Catch and Keep by Erin Hahn (Excerpt)

ONE

This Woman’s Work

Maren

Twenty years later

Hallmark is a lying bitch.

According to all those Hallmark movies, the best friend always has a simple, perfect life. Doting husband she met in college, two-point-five kids, white picket fence, thriving career that she rushes off to after hanging up the phone with her chaotic main character bestie, slugging back some fresh-squeezed orange juice without spilling a drop on her pressed white linen pantsuit before kissing the cheeks of her family …

And a dog, I guess. At least I got that part right. I do have a dog. And I also have two chaotic main character besties, though both have found the loves of their lives on top of their thriving careers in television and in Nashville, respectively. They’re downright domestic these days.

So Hallmark got it wrong, clearly, because nowhere in their many, many iterations of romance does the put-together best friend unravel in the midst of a very public proposal from her boyfriend of a year after he steals her work promotion out from under her. Nowhere in those movies does the best friend have a humiliating panic attack, where she vomits spectacularly all over her (presumably ex-) boyfriend’s bended knee in the middle of a state park in front of both of their families, sprint away three miles down back-country trails, sneak into her car (therefore leaving the presumably ex-boyfriend stranded), speed home, pack her embarrassingly meager belongings and her confused dog, and drive all day and into the night to a shack in the Northwoods her late fishing partner left her in his will.

Thanks, Hallmark.

It’s twilight, but the Northwoods are extra dense this time of year, so I dig around for my eyeglasses and slip them on to better spot deer. I adjust uncomfortably on the bench seat of my old beat-up Bronco and crack my neck side to side, grimacing at the loud pops. I’ve been driving for seven long hours. My butt is half asleep, my brain is fuzzy, and Rogers, my two-year-old wirehaired pointer, is carsick.

“That’s what you get for sitting sideways,” I say to him, unsympathetic. “I’ve tried to tell you, but no. You insist on staring out the window mile after mile.” I’ve already stopped three times to allow him to yack up his breakfast, and the last time there wasn’t anything to puke.

“You and me, kid,” I mutter with a rub behind his soft ears. “A couple of pukers today. Not our finest moments, honestly.”

My phone vibrates with another notification. At the first rest stop I had texted my best friends Shelby and Lorelai something along the lines of SHANE PROPOSED. I VOMITED. PEACED OUT TO WISCONSIN. TALK TO YOU SOON. So it’s probably one of them following up. Or maybe it’s my mom. She was at the ill-fated proposal, along with the rest of my family, including my three older brothers and their families. I doubt she’d be surprised by my running to Wisconsin, though. Everyone knows this is my place. I suppose it could be Shane. Though I would think after twelve months of “falling in love” with me, he would know me well enough to realize how I would react to a surprise public proposal. That said, he didn’t know me well enough to figure out how pissed off and hurt I’d be when he applied for my promotion and got it, after a decade of my working my way up the ladder …

So I guess it could be him, Mr. Doesn’t Read the Relationship.

Regardless, I don’t check.

“I know this all seems very rash and unlike me,” I say to my dog, who gives a whiny sigh in response. “Patient, people-pleasing Maren. Happy if you’re happy and all that. But that’s just like my work persona, you know? Shane should have seen underneath it all and understood that the real me, the everyday me, is more complex.”

I turn onto another tree-lined road, familiar in a way that makes my heart catch a little in my chest. Almost there. Almost home. “And heck if I know why he thought after our conversation two nights ago, when I was clearly upset and told him I needed some space and wanted to take a break, he would move forward with a public proposal.

“Actually…” I say, jabbing at the air-conditioning and turning it off. We’re close enough that I want the fresh air. I want to inhale the sharp bite of pine and rich soil into my lungs and clear my head. “Actually, I do know why he chose to do it publicly. He thought he could manipulate me into saying yes. He knew I wasn’t feeling it after the job thing, and he heard me ask for space and thought the way to get what he wanted was to put me on the spot in front of all those people. He thought I wouldn’t be able to say no, and guess what?!”

Rogers opens one eye and his tail thumps against the bench.

“Yeah. I said no. The look on his face…” I trail off, the smile dying on my lips and my breath hitching. The look on his face was shocked, and that hurt more than anything else. He was shocked that I dared to turn him down.

