Epilogue

2 weeks later…

Lacey

"Is Mojo not the cutest name for a dog?"

Nico shifts in his seat to look at me, the massive backseat of Mo's Cadillac giving me more than enough legroom to stretch out comfortably. My latest romance novel lies open on my lap, the explicit sex scene staring at me from the ink on the page.

Mo shakes his head from the driver's seat, "We are not naming our dog Mojo."

"But you admit we're adopting a dog?"

I look up and survey the scene with a wry smile. Nico's endless taunts are something I've gotten used to after years of shared childhood experience. His boyfriend, on the other hand, still doesn't seem to have a handle on the wild card that is my closest friend.

Mo rolls his eyes, his profile just as handsome through the side mirror. Nico has always gone for confident, athletic jocks who are considered to be universally attractive. Our joke used to be Nico likes his men big and mean whereas I like mine lean and pretty.

"No."

Nico turns and winks at me, "Are you sure?"

"Yes."

I laugh and catch Mo's amused gaze in the side mirror. He's loosened up a lot since I first met him, the stiff exterior and forced charm eventually giving way to genuine thoughtfulness. I can see how some people might find Taber's lacrosse legend intimidating, if not downright rude, but I can also see the caring person underneath. The one that Nico feel in love with.

If there's one thing life has taught me, it's to always look beyond the surface.

Glancing back at the graphic scene splayed out in front of me, I let out a sigh. The heroine just finished her second orgasm and the couple haven't even gotten to the actual sex part yet.

Unease creeps over me as my eyes skim the first moment of entry, the moment when the man enters the woman, and I have to shut the book before the discomfort gives way to darker, more sinister thoughts.

It's pathetic, really. I've been reading romance novels since I was thirteen years-old and I still can't get past the sex scenes. At first it was because I felt awkward reading them, the typical young girl reading things she shouldn't be, but now it's for an entirely different reason.

"You ready for today, mi amor?"

Nico glances at me with concern, something that has become a routine between us every time it's his turn to drop me off at therapy. If it were up to my brother, he alone would do all the driving, but after spending the first week of university dodging are you okay? questions, I knew I had to put my foot down.

Wesley means well but there's only so much sibling protection I can handle.

"I'm ready to grow and take on my next adventure." I quote the words with a smile, thinking about the sunshine tissues my therapist hands out.

Nico grimaces from the passenger seat, "Babe, you sound like a bad car commercial."

I smile, looking out the window as the passing prairies gradually turns into the dainty shops of Silverwood. Known as Taber University's biggest lacrosse rival, the town is a half hour drive east of Taber and the closest place with a certified therapist.

Truthfully, the town is a lot cuter than Taber, the little mom and pop shops a welcome change from the sad country bar and gas station our university town offers. I haven't had the chance to explore the town much, given the school rivalry and the tight carpooling scheduling I'm on, but one of these days I would love to explore Silverwood and discover what hidden gems are buried here.

The car rumbles to a stop outside the nondescript white building that takes up two hours of my week, every week. Unbuckling my seat belt, I lean forward to give Nico a peck on the cheek.

"I'll see you in a little bit."

Nico studies me intently, the same way he always does before these sessions. I give him a reassuring smile and get out of the car.

Sometimes I wish my life wasn't so routine. That people weren't always walking on eggshells around me. It feels like I'm stuck in this limbo where I'm not the girl I once was but not quite brave enough to be the girl I want to be.

So I stay the broken girl.

The one who tried to commit suicide after her boyfriend dumped her.

Releasing another sigh, I follow the pathway to the front door like I always do. I ring the doorbell upon arrival and turn to admire the bellflowers creeping along the edge of the property. The purple, star-like shape holds a simple beauty that makes me want to steal a piece and transplant it for my collection back home.

Maybe next week I'll work up the nerve.

As I turn back to the door, a flash of yellow catches my eye. Abandoning my position by the door, I creep closer to the row of flowers, trying to pinpoint the location of the anomaly. It takes me a few minutes to find it, the tip of a yellow cloth sticking out from a pile of stones hidden beneath the mass of green leaves.

Heart pounding with excitement, I carefully extract the thin piece of material, watching it unfold in front of me.

Happiness is not by chance but by choice.

My excitement starts to fade as I read the sunshine tissue, the familiar black script screaming at me from the bright material. Someone must have lost it on their way out.

I hold the tissue up to the sky, comparing the bright rays to the artificial colouring of my therapist's signature tissues. I squint against the sun, trying to pinpoint exactly what drew the tissue's inspiration when I see it.

The black text bleeding through.

Bringing the tissue back down to eye-level, I peer at the material, but the black text is nowhere to be found. I frown, flipping the material over and let out a gasp of surprise.

But what if that choice doesn't belong to you?

The handwriting is so beautiful, it takes me a moment to look past the calligraphy and actually read the words.

"Lacey! Are you there?"

Karen's voice rings out from the doorway, jolting me from my thoughts. Snagging a pen from my bag, I quickly scribble a response before tucking the tissue back where I found it.

"Coming!" Giving the yellow material one last glance, I feel excitement seep into my body as I follow Karen inside the building.

My therapist gives me a warm smile, her floral dress swishing around her ankles as she leads me to the living room where we conduct these sessions.

"You seem to be in a cheerful mood today, Lacey. Any exciting news?"

I smile, settling myself down on the beige couch just like I do every week.

"This may sound silly, but I think I found myself a new friend."

Karen grabs her notepad from the table, giving me an understanding look, "That is far from silly, my dear. Where did you meet this friend?"

"Well, I haven't actually met her yet, but I have a feeling we are going to be the best of friends."

"Oh." Karen blinks, confusion crossing her face before a warm smile takes its place, "In that case, I wish you all the best with this friendship. Now, tell me how you've been feeling since the last time I saw you."

Normally, this is the part that brings me down. The mundane routine of working through my every thought, dream, and aspiration so Karen can have a look into my psyche. But today, I answer her questions happily because an abnormal thought races through my mind.

Someone else might understand what it's like to be the broken girl.

Skylar

The tissue isn't how I left it.

The perfectly folded corners stick out like a sore thumb from the pinched space between the rocks, a place I started leaving my thoughts on tissues just for the hell of it.

It started as a joke. A way to speak my mind without the fear that my brother's reputation might tarnish it. But somewhere along the way it became my solace. A safe space for me to give voice to the dark thoughts bouncing inside my head.

Each week I leave a question to Karen's tissues and each week I replace it with a new one.

Except for today.

Unfolding the yellow material, hastily scrawled letters scream back at me, the dainty scripture making me think it's from a girl.

Then maybe it's time to make the choice your own again.

I tilt my head, studying the words. I've never considered the possibility that someone might read my thoughts.

Let alone respond to them.

Pulling out the pen clipped to my sketch book, I copy the last two lines of our conversation onto the newest tissue, adding a new line beneath.

Who took the choice from you?

I fold up the note, placing it back between the rocks just as a small figure comes walking up the trail. The girl stops to look at me, the defiance in her posture identical to that of her older brother.

"Vin." Stella gives me a stiff nod, the connotation of my last name echoing loud and clear, "Nice day for therapy, hey?"

There's a challenge in her voice, an unspoken rivalry that descends from our universities to our respective siblings, both of them well-known in the lacrosse circuit.

She's the younger sister of Taber's champion.

I'm the younger brother of Silverwood's bully.

Pulling up the hood of my Sabers hoodie, I give her a shrug, "Something like that."

Her stare burns into my back as I turn to leave, shoving my hands deep into the pockets of my sweater with the mystery girl's message clutched tightly in my hand.