make herself smaller.
The announcer's voice crackled over the PA system, introducing the senior guard members. Dani listened, her heart pounding.
"And finally, Montana Lee Payton, son of Derrick Payton. Montana's plans for next year are still undecided."
Montana. Right. She couldn't be Laurel here.
The name felt like a punch to the gut. Dani watched as Laurel ran out onto the field, taking her position in the formation. She looked so small under those lights, so alone, even surrounded by her team.
The music started "My Body is a Cage" and Laurel began to spin.
And despite everything—despite the wrong name, the wrong uniform, the wrongness of seeing her like this—Dani saw her. Not Montana, not the broken shell of a person hiding in baggy clothes. She saw Laurel, fierce and beautiful and fighting like hell to exist.
The flag spun, a blur of black and gold. Laurel moved through the formations with a precision that spoke of hours of practice, of muscle memory, of finding a way to be herself even when everything else was stripped away. The rifle toss, the synchronized movements with the other guard members, the final pose—it was all breathtaking.
The performance ended. The crowd erupted in applause. The guard members broke formation and began gathering their equipment, and Dani watched as Laurel's teammate—a blonde girl in the women's uniform, it was Jess—grabbed her arm, saying something that made Laurel smile. A real smile, small but genuine.
At least she had that. At least she had friends, a team, something that made her feel human.
Dani stood in the shadows, tears streaming down her face, her breath forming white clouds in the cold air. She whispered into the Montana night, her voice barely audible even to herself:
"I'm still here. I'm not going anywhere."
…
The house at 2847 Windcrest Drive was one of those sprawling McMansions that spoke of old money in a dying town—all brick facade and manicured lawn, the kind of place that stood in stark contrast to the boarded-up storefronts on Main Street. Cars lined both sides of the street, bass thumping from inside, visible even from where Dani had parked three houses down.
She sat in the Saturn, engine off, hands gripping the steering wheel. Her phone displayed 9:47 PM. She was late. Fashionably late, she'd told herself when she'd spent an extra twenty minutes getting ready back at the apartment, but really it was just fear.
Sam had given her a look when she'd announced she was going out. "You sure that's a good idea?" he'd asked, lounging on their secondhand futon, his laptop open to job listings.
"It's just a party."
"With the girl you hooked up with two nights ago? The one who freaked out about it?"
"She invited me," Dani had said, pulling on her leather jacket—the one nice thing she'd managed to keep from her old life. "It's... I don't know. A peace offering or something."
"Or a trap."
"You're paranoid."
"I'm realistic." Sam had closed his laptop, his expression serious. "Dani, you promised me you wouldn't spiral. You promised you'd take care of yourself."
"I'm going to a party, not a war zone."
"In a town where you don't know anyone except the girl you're in love with who won't see you, and another girl you made out with in a bar." Sam had stood up, crossing his arms. "Just... be careful, okay? And don't drink. You know what happens when you drink."
Dani had promised. She'd meant it, too.
But now, sitting in the car, watching teenagers stream in and out of Brett Cole's house like ants at a picnic, she was already second-guessing everything. What was she even doing here? She didn't know these people. She didn't care about high school parties or football players or fitting in with a crowd that would probably hate her if they knew the truth.
Except Ana knew the truth. At least part of it. And Ana had still invited her.
Dani checked her reflection in the rearview mirror. She'd kept it simple—black jeans, white t-shirt, the leather jacket. Just enough eyeliner to look intentional. Her dark hair was down, falling past her shoulders in waves she'd actually bothered to brush for once. She looked... good. She knew she looked good. That wasn't arrogance; it was just observation.
Her phone buzzed.
Ana: Where are you? You coming or what?
Ana. Right.
Dani took a breath, grabbed her keys, and got out of the car before she could talk herself out of it.
The cold hit her immediately—Montana cold, the kind that bit through layers and settled in your bones. She could see her breath as she walked up the street, hands shoved in her pockets, trying to look more confident than she felt. The bass got louder with each step, some Top 40 song she half-recognized pounding through the walls of the house.
The front door was open, kids spilling out onto the porch despite the cold. Red solo cups everywhere. The smell of cheap beer and cheaper weed. A guy in a Laurel High letterman jacket was making out with a girl against the porch railing, both of them oblivious to everything else. Another group was laughing too loud about something that probably wasn't funny.
Dani slipped past them into the house.
The interior was chaos. Bodies everywhere, dancing, drinking, shouting conversations over the music. The living room furniture had been pushed against the walls to create a makeshift dance floor. In the kitchen, someone had set up a beer pong table. The air was hot and thick and smelled like sweat and alcohol and teenage desperation.
She scanned the crowd, looking for Ana's blonde hair, and—
"You made it."
Dani turned. Ana was there, appearing out of the crowd like a ghost, and she was... different. Not the panicked girl from outside the stadium. Not the confident stranger from the bar. Something in between. Her cheerleading jacket was gone, replaced by a tight black dress that left little to the imagination. Her hair was down, messy in that intentional way. Her makeup was heavier than it had been at the game. And her eyes were bright and unfocused in a way that meant she'd already been drinking.
