Chapter 64 Leaving Seattle
Crew's POV,
The moving truck arrived at eight AM, which felt criminally early for someone who'd been up until three discussing wedding disasters with Maya.
I stood in the parking lot of Maya's apartment building, coffee in hand, watching two guys in matching uniforms assess the amount of furniture we needed to transport to Vancouver.
"This everything?" the shorter one asked, gesturing at the pile of boxes and furniture we'd stacked by the curb.
"Most of it. There's more upstairs." I took another sip of coffee. "My house sold yesterday. Final walkthrough was at six AM. This is what's left after donating half my life to Goodwill."
"Vancouver, huh? You a Canucks fan now?"
"I play for them. Or I will, once I get there."
His eyes widened. "Wait, you're Crew Lawson? The guy who—" He stopped himself. "Sorry, man. None of my business."
"It's fine. Yeah, I'm that guy. The one who overdosed and went to rehab and got traded." I said it matter-of-factly. Owning it. "Forty-five days clean tomorrow."
"Good for you, man. Seriously." He clapped me on the shoulder. "My brother's two years sober. NA saved his life."
We spent the next twenty minutes loading boxes while Harper and Maya made multiple trips up and down the elevator with smaller items. Maya was pretending she wasn't crying. Harper was pretending she didn't notice.
By ten AM, everything was loaded except what we'd need for the final night in Seattle. The movers would drive the truck to Vancouver today, arriving tomorrow morning at our new condo. We'd follow in my car tomorrow after one last night with Maya.
"That's it?" Harper asked, staring at the truck. "My entire life fits in half a moving truck?"
"Our entire lives," I corrected. "And yeah. Turns out we don't need much."
Maya joined us on the curb. "This is really happening. You're actually leaving."
"We're actually leaving." Harper grabbed her hand. "But you're coming in two months. Remember? You promised."
"I know. I just didn't think it would hurt this much." Maya wiped her eyes roughly. "Ignore me. I'm being dramatic. You're moving four hours away, not dying."
"You could come visit. Like, constantly. Obnoxiously often." Harper was crying now too. "Maya, you're my best friend. My person. I can't do this without knowing you're going to be okay."
"I'm going to be fine. Better than fine. I'm moving to Vancouver in September with a new job lined up at the Canucks' PR department. Thanks to someone putting in a good word for me." She looked at me.
"You deserved the recommendation. James was thrilled when I suggested you."
"Still. You didn't have to do that."
"Yes I did. You quit your job because Morrison was an asshole about Harper. That's loyalty. Loyalty gets rewarded." I checked my phone. "The movers want us to sign some paperwork. Give me five minutes?"
I left them alone, walking back toward the truck. Through the rearview mirror, I could see Harper and Maya hugging, both of them crying openly now.
Forty-five days ago, I'd been unconscious on a practice rink floor, dying from an accidental overdose. Now I was moving cities, starting over, building a life that didn't revolve around pills and pain and self-destruction.
The universe was weird.
I signed the paperwork. The movers pulled away, our entire lives packed into their truck. I walked back to find Harper and Maya sitting on the curb, passing a box of tissues between them.
"You two okay?"
"No," they said simultaneously.
"We're leaving for Vancouver tomorrow morning," Harper said. "Six AM. Beat traffic."
"Six AM?" Maya groaned. "That's inhumane."
"That's efficient." I helped Harper up. "Come on. Let's go inside. We have one more day in Seattle. Let's not spend it crying on the curb."
We went back upstairs to Maya's apartment, which suddenly felt huge and empty without our stuff filling half the living room. Maya's furniture looked lonely. Like it was missing something.
"Weird," Maya said, looking around. "I lived alone for three years before you moved in. Now the place feels wrong without your clutter everywhere."
"My clutter was very tasteful, thank you." Harper collapsed on the couch. "What do we do now? We have twenty-four hours left in Seattle and I have no idea how to say goodbye to a city."
"We could do a farewell tour," Maya suggested. "Hit all your favorite spots. Say goodbye properly."
"My favorite spots are your apartment and the coffee shop on the corner. Very exciting farewell tour."
"Then we eat. Extensively. Say goodbye to Seattle through food." Maya pulled out her phone. "Pike Place Market for lunch. Dick's Drive-In for dinner. Molly Moon's ice cream for dessert. A very Seattle day."
"I love this plan." Harper looked at me. "You okay with a food tour?"
"I'm okay with anything that doesn't involve weddings or emotional conversations with exes."
We spent the afternoon wandering through Pike Place Market, eating everything we could find. Fresh donuts from the mini donut stand. Clam chowder in bread bowls. Piroshky from the Russian bakery. Harper bought flowers from one of the vendors—sunflowers, bright and cheerful.
"For the new apartment," she said. "First thing we're putting in our new place. Something alive and growing."
We walked down to the waterfront. Watched the ferries crossing Elliott Bay. Tourists everywhere, taking selfies and buying overpriced souvenirs. Seattle in summer, busy and beautiful and completely indifferent to our departure.