And I almost didn’t. Again. The number of times I let him manipulate me into agreeing to things I didn’t actually want to do … Going on the all-inclusive luxury cruise to Jamaica that was zero percent my style, wearing those deathtrap high heels out to elegant restaurants with tiny offerings I couldn’t pronounce, reading thick political biographies because it made me look smarter, eating keto during the holidays so I didn’t gain weight, doing Dry July when all I wanted was a beer and to spend a weekend fishing off the shore …

The thing about Shane is that the gaslighting snuck up on me under the guise of “improvements” that I didn’t ask for. Instead of learning who I was, he focused on making me who he wanted me to be, and I went along with it.

I roll down the windows. I don’t feel like talking or thinking anymore. Instead, I crank up the old radio and let the music lead me home.

* * *

Two days later, I’m not exactly regretting my decision to drop everything and run away to my shack in the Northwoods, but I’m not not regretting it, either. My choice may have been a skosh rash. But I’ve spent the last forty-eight hours deep cleaning decades of grime and rodent feces from the tiny, questionably livable apartment behind the bait shop I’ve inherited and to give up now would be a waste. I haven’t even gotten out on the flowage yet to fish. Heck, I haven’t even left this place except to run to town for coffee and a few grocery staples, followed by McDonald’s when I realized there wasn’t a clean surface to prepare food on the first night.

But there is an outlet to charge my cell phone, though service is negligible, and an old boombox radio, and lots and lots of opportunities to second-guess every decision I’ve made since I graduated high school. So I have that going for me.

I’ve managed to clear out the clutter and trash and wipe down and disinfect every surface in the last two days, as well as scare off three mice and adopt the fourth on the sun porch after Rogers and I both failed to intimidate it into leaving. I’ve named it Lady Gaga because, like its namesake, bitch is fearless. The fridge is stocked and the stove seems safe enough, though ancient. Fost wasn’t a messy guy, per se, but he was definitely a hermit. His wife died of cancer before I knew him and they were never able to have children of their own. His life was his bait shop, his old aluminum Lund fishing boat, and the flowage. And me, I think with a pang of grief. Regardless, he didn’t much care about keeping a tidy house. The shop was marginally better, but two years of dust and total neglect took a toll.

Still, I might be able to make something of it all. I’ve nearly convinced myself to make my leave of absence with the Michigan Forestry service permanent and spend the next few months here, turning this into something Fost and I could both be proud of. I’m not completely ignorant of home repair, after all. I grew up with three older brothers who all went into various trades and one of my best friends stars in a reality TV home-renovation program. Not only that, I spent a summer fixing up my cute little rental back in Michigan with my landlord’s permission and a hefty discount. I might not be ready for anything that requires a building permit, but I do all right with surface-level fixes. The structure at Fost’s place is sound. I just need to make it look viable again, and then, maybe in the spring, I’ll sell it and move on. Real estate goes for a premium up here. Vacation homes and resorts pepper every shoreline. It would be a solid investment of my leftover YouTube nest egg from back in my college Musky Maren fishing channel days.

It would also be a nice long break from Michigan and Shane and my family and the mess I left behind. I called Shane back from town the first night and made the break official (in case regurgitating my lunch all over his Merrells wasn’t clear enough). Since we didn’t actually live together (I couldn’t leave Rogers, and Shane thought my place was too small for our combined belongings), and we weren’t engaged and therefore had no wedding plans to dismantle, it really was as easy as walking away. The year we spent together, making love, playing at love, planning for our future, was just that: a year. And now it was over.

I’m not as sad as I think I should be. My mom, whom I called after Shane, believes I’m in denial. She figures I’ll have a delayed reaction, and then the regrets will come. Maybe. Or maybe Lorelai was right when she said, “I don’t know, babe. Maybe you weren’t as into it as you wanted to be.”

When I stop being indignant at the man’s goddang nerve of a public proposal, perhaps I’ll be able to see through to the depth of my feelings.

Regardless of who’s right, I am digging into this project with gusto. What happens next is future Maren’s problem.

Rogers whines at the door to be let out, but from the barely suppressed energy vibrating off him, he needs something more than the paltry bathroom walks I’ve allowed him so far. Pointers are fantastic working dogs. They love hunting, swimming, running, and have all the endurance in the world. I could strap his leash to my bike and ride fifteen miles with Rogers alongside of me and he wouldn’t so much as pant.