"Hey," Dani said, raising her voice to be heard over the music.
"You're late," Ana said, but she was smiling. She grabbed Dani's arm, her grip a little too tight, a little too familiar. "Come on. I'll introduce you around."
"Ana, are you—"
"I'm fine," Ana said, pulling her deeper into the house. "I'm great, actually. It's a party. We're supposed to be having fun, right?"
Dani let herself be led through the crowd. Ana seemed to know everyone, throwing waves and smiles like confetti, occasionally stopping to hug someone or shout a greeting. She introduced Dani to a blur of faces—Brett, the quarterback, built like a tank and already drunk; Sarah, the head cheerleader, who gave Dani a cool, appraising look; Kyle, someone's ex-boyfriend; a dozen others whose names Dani immediately forgot.
"This is Dani," Ana kept saying. "She's visiting from California."
No one asked questions. No one seemed to care. Dani was just another face at the party, another body taking up space. It should have been a relief, but instead it felt hollow.
They ended up in the kitchen, Ana pressing a red solo cup into Dani's hand before Dani could protest.
"I'm not drinking," Dani said, trying to give it back.
"It's just beer," Ana said, her words slightly slurred. "Live a little."
"I'm serious—"
"Come on." Ana leaned in close, and Dani could smell the alcohol on her breath, sweet and chemical. "I invited you here. The least you can do is have one drink with me. Consider it... an apology. For freaking out yesterday."
Dani hesitated. The cup was cold in her hand, condensation already forming on the cheap plastic. Just one drink. What harm could it do?
You know what happens when you drink, Sam's voice echoed in her head.
"One drink," Dani said.
Ana's smile widened, triumphant. "That's the spirit."
The beer tasted like water and regret, but Dani drank it anyway. Ana watched her with those bright, unfocused eyes, her own cup already half-empty. Around them, the party pulsed and breathed, a living thing made of noise and heat and bad decisions.
"So," Ana said, leaning against the counter, her hip cocked in a way that was definitely intentional. "How was your day? Did you find your girl?"
The question caught Dani off-guard. "What?"
"Laurel," Ana said, and there was something in her voice Dani couldn't quite read. "The girl you're looking for. Did you find her?"
"I..." Dani took another drink, buying time. "Sort of. It's complicated."
"Complicated how?"
"She doesn't want to see me."
Ana's expression shifted, something like sympathy flickering across her face. "That sucks."
"Yeah."
"Is she why you're here? In Laurel?"
"Yeah."
"Must be some girl," Ana said, and now there was something else in her voice. Jealousy? Curiosity? "To make you drive all the way to Montana for her."
"She is," Dani said quietly, and meant it.
They stood there for a moment, the party raging around them, both of them caught in their own private miseries. Then Ana drained her cup and grabbed Dani's hand.
"Enough sad talk," she declared. "We're at a party. Dance with me."
Before Dani could protest, Ana was pulling her toward the living room, toward the mass of bodies moving to some song Dani didn't recognize. The bass was so loud she could feel it in her chest, in her teeth. Ana spun around, her dress flaring out, and started moving to the beat, her body loose and uninhibited in a way that only came with alcohol.
Dani stood there awkwardly for a moment, her empty cup still in her hand, feeling very much like she didn't belong. But Ana grabbed her hips, pulling her closer, and suddenly they were dancing, or something approximating it. Ana's hands were on her waist, her body pressed close, and the music was too loud for thinking, too loud for anything but existing in the moment.
The song changed. Then another. Dani's cup disappeared somewhere, replaced by a new one that appeared in her hand like magic. When had that happened? Ana was laughing, saying something Dani couldn't hear over the music, her lips close to Dani's ear. The warmth of her breath sent shivers down Dani's spine.
Another drink. The room was getting warmer, the edges softer. Dani's jacket was gone—when had she taken that off? Ana's hands were in her hair now, and they were still dancing, but it felt less like dancing and more like something else, something dangerous and familiar.
"Having fun?" Ana shouted in her ear.
"Yeah," Dani shouted back, and realized she meant it. For the first time in days—weeks, maybe—she wasn't thinking about Laurel, wasn't drowning in guilt and longing and the weight of a year spent searching. She was just here, in this moment, with this girl who understood what it was like to hide.
Ana's lips brushed against her ear, and Dani's breath caught. "I'm glad you came," Ana whispered, and there was something in her voice that made Dani's stomach flip.
The music shifted again, something slower, sultrier. The lights seemed to dim, or maybe that was just Dani's vision swimming. How many drinks had she had? Two? Three? The numbers didn't seem to matter anymore. What mattered was the way Ana was looking at her, all walls down, all pretense gone.
"Ana—" Dani started, but Ana pressed a finger to her lips.
"Don't," Ana said. "Don't think. Just... be here. With me."
And god help her, Dani was tired of thinking. Tired of worrying. Tired of being the loyal, heartbroken ex chasing a ghost across state lines. She wanted to be someone else, even if just for a night. She wanted to be the girl in the leather jacket who went to parties and made out with beautiful cheerleaders and didn't care about consequences.
