Chapter 40 Forward, Not Away
Chapter 40 Forward, Not Away
POV: Valeria Cruz
The boxes make everything look more temporary than it feels.
They’re stacked against the wall in neat rows.
Labeled.
Taped.
Organized.
Like if I keep everything in order, the change won’t hit as hard.
It still does.
My room at Rafe’s house looks different now.
Not empty.
Just split in half.
Part of my life already packed.
Part of it still sitting exactly where it’s been for months.
Like neither version of me is fully ready to let go.
I’m folding sweaters on the bed when I hear him at the door.
“You missed one.”
I turn.
Rafe is leaning against the frame, holding up my black notebook.
The one I thought I packed yesterday.
“Of course I did,” I mutter, walking over to take it.
“You’re slipping.”
“Don’t start.”
That gets a smile out of him.
A real one.
Quick.
But it fades just as fast.
Because this is not a joking kind of day.
Coral Bay starts soon.
Too soon.
And even though the campus is close enough that I’m not moving across the country, it still feels like something huge is shifting under my feet.
The twins are staying here.
Safe.
Protected.
Loved.
Daniel finalized everything that needed to be finalized for now, and both families stepped in exactly the way they promised they would.
No chaos.
No uncertainty.
No last-minute disaster.
Just people showing up.
It still feels strange sometimes.
Not in a bad way.
Just in a way I’m still learning.
Rafe steps farther into the room.
His eyes skim over the boxes.
Then the bed.
Then me.
“Need help?”
“I’m just folding clothes.”
“You’ve been ‘just folding clothes’ for twenty minutes.”
I look down.
He’s not wrong.
One of my shirts is half-folded in my hands, and I’ve been staring at it like it personally offended me.
“I’m thinking.”
“I know.”
That answer makes me laugh quietly.
“Do I always make it that obvious?”
“To me?” he says. “Yeah.”
He takes the shirt from my hands, folds it properly, and sets it in the open box like this is the most normal thing in the world.
Maybe it is now.
Maybe that’s the part that still catches me off guard.
How easy we became.
How natural he feels in the middle of my life.
How he somehow moved from being the interruption to being part of the structure.
The twins’ voices echo faintly from down the hall.
Arguing.
Then laughing.
Then arguing again.
It makes me smile.
“They’re excited,” he says quietly.
“Yeah.”
“They should be.”
“I know.”
Mateo has been talking about college campuses like he’s applying tomorrow.
Sofia already decided she’s going to decorate my dorm corner whether I want her to or not.
They see it as an adventure.
A good thing.
A beginning.
And maybe they’re right.
I sit down at the edge of the bed.
Rafe stays standing for a second, then comes closer and sits beside me.
Not too close.
Close enough.
The kind of close that doesn’t ask for permission anymore because it already knows it belongs there.
“This doesn’t feel like leaving,” I admit.
He glances at me.
“No?”
“It feels like…” I stop, searching for the right word. “Stepping into something.”
He nods once.
“Yeah.”
That’s exactly what it feels like.
Not walking away.
Not losing something.
Not ending.
Moving.
Growing.
Choosing.
It should feel simple.
It doesn’t.
Because even good change is still change.
Even the future can feel heavy when you finally have one worth wanting.
I look at him.
“Are we good?”
The question comes out before I can soften it.
Before I can make it sound less important.
It hangs there between us.
Bigger than I meant it to be.
But real.
Because distance is real.
Schedules are real.
Pressure is real.
And what we have matters too much to pretend those things don’t.
He doesn’t answer right away.
He just looks at me.
Really looks.
Like he knows exactly what I’m asking.
Not whether we’re happy right now.
Not whether today is okay.
Whether this survives the next version of our lives.
Whether we survive it.
Then he shifts, turns toward me more fully, and says, “Yeah.”
Simple.
Certain.
Like there was never another answer.
“We’re good.”
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
“Even with everything?”
“Especially with everything.”
That settles somewhere deep in me.
Deeper than comfort.
Deeper than relief.
Something steadier than both.
Because it’s him.
Because he does not say things he does not mean.
I nod once.
“Good.”
He watches me for another second.
Then reaches over and tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear.
Small gesture.
Quiet.
But it feels bigger than it should.
“Did you really think I was going to get scared off by college?” he asks.
“I don’t know,” I say honestly. “Everything else changed so fast.”
His expression softens.
“Yeah. It did.”
“And part of me keeps waiting for something to go wrong.”
He leans back slightly, but his eyes never leave mine.
“That part of you makes sense.”
I look at him.
“I hate that you say things like that.”
“Why?”
“Because you always make the ugly stuff sound… reasonable.”
He huffs a laugh.
“I’m not sure that’s a compliment.”
“It’s not,” I say, and then smile a little. “Maybe a little.”
That gets another smile out of him.
Smaller this time.
Warmer.
We sit there in the quiet for a while.
Not because there’s nothing left to say.
Because we don’t need to say all of it out loud.
Some things have already been proven.
He stayed.
I stayed.
We’re still here.
The door flies open without warning.
Of course.
The twins.
“Are we going to the store or not?” Mateo asks.
“We need snacks,” Sofia adds immediately.
“For what?” I ask.
“For everything,” she says, like that answer should be obvious.
Rafe snorts quietly beside me.
I look at him.
He looks back at me.
And just like that, we’re both laughing.
Because of course this is what they’re worried about.
Not the future.
Not logistics.
Snacks.
The twins stand there waiting for an answer like the fate of the entire family depends on chips and candy.
And maybe, in their world, it does.
I stand slowly.
“Yeah,” I say, grabbing my keys from the dresser. “Let’s go.”
Mateo throws his fists up like we just won something.
“We’re getting sour candy.”
“No, we’re not,” Sofia fires back.
“Yes, we are.”
“No, we’re—”
“Out,” I say, pointing toward the hall before they can escalate.
They rush out, still arguing.
Their voices disappear down the hall.
Rafe stands too.
He stays in front of me for just a second longer than necessary.
The room quieter again.
Smaller again.
He reaches for my hand.
Squeezes once.
Nothing dramatic.
Nothing huge.
Just enough.
“You ready?” he asks.
I think about the boxes.
About college.
About the twins.
About everything that nearly broke me and everything waiting ahead.
Then I look at him.
And I smile.
“Yeah,” I say.
This time, I mean it.
Because this doesn’t feel like losing anything.
It feels like moving forward.
And for once—
I’m not afraid of that.