But after two restless nights followed by two long days of manual labor, I’m not feeling much like a bike ride. Instead, I grab Rogers’s inflatable dummy and a Gatorade and head out back toward the water.

Fost’s cabin/bait shop sits on a grassy-turned-sandy point that juts out into Bryant Lake roughly thirty meters or so. It’s not a vast property, but the location cannot be beat. It’s private and cozy while still offering a view that stretches for miles in every direction. Boats will pass through on occasion, but there’s a wider passage on the other side of the island that most prefer. It’s dinnertime, though, and September. Families are back to work and school and the evening fishermen won’t be venturing out for another hour or two.

Which is all to say I feel comfortable standing at the end of Fost’s rickety wooden dock and tossing the dummy out over the depths for Rogers.

Again and again, I throw and Rogers retrieves, paddling back and dropping the sopping-wet toy at my feet before I throw it again and he jumps right off the dock after it. At least the water tires him out more quickly than the land. The resistance seems to slow him down the tiniest bit and eventually he flops down at my feet, tongue lolling and chest rising and falling happily.

I take my cue from him and sit down, removing my shoes and socks and dangling my toes in the water. It’s not cold yet, but it’s not exactly warm, either. After a sharp inhale, I begin to relax, and the cool water feels good on my tired, aching feet. I sit back on my hands and stare out over the lake. The water is smooth as glass, reflecting the early evening sun. Above us, puffy cotton-candy clouds break up the blue and a couple of loons coo back and forth. I let my eyelids fall closed and take in several deep breaths, pulling the clean pine-scented air into my lungs and imagining it filtering into my bloodstream and clearing all the recent bullshit out of my system. A shriek echoes in the silence, but it doesn’t sound scared, so I don’t even open my eyes at first. It’s more like a laugh. I feel Rogers perk up next to me, but he doesn’t move, so I figure I’m right about the laughing.

It’s confirmed a minute later when I hear a man’s growl followed by even more childish shrieking. Peeling my eyelids open and squinting at the disorienting brightness, I search the shoreline and locate the source. A tall and very attractive blond man, built big, is chasing after two smaller blond kids. One, possibly a boy, looks to be about eight or nine, if my many nieces and nephews are anything to go by, and the other is younger. Maybe four or five? The man’s long, tanned arms are raised like he’s some kind of bear or monster and the oldest slips behind a tree, cackling, hurriedly beginning to climb the low-lying limbs. The younger one tucks herself behind her brother, less sure. He reaches behind himself and tugs her along with him on a small limb reaching out almost horizontally toward the shoreline.

“Maren?” I hear my name called from somewhere behind me and it shakes me out of my nosy musing. I recognize the deep, booming voice of my oldest brother, Liam, though it takes me a beat to realize he’s actually here, and not in Michigan where he lives with his wife, Jessica, and their two kids. I scramble to my feet just as Rogers takes off like a rocket in the direction of his call.

“Liam?”



TWOAll I Really WantMaren

I blink at the image of my brother standing in front of me, duffel bag in hand and shit-eating grin on his lips. Liam is still tall, though he’s gone softer over the years since he spends more time behind a desk than out in the field. He used to work as a line technician but these days he’s a district manager for an electric company.

His hair is still a darker shade of mine, though every time I see him, it’s slightly more speckled with silver at the temples, and despite being hidden behind expensive sunglasses.

“Hey, kid,” he says, dropping his bag to the ground with a thud.

I frown at his calling me a kid. Though, I suppose to him, what else could I possibly be? “What are you doing here?”

“Thought I’d better check in on you after the barf-posal heard ’round the world.”

I stifle my groan at his corny teasing. “Tell me the truth—you thought of that at home and spent the entire drive laughing to yourself in anticipation of the delivery.”

“Nah. I didn’t come up with it until I hit the bridge.”

I wrap my arms around his waist, and he hugs me back, tightly, squeezing the air from my chest. “This is from Mom and Dad, too,” he murmurs to the top of my head, releasing me before squeezing again, “and this is from Jess and the kids.”

“Please tell me that means they aren’t all coming.”

“Relax.” He steps back and takes off his sunglasses, eyes twinkling in amusement. “I convinced them to stay back. It’s just me. You’re welcome.”

I roll my eyes at his presumed sacrifice. “Yeah, and I’m sure the impromptu trip up north without your lovably loud family had nothing to do with your decision.”

