Leaving Flynn was the hardest thing I had ever done. I wasn’t sure when I had decided to pack my meager belongings and leave the town where I had spent my entire life, whether there would be an us at the end of my long, twisted road.

Being with Flynn had never been easy. And we were so new when I had let that my worries threatened to eat a hole through our fledgling relationship.

He wouldn’t come with me. No matter how many times I had begged. I knew that asking him to pick up and follow me was about my happiness and not his.

And that wasn’t fair.

So Flynn had stayed in Wellston, and I had left. I had stayed away all that time, seeing Flynn only when we’d meet somewhere half way. Our interludes were never long enough and sometimes ended in disaster. Maintaining our connection during that time had been more than difficult.

Despite my nagging doubts about the solidity of our relationship, I could never drive my car across the Wellston town limits.

I stayed away.

As long as I was able to. Until the time came and I no longer had an excuse. Because Flynn was there. And if I loved him as much as I professed to, then there couldn’t be any other option.

The truth was I hadn’t allowed myself to think about what it would mean for me to pack my bags all over again and go back.

I had thought briefly about using my shiny new English degree and apply for jobs somewhere—anywhere else.

But anywhere else wasn’t where Flynn was.

He was in Wellston, teaching art courses at Black River Community College. He was settled. He was entrenched. He wasn’t going to leave.

And if that was where he was, then that was where I belonged.

No matter the emotional cost to myself.

I was scared to death that by going back to the place that had witnessed the worst of who I was that I’d lose what I had worked so hard to build.

Me.

But my heart had become an irrational beast with one absolute and total focus.

Flynn Hendrick.

I flicked through the radio stations until the familiar strains of a rock ballad filled the car. The Cure had become something like a musical addiction for me after moving to Maryland.

Because every time I listened to them, I felt a little closer to the man I left behind.

Hearing the melodic rhythm of To Wish Impossible Things seemed something like an omen.

Whether good or bad was the question.

Because listening to the depressing lyrics they seemed to be a little too appropriate to how I was feeling right now.

Sheesh, Robert Smith really needed to take a happy pill. How in the hell did Flynn listen to this all the time? It was strange that I had never thought to ask him about his connection with The Cure.

There are so many things that I still didn’t know about him. And in the years since we had been together, a lot had changed. With me. With how I looked at everything.

I had busted my ass to graduate. To get the grades and to prove myself. I had even made friends. The type that didn’t hotwire a car or get knocked up by a random. And that was huge progress.

I tried to smooth out the gigantic chip on my shoulder and perhaps become something almost likable. I even started wearing makeup again; trying to look prettier. I wasn’t doing to for anyone but myself.

I couldn’t help but wonder, with a burgeoning panic, whether Flynn would fit in this new world I had created. What would he think of the girl who wore soft colored eye shadow and used her phone to actually call people she liked? Would he still care about an Ellie that had tried hard to mend the pieces that were broken inside her?

Our connection had been between two people marginalized and forgotten. Would it still be there when we became something better?

What would I do if it wasn’t?

We had seen each other so little since I had left that I couldn’t even be sure that my fears were all in my head.

When we had seen each other, it was on neutral territory. He had never made the trip to Maryland until right before I left. And I had made it very clear I wouldn’t be going back to Wellston. Not until I felt I was ready. Instead we would meet somewhere in the middle. With Flynn carefully planning everything.

Sometimes it worked and we’d have a lovely few days. Sometimes, like the first weekend we had gone to see each other, it had ended with Flynn losing his shit on the hotel receptionist.

I had finished my classes two weeks ago. I had been able to finish up a semester early, graduating in December rather than in the spring with the rest of my classmates.

That had been purposeful.

I wasn’t the type of girl to get caught up in the pomp and circumstance. I didn’t need the fancy show of putting on the cap and gown and receiving my diploma. This was about more then making a show of my accomplishments.

I didn’t want to share that moment with anyone except Flynn.

And he was there. Even if he had been freaking out the whole time.

He had been there.

It was one of the few times in my life that someone had chosen to stand by me. Julie Waterman, my social worker when I was a kid, sent flowers and a card, which I knew was heartfelt. But I had come into her life as a client. I was part of her job. I was an obligation she had, at first, been required to take on.

Flynn was there because he wanted to be. Because he cared. And that was the best reason of all.

I changed the radio station, The Cure starting to grate on my nerves a bit. I figured I’d grow weary of the constant barrage of Robert Smith vocals soon enough.

I thought back to those final weeks of school and how hard it had been for me to leave.

After Flynn had gone back to West Virginia following my graduation, I had tied up my loose ends.