Ana's lips found hers, and Dani stopped fighting.
The kiss was different from the bar—less desperate, more deliberate. Ana tasted like beer and lip gloss and bad decisions, and Dani kissed her back like if she just held on tight enough she could forget about everything else. They stumbled backward, still kissing, until Ana's back hit the wall. Someone wolf-whistled. Someone else cheered. Dani didn't care.
Ana broke the kiss, breathing hard, her eyes dark and wanting. "Not here," she said, her voice rough. "Too many people."
"Where?" Dani asked, her own voice sounding foreign to her ears.
"Your car?" Ana suggested, already pulling Dani toward the door, their fingers intertwined.
Some distant part of Dani's brain was screaming warnings—this is a bad idea, you promised Sam, you promised yourself—but the alcohol and the heat and Ana's hand in hers were louder. They pushed through the crowd, past the beer pong table and the grinding couples and out into the cold October night.
The temperature drop was a shock, sobering in the worst way. Dani's jacket was still inside somewhere, and she was just in her t-shirt, goosebumps rising on her arms. But Ana was warm against her side, and they were walking fast, half-running down the street toward where Dani had parked.
"Which one?" Ana asked, and Dani pointed to the Saturn, that beat-up piece of shit that had carried her across three states and was probably on its last legs.
Dani fumbled with the keys, her hands shaking from cold or alcohol or anticipation. Finally got the door unlocked. Ana was already climbing into the backseat, and Dani followed, pulling the door shut behind them.
The car was cramped and cold, their breath fogging the windows immediately. But Ana was pulling her close, and they were kissing again, hands fumbling with fabric and skin. Ana's dress rode up. Dani's t-shirt came untucked. The windows fogged faster.
"Wait," Dani said, pulling back, some shred of conscience fighting through the haze. "Are you sure about this? You were drunk, you might—"
"I'm sure," Ana said, and she sounded more sober than she had all night. "I want this. I want you. Just... just for tonight. Can that be enough?"
It should have stung. It should have made Dani stop, made her remember why she was in this town in the first place. But she was drunk and lonely and Ana was here, warm and real and wanting her. So she nodded.
"Yeah," Dani whispered. "That can be enough."
The rest was a blur of heat and motion and the particular desperation of two people trying to outrun their own loneliness. Ana's dress came off. The backseat of the Saturn was too small, but they made it work.
“Fuck. I can't stop thinking about last night.” Ana breathed against Dani's mouth. Grinding into her while straddling her body. Dani's hands slid up her thighs, feeling goosebumps rise against her palm.
“I thought you said last night was a mistake.”
"It was," Ana said, but she was already tugging at Dani's t-shirt, pulling it up and over her head. "This is too. But I don't care right now.”
The cold air hit Dani's exposed skin, making her shiver, but Ana's hands were warm, sliding up her ribs, fingers tracing the edge of her bra. Dani arched into the touch, her own hands moving higher, gripping Ana as she bit into Dani's neck.
A moan escaped her lips, "You're so fucking hot," Ana panted, pulling Dani's face back up to kiss her again. "I hate that you're so hot."
"Hate it less," Dani managed between kisses, her hands moving to the button of her own jeans. "Help me get these off.”
Ana's hands were everywhere—cupping Dani's breasts, sliding down her sides, gripping her hips.
"I want to feel you," Ana whispered, shifting her position. "I want to feel you inside me.”
…
After, they lay tangled together in the cramped space, both breathing hard, the windows completely fogged. Ana's head was on Dani's shoulder, her blonde hair tickling Dani's neck. For a few minutes, neither of them spoke.
Finally, Ana sat up, reaching for her dress. "I should get back. People will notice."
"Yeah," Dani said, watching her get dressed in the dim light filtering in from the streetlamp.
Ana paused, her hand on the door handle. "This was—"
"I know," Dani said. "One time. It didn't mean anything."
Ana looked back at her, and in that moment, Dani saw something raw in her expression. "I didn't say it didn't mean anything."
"Ana—"
"I just said it was one time." She opened the door, letting in a rush of cold air. "Thanks, Dani. For understanding. For being... whatever this was."
"You're welcome?" Dani said, because what else was there to say?
Ana climbed out, smoothing down her dress, running her fingers through her hair. She looked back one more time. "Your girl, Laurel. I hope she comes around. I hope she sees what she's missing."
And then she was gone, walking back toward the party, leaving Dani alone in the cold car with the smell of her perfume and the weight of what they'd just done.
Dani sat there for a long time, slowly getting dressed, her hands shaking. The alcohol was wearing off now, replaced by a bone-deep exhaustion and a creeping sense of guilt. She'd promised Sam she wouldn't drink. She'd promised herself she'd stay focused on Laurel, on being there when Laurel was ready.
Instead, she'd just hooked up with a closeted cheerleader in the backseat of her car like she was starting high school again and hadn't learned any better.
“What am I doing here?”