He shrugs affably and the movement is so familiar, I feel a pang in my chest. Despite our age difference, Liam and I have always been close. It must have something to do with being the oldest and youngest sibling. We didn’t have to compete with each other growing up. “Wait till you have teenagers someday. You’ll understand then.”

I take his arm, leading him back up the small hill toward Fost’s place while Rogers bounds excitedly around our heels.

“How long are you here? I don’t know if I have a place for you to sleep. Or food for you to eat. Or, well, anything, actually. Things are a bit sparse at the moment…”

“Easy. Don’t hurt your brain, kid. I know I surprised you. I called Joe and they’re letting me stay at the resort.”

“Oh,” I say, feeling both relieved and jealous. I wouldn’t mind staying at the resort. But then, this isn’t a vacation for me. “Well, in that case, I can show you around, and after, maybe you want to head over there to settle in?”

“Actually, I was hoping to take you out for dinner. I know you’re busy, but I really am here to check in with you, and you did break up with your boyfriend when he tried to propose to you three days ago. Not only that, you left town without warning. Your house, your job, your family and friends…”

“People break up every day, Liam. Every minute, even, someone is breaking up somewhere. And my landlord found a subleaser already, and I told my job I was taking a leave of absence. Considering Dickhead Shane is my new boss, he couldn’t really complain about the timing.”

“Okay, but you have to admit, it was a little rash, even for you.”

I stop short and peer up at him. “What’s that supposed to mean, ‘even for me’?”

His amusement doesn’t slip for even a second and I bite back the irritation clawing up my throat.

“I just mean,” he starts in a patronizing tone I know he uses on his kids, “you dropped all of your responsibilities because some guy had the nerve to propose marriage. A guy, I might add, who you dated for a year, so clearly you didn’t dislike him.”

“First of all, I already explained how I didn’t drop anything. Everything is still very much being handled, even if it’s not by me. I arranged for that. I’m not irresponsible, I’m in transition. And second of all, are you telling me that I should have said yes to Shane just because we dated for a year? Even if everything inside of me knew it would have been the wrong decision? I thought you hated Shane.”

“I didn’t hate Shane, I just didn’t think he was good enough for you.”

“So you think I should have settled?”

“No, but is it too much of a stretch for you to act a little more like an adult?!”

“Says the man who insists on calling me kid even though I’m in my thirties!”

“Hello, camp, is it okay if we enter under a flag of peace?”

Liam and I both spin around to take in the little family I’d been watching earlier standing barely twenty feet away. I hadn’t even noticed their approach, though Rogers is happily greeting them, tail beating, tongue lolling.

“Hey, man,” my brother is saying, crossing the distance with his long strides and swallowing the blond man in a back-thumping hug. “Good to see you. Tell me this isn’t Anders. Dude, you’ve grown at least half a foot since last summer.”

Please tell me that’s not Josiah Cole. Oh my gosh, was I checking out my brother’s best friend?

“Hey, Jig,” Joe says. His wide, bright smile splits his tanned features, and he holds up his arms for a hug. Which would be a totally normal thing for siblings to do. I hugged Liam not ten minutes ago. But also, I stopped thinking of Joe Cole as an annoying big-brother type right around the time I caught him swimming bare-assed with his girlfriend on my way back from fishing the summer before my junior year of high school.

I step closer, curling in so my breasts don’t rub against him like they clearly want to, and return his hug before quickly stepping back and dropping my arms. “Hey, Joe. What a surprise!”

Joe lets out a deep chuckle and the low vibrations of it wash over me, head to bare toes. He bends over Rogers, who’s still demanding his own greeting, and I can’t help but take the opportunity to study him. He’s solidly built, like someone who used to be an athlete and is still active. His golden hair is longer and wavy around his ears and the nape of his neck, and his eyes are covered by sunglasses. He’s dressed in a denim button-down with the sleeves cuffed, revealing nice, tanned forearms, and a pair of heavy-duty work pants. The older child, Anders, I believe Liam said, grins at me, revealing a mouthful of new grown-up teeth and sparkling blue eyes. I notice his nails are carefully painted with a bright pink glitter and I dig the shade.

“I love your dog,” Anders says to me, beaming, scrubbing at Rogers’s wiry coat. My dog has never looked so loved. Stuffed to the gills under the ministrations of this blond family.

