Always

Chapter Seventeen

Liam

The countdown makes everything louder.

Every “last” suddenly matters.

Last home game. Last Friday night bonfire. Last time walking the halls without thinking about how temporary it all is.

And in the middle of it, there’s Mia.

Packing lists taped to her wall. College emails stacked in her inbox. A future that’s coming whether I’m ready or not.

Tonight is her graduation party. Our backyard lights are strung across the fence between our houses, families blending together like they always have. Music plays softly. People laugh. Teachers shake her hand and tell her how proud they are.

They should be.

She’s earned every bit of this.

I watch her from across the yard as she talks to my mom, smiling, confident. She looks like she belongs on the edge of something bigger.

“You going to keep staring or actually go talk to her?” my dad mutters beside me.

“I’m appreciating,” I reply.

He snorts and walks off.

When I finally cross the yard, she sees me coming and her face changes instantly—like it always does. Softer. Warmer.

“There you are,” she says.

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

She tilts her head. “You’ve been quiet tonight.”

“Just thinking.”

“Dangerous,” she teases automatically.

I smile, but it fades a little. “Two weeks.”

Her expression shifts. She knows what I mean.

Two weeks until she leaves.

“Yeah,” she says softly.

The noise around us feels distant for a moment.

“You excited?” I ask.

“Terrified,” she admits. “But yes.”

“Good.”

She studies me carefully. “You don’t have to be strong all the time, you know.”

I huff a quiet laugh. “I’m not trying to be.”

“Then what are you feeling?”

I look at her—really look at her. The girl who fixed my broken toy truck. The girl who kissed me in the ocean. The girl who’s about to step into a life she built from pure determination.

“I’m proud of you,” I say. “And I’m going to miss you like hell.”

Her eyes shine instantly.

“I’m not disappearing,” she whispers.

“I know.” I step closer. “But it won’t be this. Not every day.”

She nods slowly.

The truth is, I’m scared of the quiet her absence will leave behind. Of walking past her house and not seeing her light on. Of reaching for my phone at midnight and remembering she’s in another time zone.

But fear isn’t a reason to hold her back.

“I meant what I said,” I continue. “We’re not quitting when it gets hard.”

She wraps her arms around me, holding tight. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

Fireflies flicker around us as the sun dips lower. Laughter rises again. Someone calls her name for photos.

She pulls back, wiping at her eyes. “Don’t get all emotional on me, bad boy.”

I smirk. “Don’t ruin my reputation.”

But as she walks toward her family, I realize something.

Reputation doesn’t matter anymore.

What matters is that when she drives away in two weeks—

She’ll know she’s not leaving something fragile behind.

She’s leaving something strong enough to wait.