Chapter 1

The cemetery stayed empty on New Year’s morning. Alex preferred the silence. He stayed on his knees until the frost seeped through his clothes, finally leaning the bouquet of roses against the base of the stone. It had been five years of this - speaking to a piece of granite because his wife wasn’t there to answer him anymore. He reached out and cleared the snow from the deep-cut letters of her name.

“Happy New Year, E,” he said. The words felt thin in the cold.

ELENA MARIE SMITH. BELOVED WIFE. 1988-2021.

The dates always hit him hardest. She had only been thirty-three years old. They’d had twelve golden years together. High school sweethearts turned college lovers turned married at twenty-three. He had twelve years of her laugh, her terrible singing in the shower, the way she’d steal his coffee every morning and pretend she didn’t.

Then eighteen months of watching cancer eat her alive. The love of his life.

Then five years of this.

“I know what you’d say, E. You’d tell me I’m supposed to live again. Not just ... get through the days.” He swallowed. “You didn’t fight that hard just so I could sit here and rot.”

The words stuck after that.

“I just ... I-I ... don’t know what to do without you.”

“You were everything to me, E. My first kiss. First love. First ... everything.” He gave a quiet, humorless huff. “I really went all in, didn’t I?”

As he kept talking to his dead love of his life, the sky turned gray. A little pink sneaked in at the edges. He noticed it because she would’ve. Elena loved winter sunrises.

“I’m not ready to move on, E,” he said, sharper than he meant. He winced at it. “I don’t even know what that means anymore. Ready for what. For who.” He shook his head. “You were it for me, E. One shot. One real love. That’s how it works, right? Lightning once. That’s it.”

He pushed himself up, knees complaining immediately. “God, listen to me. Thirty-eight and I sound like I’m eighty.” He thrust his hands into his coat pockets. Alex thought about more he could do to get over Elena. Running helped. It always had. He’d started after she died. He needed something just needed to wear himself out enough to sleep. Five years of that kind of tired settled deeper than muscles ever showed.

“I’ll be back next week,” he said. Softer now.

He turned toward the car, boots crunching through frost-whitened grass. The roses looked small against the stone. They always did. He noticed it every time. And every time he told himself he’d bring more next week.

He always did.

He cranked the heat in the car as he sat in silence, ruminating. It was hard for him to say goodbye to Elena. He stared straight ahead and sat in silence for a while before pulling out.

Behind him, the cemetery went quiet again.

The office party was a crime scene. A glitter crime scene.

Someone had attacked the break room with discount decor. Silver and gold streamers hung from the ceiling tiles, already sagging like tired bouncers at a bad club. A “HAPPY NEW YEAR” banner was taped crooked over the coffee maker. It bled red glitter onto the counter below. On every table sat platters of food that looked deeply unhappy to be there. Soggy mini quiches. Carrot sticks surrendering their crunch.

Twenty people in itchy sweaters stood holding plastic flutes. The liquid inside was the color of a bad sunrise. Tinny pop music fought the relentless fluorescent buzz. The air smelled like cheap perfume and onion dip and a collective wish to be somewhere else.

Alex wanted to leave. The thought was a solid thing in his chest, right behind his ribs. He’d gone home from the cemetery, showered, put on jeans and a shirt. He’d stared at his phone. He could text them. Migraine. Car trouble. A sudden, severe allergy to human interaction.

Any excuse would work. It wasn’t the party. It was the looks. The careful, sympathetic smiles. The ones that said Oh. You came. How ... brave, and then immediately, What do I say next?

But yesterday. They’d cornered him at his desk. Kara with her big blue eyes that made “no” feel cruel. Jessica with that quiet, chin-tilted stubbornness. The kind that meant the discussion was already over.

“One hour,” Kara had begged, hands pressed together like in prayer. “We’ll be your human shields. We’ll deflect all boring chat. Swear on my good lipstick.”

“We’ll miss you,” Jessica had said. It was simpler. It landed harder. “The room feels wrong when you’re not in it.”

So. Here he was. A sixty-minute sentence. He could watch the clock on the microwave.

He grabbed a beer from a cooler of grey, slushy ice. The bottle was slippery. He cracked it open on the table edge. The sound, a sharp pssht-thwack, was too loud for the room. He retreated to a spot by the fire exit. Close enough to be counted present. Far enough to avoid talking.

He saw them right away. Kara and Jessica. A matched set, but from different boxes.

Kara was holding court by the veggie tray. She wore a red dress that seemed to challenge the very concept of workplace safety. She was all loud laughter and sharp gestures. Her laugh cut through the murmur, a bright, clear bell. Men’s eyes followed her. She seemed not to notice, or maybe she just didn’t care. Kara Thompson. Office firecracker. She could reject a guy with such genuine warmth he’d walk away feeling like he’d won something.

Beside her, Jessica was neatening a plate of cookies. She wore a soft blue dress. Her dark hair was up, but pieces had escaped. They framed her face. If Kara was a sparkler, Jessica was the pilot light on a stove. Steady. Contained. But you knew the heat was there, waiting. The office thought she was “nice, but shy.” Alex knew she was the smartest person in the building. The kind who could destroy your argument with one quiet fact, then offer you the last cookie.

They were a unit. Best friends since day one. They had a language of glances and half-smiles. People called them “the Hot Girls.” Alex thought that phrase was stupid. They were just his friends. He never understood why they picked him. Maybe because he never tried. Never stared. Never used a pickup line disguised as small talk. He was just there. A quiet neutral zone. Slowly, without him noticing, they became the only color in a world that had faded to grey.

He drank his beer. It tasted like regret and aluminum.

Kara’s eyes found him across the room. Her whole face lit up. She pinched Jessica’s sleeve, nodded toward him. Now two sets of eyes were on him.

Hell.

They were coming. Weaving through people with terrible purpose.

“There he is!” Kara’s voice sailed over the chatter. She moved like she was parting a sea. “You made it! I had five bucks on you bailing.”

“I said I would,” he said. His voice sounded flat to his own ears.

“You say a lot of things,” Jessica said. She appeared at his other side. Her voice was lower, meant only for him. She studied his face. “You went to the cemetery this morning.”

It wasn’t a question. Jessica didn’t ask those. She observed. She knew. It was usually a comfort. Right now it felt like a small, cold hand reaching into his chest.

“Yeah.”

“You okay?” The words were almost lost under a shout from near the speaker.

“The same.” He gave a tight shrug. “Cold.”

Kara’s expression changed. Something raw moved behind her eyes. Then she buried it under a bright, willful smile. She looped her arm through his. Her skin was warm. Her grip was firm. It felt less like an invitation and more like she was anchoring him to the spot.

“Well, you’re here now. With us. So the official ban on sad thoughts starts now. For the next,” she made a show of checking her bare wrist, “fifty-two minutes. My rules.”

A muscle in his cheek jumped. Traitor. “Your rules are arbitrary.”

“All the best rules are,” she said. She began to steer him away from the wall. Jessica fell into step beside them. “Now come on. We have been plotting.”