2. A Ghost from the Past
1187 Words
Two days later, I’m at the Hawthorne airport, trying to process what I’ve just done: quit my job, flown back to my hometown, and decided to move in with my mom.
I left behind a disappointed boyfriend, who—in our first real argument—tried to talk me out of rushing back. He said it was just low blood pressure, that she’s fine now. But he doesn’t get it. With our family history, it could be more. It is probably more.
I can’t be mad at Dave. He just wanted to be there, to understand, as I threw my clothes into a suitcase and left in the middle of the night with a note saying, "Please try to understand me this time. Like you always do."
The text I just got shows he’s accepted it. He knows I need space to think, but part of me knows this isn’t just that.
One look at the city ahead, and I know I’m not going back to Austin.
I’ve quit my job, so I don’t have to. But I haven’t told Dave yet.
Focus on Mom, I remind myself, pushing down the rising uncertainty. She needs you. Carl, Lily, Joel—they all need you.
But it’s Dad waiting outside the airport. I wasn’t sure he’d come, but there he is, leaning against his car, bodyguards behind him, looking older than I remember.
When he spots me, his face lights up. I run to him, and his hug feels like home.
“Dad!” I say, muffled in his embrace.
“I’ve missed you, pumpkin,” he says, kissing my forehead.
I laugh at the nickname. “Missed you more.”
“Hah! Liar,” he teases, studying me. “And your hair—it’s black and red.”
“I dyed it, Dad. You saw me a year ago,” I say as he opens the car door for me. One of his bodyguards grabs my suitcase and loads it into the trunk.
“A year,” he repeats thoughtfully.
Last year, I skipped coming home for the holidays—finals were my excuse, but really, I couldn’t handle another Thanksgiving watching my parents avoid each other’s eyes.
Sliding into the car, I notice the driver isn’t Uncle Victor. “Where’s Uncle Vic?” I ask as Dad joins me, rolling up the window. My eyes drift behind him.
And freeze.
Jude.
Leaning against a sleek black bike, his dark jacket flaps in the October wind, framing a build that’s nothing like I remember. He’s taller now, broader, with muscles that stretch the leather of his sleeves, and a rugged edge that sharpens every line of his face. His jaw is more defined, shadowed by the hint of stubble, and his hair, once neatly tousled on his forehead, is messier, like he doesn’t care enough to tame it—or knows it looks better that way.
My heart stills.
It can’t be him. The Jude I knew was all boyish charm and a petite frame that fit so easily into mine. This man... he’s someone else entirely. Yet, as he shifts slightly, the wind catching the glint of his sharp eyes, I know it’s him.
I’d recognize Jude anywhere, even if everything about him feels impossibly different.
His gaze locks on mine just as the window slides shut, severing the connection like a snap of cold air.
I sit back, my chest tight, my thoughts spiraling.
It was him. It was Jude.
“Evie?” my dad’s voice pulls me from the haze.
“Yes?” I mumble, Jude’s face still flashing behind my eyelids, bringing back memory after memory of years gone past. Soft kisses in the dark, holding hands under the table, little smiles exchanges when no one’s watching.
Dad studies me, frowning. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“I think I did,” I whisper, barely audible. That can’t be Jude. He’s not supposed to be in California. He left years ago.
Shoving the thought aside, I blurt, “Did you see Mom?”
His expression falters, but the question grounds me.
“She looked fine, pumpkin. There’s nothing to worry about.”
“We don’t know for sure,” I counter. His face clouds with concern, but I press on, needing to focus. “I just want to be sure, Dad.”
He nods softly. “I know. You love your mom.”
“And I love you too.” I force a smile. “I’m happy to be back.”
“And I’m happy to have you back. Stay longer this time,” he says, teasing. “Your boss gave you a long enough leave, right?”
I know where this is headed—another plea to work for his company. He’s said it so many times, always insisting I don’t need to struggle. But I’ve heard “spoiled rich brat” my whole life, and I can’t shake it off unless I prove I can do this on my own.
What he doesn’t know is that I’m unemployed, and now isn’t the time to tell him. So, I nod, guilt simmering in my chest.
He drives me to Mom’s house, not his—unexpected, though I should’ve known. When it’s time for him to come along, he waves it off with a casual, “I’ve got something to take care of.”
I don’t push. Taking my suitcase from the bodyguard, I wave goodbye and turn to face the house.
Home, but not quite.
I draw a shaky breath, step onto the porch, and ring the bell. My eyes drift to the house next door—Aunt Trish’s—where Jude used to stay.
Then I hear it. The low, throaty rumble of an engine. A sleek black bike rolls into Trish’s driveway, the rider dismounting with a smooth grace. He removes his matte black helmet, shaking out his dark hair before flexing his gloved fingers.
My breath stumbles.
Before I can process the sight of him, another engine hums to a stop by the road. Another rider. My gaze shifts, catching a glimpse of a smaller figure perched on a silver bike. The person waves toward Jude, the gesture familiar, like it’s something they’ve done a hundred times.
The helmet tilts slightly, catching the light, and that’s when I see her face. A woman. His girlfriend, perhaps.
My chest tightens with what I’m sure is jealousy, watching as Jude doesn’t hesitate to wave back with a wide, real smile—the one I thought was only reserved for me—before turning toward the house.
But then suddenly, his eyes meet mine, and go wide in an instant, bearing the same jolt of disbelief coursing through me. All I can think of is that the boy I knew is gone, replaced by this man I can’t seem to look away from.
The sharp click of the door opening startles me, cutting through the haze. My breath catches, and with shaky steps, I lurch forward into the house, slamming the door shut behind me.
- Writer
