Right Hook (Gaslight series) COMPLETE

82| Your world or mine

Alyssa ♔
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Months later

The morning LA sun warms my skin as I carefully load Max's car. It seems absurd to condense my entire life into a few tiny boxes, but that's precisely what I've been doing since seven this morning – packing, fretting, and panicking.

I attempt to squeeze my fourth suitcase of clothes into the trunk without succumbing to tears and ruining my makeup again. This isn't just moving four hours away to college, which is terrifying enough; this is giving up my home. Mom already sold the house and used the proceeds to secure a cute townhouse, so once she wraps up packing, she'll join me in Stanford next week; my life in the Palisades is officially over.

For the most part, I'm glad. But a tiny part of me still worries about what this means for my dad. So far, it's been radio silence from whatever country he fled to. If he ever decides to return home, he'll be met with a car that isn't his in the driveway and a family he's never seen before, with his own having finally moved on without him.

The slight ache in my stomach intensifies as I imagine him approaching the house, only to realize his key no longer fits. I wonder where he'll think we've gone. If he'll be upset when he finds out we've moved out, or if he'll even care. Sometimes, it keeps me awake at night, wondering whether he's okay and if I'll see him again. But I understand now it's beyond my control, and according to Max's dad, who he often likes to quote, if I can't control it, I shouldn't worry about it.

He was right. After graduation, the high school drama that had dominated my life suddenly didn't matter anymore. With Max determined to help me leave the bad stuff behind, my life became about my family and friends and exploring the parts of LA I'd never seen before; it became about living.

Of course, boxing was – and still is – a major part of our lives. If we're not talking about it or sparring together, I'm training on a heavy bag, blasting Tupac through my headphones while watching him in coach mode. And as cheesy as it sounds, it's become my favorite part of training. Max just seems so happy when he's coaching Auden, and seeing how good he is with kids – even if his methods are a little unorthodox – makes me excited for the future. In another six months, he'll have completed two out of three boxing certificates and be looking for a permanent position, hopefully closer to Stanford.

Until then, we've been savoring every moment–horse rides, milkshake trips, mountain hikes. And for a city boy who once claimed to detest the beach, Max happily spent the better half of the summer frolicking in the ocean with the rest of us at Laguna Beach. I'd even brought along my Polaroid camera on one of the trips, and Maddie, post makeout session with Hayden, spontaneously captured a picture of us: I was wrapped in Max's arms, my head thrown back and mouth open mid-laugh as he grinned down at me just before dunking me under. I wanted to cry when she showed me. It was candid and natural, exactly how a snapshot should be; I'm sticking it to my dorm room wall the second I get to Stanford.

I glance at my watch, realizing that time is rapidly approaching. Sighing, I take one final look at the house. Its imposing white bricks stand tall across the driveway, the same bricks that shaped my entire adolescence and will now do the same for someone else. I've already met the new family—a sweet couple with their shy thirteen-year-old daughter and her cheeky four-year-old brother. Their dog is a retriever. I know looks can be deceiving, but for all intents and purposes, they have the snapshot perfect life; I just hope they have a better experience in this house than we did.

"Hey," Max murmurs, coming up behind me. His arms wrap around my waist, and I lean against his sturdy chest, inhaling his scent. "If you need more time, we can wait."