Episode 15
962 Words
STAY OR GO
The cabin Luca found was buried deep in the Catskills—two hours north of Manhattan, three turns past a forgotten general store, and perched on the edge of a lake so still it looked like glass.
Ava stared at it from the passenger seat, suitcase in hand, while mist clung to the trees like secrets.
“This feels like a horror movie,” she said dryly.
Luca chuckled. “Plot twist: no killers, just coffee, a fireplace, and no one asking how you’re feeling.”
“No WiFi, right?”
“Only enough for texts. But no i********:. No blogs. No Cole Westbrook trending hashtags.”
Ava let out a slow breath. “Then yeah. Let’s hide.”
They unloaded in silence.
The cabin was warm and rustic, with big windows, creaky floorboards, and the smell of cedar and comfort. Ava walked through it slowly, fingers brushing the worn bookshelf, a handmade quilt, a chipped coffee mug with the words “Kind people are my kind of people.”
Her heart ached.
Not from pain.
But from stillness.
She hadn’t felt that in… years.
The first night, they cooked dinner together—burned garlic bread, over-salted pasta, and laughter that didn’t need editing.
Afterward, they sat on the porch with mugs of wine and watched the moon ripple across the lake.
Luca turned to her. “When was the last time you just… stopped?”
Ava tilted her head. “Stopped what?”
“Fighting. Proving. Surviving.”
She didn’t answer right away.
Instead, she looked at her hands. The calluses from paintbrushes. The faded scar on her thumb from a broken wine glass two years ago.
“Honestly?” she said. “Maybe never.”
Luca nodded. “Then this weekend… you don’t have to earn your rest.”
She leaned her head on his shoulder.
“What if I don’t know who I am when I’m not fighting?”
“Then let’s find out.”
The next morning, Ava woke up before him.
She padded barefoot into the kitchen, made coffee, and sat on the back steps with a blanket around her shoulders.
For a moment, the world was just fog and birdsong.
She picked up her sketchbook and began to draw.
Not for a commission.
Not for the blog.
Just because her fingers itched for it.
She sketched the lake, the trees, the curls of Luca’s sleeping face from memory.
By the time he joined her, she was halfway through.
He kissed her temple and looked at the page.
“You’re dangerous with a pencil.”
She smirked. “You’re not bad yourself with that whole ‘healing through love’ thing.”
They spent the afternoon hiking, finding waterfalls, and getting lost on purpose.
Ava forgot how to think about internet comments.
She forgot how to second-guess the sound of her own laughter.
She forgot, briefly, that she was supposed to be watching her back.
That night, it rained.
Thunder rolled in like a warning.
They lit candles and read poetry aloud, voices soft and unpolished.
Eventually, Luca looked at her from across the couch and said, “You ever think about the after?”
Ava blinked. “After what?”
“All of this. The headlines. The interviews. The fight. Do you think you’ll still want me in your quiet?”
It was the first time he’d sounded afraid.
She set the book down and walked over to him, straddling his lap, face inches from his.
“Luca,” she whispered. “I didn’t fall for you because you were loud. I fell because you were the only person who didn’t ask me to shrink.”
He swallowed.
“Sometimes I wonder if I’m just your soft landing. Your reward after the storm.”
She kissed him, slow and aching.
“You’re not the reward,” she murmured. “You’re the revolution I didn’t see coming.
Later that night, tangled in sheets, hearts pounding from more than just desire, Ava whispered, “Can I ask you something?”
“Anything.”
“If I broke—like really broke—would you stay?”
He didn’t hesitate.
“I wouldn’t just stay. I’d build you a safe place to fall.”
She exhaled, a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding for years.
Then she said the three words she hadn’t said since Cole:
“I trust you.”
Not I love you.
Not yet.
But this meant more.
On the third day, the outside world came knocking.
A message got through.
From Delilah: “You need to come back. Now. Cole’s team is leaking something. Private. Ugly. About your past.”
Ava’s stomach dropped.
She handed Luca the phone.
He read it, jaw tightening.
“What do you want to do?”
“I want to stay here,” she whispered. “I want to pretend this lake is the only place that exists.”
“But?”
“But I can’t hide forever.”
He cupped her face. “Then we go back. Together.”
A pause.
“Unless…”
Ava shook her head. “No. Don’t say it. I’m not running. Not from him. Not from the past. Not from the version of me who lived through it.”
She stood up, back straight, eyes steady.
“Let him try to tear me down. I’m already building something he’ll never reach.”
Luca smiled.
“Damn right you are.”
They packed in silence.
But it wasn’t heavy.
It was sacred.
The kind of silence that meant understanding.
By the time they hit the highway, the clouds had cleared.
The world waited.
The fight waited.
But this time, Ava wasn’t returning as a wounded woman.
She was returning as the storm.
- Writer