“He loves you, too, I’m afraid. There will be no getting rid of Rogers now. He’s adopted you.”

Anders reaches out a hand toward his younger sister, perched on a tree branch, still several feet away. “Luce, come here and pet Rogers.”

The little girl shakes her head quickly back and forth from the limb. At first glance, she seems shy, but something about the way her eyes dart to the side and stay there, as if she’s avoiding my gaze, sticks out to me.

“That’s okay,” I assure her gently. “Maybe another time.” She shakes her head again, even more quickly, and I don’t push.

“So, Jig,” my oldest brother’s best friend says, his voice softening. “How’ve you been?”

“Your name is Jig?” Anders asks.

I snort. “Only to these two. Liam is my big brother, and he and your dad—Wow…” I exchange a look with Joe, feeling my cheeks heat at the intent focus of his attention. “That’s weird to think about—annoying Joe’s a dad. Anyway,” I turn back to the kid, “that’s what these two used to call me.”

“Her real name is Maren, but she was a fishing nut as a kid, so we called her Jig.” To me, he explains, “Anders here is almost as big a fishing nut as you were.” He tugs the child closer to him. “And that’s my daughter Lucy.”

“So you and Kiley really did get married and make beautiful babies … I believe I predicted that.”

He distractedly ruffles at his hair and makes a face. “Well, you were mostly right. I’m guessing Liam never told you Kiley and I are no longer married.”

I wince. “He might’ve mentioned that, actually. Sorry.”

“Mom lives in Florida now,” Anders adds matter-of-factly.

“Ah,” I say, a little taken aback by his forthright response. “I’m … so sorry,” I repeat, dumbly.

“It’s fine,” he replies, assuring me with little-kid confidence. “She couldn’t handle it.”

“Oh,” I say, and wait for clarification, but none comes, so I press on. “Well, I should probably get back to work.”

“Are you staying at the resort with Liam?”

“Uh, no. Actually”—I turn to my brother—“he surprised me just before you walked up.”

“Right. We might’ve heard some of that.”

“Get this, man. Her boyfriend of a year calls up the entire family to come and witness this epic proposal. We all take the day off work and hike up this mountain—”

“It was barely a hill and maybe Joe doesn’t want to hear this story right now…” I hedge, eyeing the tree limb where Joe’s daughter Lucy is still standing.

“—and he gets down on one knee in front of everyone and Maren barely lets him get the words out before she’s puking and running back down the mountain.”

“Hill. Not a mountain. Hill.”

“Before the rest of us even make it back down the mountain, she’s packed up her apartment and gets the heck out of Dodge—”

“Yes. Well. That’s about the gist of it, anyway,” I cut my brother off. “You heard the rest. I’m here to work on Fost’s place. He left me the bait shop and the attached apartment.”

Joe’s eyes first widen and then narrow. “Last I saw, the place was a decrepit dump.”

“Yes, well,” I repeat, forcing my tone to sound cheerful. “Now it’s just as decrepit but much cleaner.”

“Does the shop even have locks?” Joe asks. Ah. There’s the big-brother type I remember. Maybe I should call the other two up and we can have a party while they all give me disapproving looks about the length of my shorts and fart on my pillow at bedtime.

“Does any place up here?” I ask, pointedly rolling my eyes, because honestly, no one locks their doors around these parts, but also I’m not an idiot. I’m a grown woman who has lived alone for over a decade.

He crosses his arms. “That wasn’t an answer.”

I cross mine, straightening, so I’m every bit of my five foot seven and a half. “Okay, Mr. Army Guy, stand down,” I tell him, and he rocks back in amused surprise, before crowding forward just as fast, straight into my space, his chest inches from mine and his gaze towering over me.

“It was the Marines, and you still haven’t answered my question.”

“Yes!” I tell him, feeling the furthest thing from tender now that nagging Joe is back and way too close on top of that. I’m also very aware of the way my nipples are practically tingling at his nearness. “Of course I have a lock and use it. Not that anyone knows I’m here nor even cares.”

Anders’s eyes, which have been volleying back and forth between his father and me, widen with curiosity and he interrupts, “We know you’re here! You and Rogers should come over for dinner tomorrow.”

“Oh,” I say, feeling flustered, both at my body’s reaction to Joe’s continued proximity and the suddenness of the invite. “That’s okay. Thank you, but I’m pretty swamped with the cleanup I’m doing.”