"I'm going to miss this," Harper said quietly. "Even though this city broke me. Even though I spent six months here thinking my life was over. I'm still going to miss it."
"You can miss something and still be glad you're leaving," Maya said. "Both things can be true."
We got ice cream at Molly Moon's—salted caramel for Harper, strawberry for Maya, coffee for me. Sat on a bench in Cal Anderson Park watching people and dogs and skateboarders enjoying the long summer evening.
"Tell me about Vancouver," Maya said. "What's the apartment like?"
"Two bedrooms, den, balcony with mountain views," I said. "Hardwood floors. Updated kitchen. Walking distance to the arena."
"And there's a commercial space two blocks away that's perfect for Harper's clinic," Harper added. "Ground floor, lots of natural light, already zoned for medical use. I'm meeting with the landlord next week."
"Look at you, opening a clinic. Being a business owner. Very adult." Maya bumped Harper's shoulder. "I'm proud of you. You know that, right?"
"I know."
"No, I mean it. Six months ago you were sleeping on my couch crying over Joel and thinking your life was over. Now you're moving cities with a man you love, opening your dream business, building an actual life. That's huge, Harper. That's real growth."
Harper got teary again. "Stop making me cry. I've cried enough this weekend."
"Then stop doing impressive things that make me emotional." Maya stood up. "Come on. One more stop before dinner."
She drove us to Discovery Park, to the overlook where you could see the Olympic Mountains across the Sound. The same mountains that had been the backdrop to Joel's wedding yesterday. But from here, they looked different. Peaceful. Just mountains, not symbols of anything.
We sat on a bench watching the sunset paint everything gold and pink.
"I've been thinking," Maya said. "About what happened at the wedding. With Joel asking you to dance and Brianna confronting you and all of it."
"What about it?"
"I think Joel knew exactly what he was doing. Asking you to dance in front of everyone. Making a scene. He wanted to blow up his own wedding. He wanted an excuse to call the whole thing off and blame it on you." Maya turned to Harper. "You refusing him, walking away with dignity—that took away his exit strategy. Now he's stuck in the marriage he chose with no one to blame but himself."
"That's a very cynical take," I said.
"It's a very accurate take. Joel's always been good at making his bad choices someone else's fault. But Harper didn't let him this time. She made him own it." Maya smiled. "That's power."
We stayed until the sun fully set, until the park rangers started making their final rounds, until we were the last people there.
Back at the apartment, we ordered pizza and watched bad movies and pretended tomorrow wasn't coming. Maya fell asleep halfway through the second movie, exhausted from her food poisoning recovery and emotional day.
Harper and I moved to the balcony, sitting in the plastic chairs Maya had bought at Target three years ago and never replaced.
"Last night in Seattle," Harper said.
"Last night in this chapter."
"Are you scared? About Vancouver. About everything changing."
"Terrified. But I'd rather be terrified and moving forward than comfortable and stuck." I took her hand. "Harper, I need to tell you something."
"That sounds ominous."
"It's not. It's just honest." I took a breath. "Meeting you saved my life. I know I've said that before, but I need you to really hear it. I was dying. Slowly, from pills and pain and the lie that I could handle everything alone. And you saw through all of that. You called me out. You made me face what I was doing. And now I'm forty-five days clean and moving cities and actually living instead of just surviving."
"Crew—"
"I'm not done. You saved my life. But more than that, you showed me what life could be. What partnership looks like. What it means to choose someone every day instead of just once. And I'm going to keep choosing you. In Vancouver. In ten years. Forever. However long you'll let me."
Harper was crying again. Happy tears this time. "That's the most romantic thing anyone's ever said to me."
"Good. I've been practicing with Dr. Okonkwo. She said I needed to work on emotional expression."
"You're doing great."
We sat there until midnight, holding hands, watching Seattle glow below us. This city that had broken us both. This city that had somehow helped us heal.
Tomorrow we'd leave. Tomorrow we'd start over in Vancouver. Tomorrow was the future.
But tonight was closure. Real closure. The kind that felt like an ending and a beginning simultaneously.
"Ready?" Harper asked as we finally went inside.
"For what?"
"For everything. Vancouver. The clinic. Your comeback season. All of it."
"With you? Yeah. I'm ready."
We fell asleep on Maya's couch, too tired to move to the air mattress we'd set up. Maya woke us at five AM with coffee and bagels.
"Road trip breakfast," she announced. "Eat fast. You're on a schedule."
By six AM, the car was packed. Maya stood in the parking lot in her pajamas, hugging Harper so tight I thought she might break something.
"Two months," Harper said. "Then you're in Vancouver too."
"Two months," Maya agreed. "Now go. Before I start crying again."
We got in the car. Harper rolled down the window, waving as we pulled away. Maya waved back, getting smaller in the rearview mirror until she disappeared completely.
"Goodbye, Seattle," Harper whispered.
"Hello, Vancouver," I said.