“She’s in way over her head, if you ask me,” Liam says.

“No one asked you and also you didn’t even see inside.”

“Jig will come?” Lucy speaks up from the tree, and her dad and I both start at her small voice.

“One day,” I hedge, trying to remove myself from any kind of promise. “I’m sure if Liam is there…”

“Dad is making lasagna and garlic bread,” Anders continues.

Guh. Of course he is, and I have one of the seventeen turkey-and-American-cheese Lunchables lining my mini fridge to look forward to. “Another time, really. I am up to my eyeballs in faux wood paneling and will be for a few days, I expect.”

“Another time,” Joe blessedly agrees. He uses a firm dad tone that cuts off any further argument. I’m not sure if it’s for my sake or his, but I decide it’s for the best. I’m on a mission, and anyway, my life is a capital-M mess right now. I’m definitely not in a good spot to be having cozy dinners with a single dad and his cute kids. And my brother. Can’t forget that idiot.

Regardless of how the mere suggestion of bubbling, cheesy lasagna and perfectly toasted garlic bread makes my mouth water.

And further, regardless of how I feel like the invite would really annoy Joe, and making that guy squirm has been a favorite pastime of mine since 2000. It’s the sworn duty of pesky little sisters of best friends everywhere.

Alas, capital-M mess. Besides, I’m thirty-three, not thirteen. I pucker my lips together and make a kissing noise to call Rogers to attention. He comes, albeit reluctantly, and stands at my side like I’ve trained him.

“It was good to meet you, Anders and Lucy. Good to see you, Joe. Liam, I’m assuming you’ll go with them from here?”

“I’ll catch up with you,” he tells Joe. “I want to see inside this place for myself.”

Ugh.

Joe catches my eye and smirks, his expression knowing. Which makes sense. If anyone knows my brother as well as me, it’s him. They’ve been friends for over thirty years, at least. “See you around, Jig. You know where to find me if you need help.”

“Sure,” I say, knowing I never ever will. “Let’s go, Rogers.”

* * *

Liam spins in a slow circle, taking in my mess, and lets out a low whistle between his teeth.

“You’re fucked.”

“Am not.”

“Maren, this is too much. Even for you, all in your feelings or whatever the kids say … I’m being straight with you. Go back home, go back to work, and figure this out. This isn’t the time to be playing Eat Pray Love with your responsibilities.”

“That’s not what I’m doing. This is a fresh start for me and I’m taking it.”

“And then what?”

“And then what, what?” I ask, rubbing at my temples where an ache is beginning to build. “I thought you were coming here to be supportive. Isn’t that what you did for Joe?”

“That’s another thing, kid,” my brother says, as if I’d just reminded him. “I saw you checking Joe out. Don’t even go there.”

“What?!” I exclaim, my entire body flushing. “Are you joking? I was not!”

“You were, and not only are you completely on the rebound and, frankly, kind of immature, Joe just went through a nasty divorce where he spun out and doesn’t need another kid to take care of.”

“Are you out of your mind?” I ask, seeing red. “Do you have any idea how insulting that is not only to me, but to your best friend? What is the matter with you? Is this your version of checking in on someone?”

Liam instantly looks contrite. “Fuck. I’m sorry, Mare. You’re right. I’m … I don’t know what came over me. That was wrong of me to say. I’m tired and this place is a dump and I—I worry about you, okay?”

He seems sincere. He is sincere. That doesn’t take the sting out of his words, but I’m too exhausted to fight anymore anyway, and besides, I knew my family wouldn’t understand my coming here.

“Okay. I’m sorry for yelling. I’m pretty tired, too. And this has been a lot and this place is a shithole, I know that. But it’s my shithole now. And you have to let me make my own mistakes, Liam. I’m a grown woman.”

“Hardly.”

“Good night, big brother.” I know he said he wanted to take me out to dinner, but I’m not up to it. He pauses, indecision clear on his face, but he eventually relents.

“Sure, sure. Okay. I’m leaving.” He presses a kiss to the top of my head. “I’ll call you in the morning. I’m only here for the weekend, but I want to help as much as I can until I leave.”

I close the door behind him and turn the deadbolt (thank you very much) and sink to the floor.

“Well,” I say into the empty, echoing space, “hell.”



Copyright © 2024 by Erin Hahn.