Chapter 1 

Nia

"Take that, you asshat!"

A leather jacket hits the snow with a wet thud, followed by the satisfying crash of his cologne bottles exploding against the sidewalk. The scent of expensive bad decisions mingles with the crisp December air.

"Come on, Nia!" Zach calls up from the street, hands spread in that infuriating gesture he uses when he wants to appear reasonable. "You're being so dramatic."

I lean further out the window, my curls whipping in the wind. "Dramatic? You want dramatic?"

His precious gaming console sails through the air next. The sound it makes when it connects with concrete feels like justice.

"That was eight hundred dollars!"

"Should've thought about that before you started sliding into Madison's DMs, not to mention her freaking PANTS!" I grab the box of his designer sneakers—the ones he babies like they're made of actual gold. "What was it you said? 'Can't wait to see you when I'm back in town?'"

"It was nothing! Just friendly conversation!"

The first sneaker lands in a puddle. The second bounces off the hood of his pretentious Tesla.

"Friendly?" My voice cracks, not from sadness but from pure rage. "You told her she looked 'absolutely stunning' in her bikini photos."

"That's just—people say that stuff online! Baby, come on!"

I chuck his artfully distressed jeans next, watching them unfurl like surrender flags. "People in relationships don't!"

Zach drags a hand through his sandy hair, that move that used to make my stomach flutter. Now it just makes me want to throw something heavier. Like him.

"Sweetie, you're overreacting. It's Christmas! Can't we just—"

"Don't you dare ‘sweetie’ me." The coffee table book about modern architecture—the one he insists on leaving out to look sophisticated—tumbles end over end. "And don't blame Christmas for your wandering eye."

He sidesteps the falling book with athletic grace, then has the audacity to check if it scratched his car.

"You know what? Fine." He brushes snow off his coat like he's the injured party. "Maybe this is for the best. You've been impossible lately anyway. Kind of letting yourself go."

I pause, a framed photo of us at Aspen in my hands. We look happy. We look like people who might actually last.

"Letting myself go?"

"You know. Getting all clingy. Jealous. Always wanting to know where I am, who I'm with." He shrugs, and something cold settles in my chest. "I need space to breathe."

The frame shatters against the pavement, glass catching the streetlight like tiny stars. Our faces stare up from the wreckage, split down the middle.

"There's your FUCKING SPACE," I call down. "Breathe all you want."

Zach doesn't even look upset anymore. He's already pulling out his phone, probably texting Madison that he's suddenly available for those drinks she mentioned.

The indifference in his pale hazel eyes cuts deeper than any fight we've ever had.

The Tesla's taillights disappear around the corner, taking two years of my life with them. I stand at the window, snow drifting through the frame I forgot to close, watching my breath fog the glass.

The apartment feels cavernous now. Empty hangers dangle in the closet like question marks. The indent on his side of the bed stares back at me, accusatory. Even the coffee maker looks lonely without his pretentious single-origin beans cluttering the counter.

"God, what am I going to do?"

My voice echoes off walls that suddenly feel too thin, too temporary. The lease is in both our names. The couch we fought over at West Elm. The subscription services he'll probably cancel out of spite.

But staying here for Christmas? Surrounded by the ghost of his cologne and my own spectacular failure? Not happening.

I grab my phone, scrolling through contacts. Mom will want to dissect every detail while force-feeding me casseroles. Tasha's probably at some artsy holiday party, documenting other people's joy for Instagram. My sister's hosting her perfect in-laws, and I'd rather eat glass than explain why Prince Charming turned into a pumpkin.

"I don't care where I end up." The words taste like freedom and panic in equal measure. "I'm just going to start driving."

I yank my suitcase from under the bed, tossing in whatever's clean. Oversized sweaters, leggings, the knee-high boots that make me feel invincible. My laptop, because work doesn't stop for heartbreak. The jade plant Zach always complained about—Medusa's coming with me. She's got to bring me some better luck.

My hands shake as I zip the bag shut. Not from cold, but from the terrifying thrill of having absolutely no plan.

"Done." I hoist the strap over my shoulder. "I'm done with men who think 'vibes' are a personality trait."

My car sits under a blanket of snow, faithful and ready. I brush ice from the windshield with more force than necessary, each scrape punctuating my resolve.

The engine turns over on the second try—a Christmas miracle. I blast the heat, watching steam rise from my coffee cup as the defroster works its magic.

"Wherever you're taking me," I tell the dashboard, "it's got to be better than here."

I pull out of the parking space without looking back. The city lights blur past my windows, each one a possibility I hadn't considered an hour ago.

My phone vibrates against the cup holder, the emergency alert chime cutting through my righteous fury playlist. I glance down at the screen.

WINTER STORM WARNING: BLIZZARD CONDITIONS EXPECTED. TRAVEL NOT ADVISED.

"Oh, perfect." I swipe it away without reading the details. "Because my night wasn't dramatic enough already."

The phone buzzes again. Same alert, more insistent this time. I silence it completely.

"Nope. Not happening." I grip the steering wheel tighter, watching snow swirl through my headlight beams like angry ghosts. I'd rather face a blizzard than spend one more second thinking about his pathetic excuses.

The highway stretches ahead, mostly empty except for the occasional semi truck. Smart people are probably home right now, wrapped in blankets, drinking hot chocolate with people who actually give a damn about them. People whose boyfriends don't think 'friendly conversation' includes telling other women they're hot.

Another alert. I don't even look.

The radio sparks to life between songs. "—expect up to eighteen inches overnight with wind gusts reaching sixty miles per hour. State patrol is advising all motorists to—"

I punch the button, cutting off the weatherman's doom and gloom. Christmas music fills the cabin instead. Some saccharine nonsense about being home for the holidays.

"Home." The word tastes bitter. "What home?"

The apartment belongs to both of us legally, but it stopped feeling like mine the moment I found those messages. Every corner holds some memory of Zach's casual cruelty—the way he'd critique my cooking while ordering takeout, how he'd scroll through his phone during movies I picked, that particular sigh he'd make when I wanted to talk about anything deeper than his workout routine.

My phone lights up again. Text this time. I glimpse Tasha's name before forcing my eyes back to the road.

Probably checking in about tonight's party. The one I was supposed to attend as half of a couple, playing the role of supportive girlfriend while Zach networked his way through Denver's social scene. Another performance I won't miss.

"Let him explain to everyone why his plus-one became a minus-one." The satisfaction in my voice surprises me. "I'm sure Madison would love to take my place."

The snow falls heavier now, thick flakes that stick to my windshield much faster than the wipers can clear them. My headlights catch less and less of the road ahead, but I press on. Each mile puts distance between me and the wreckage of my relationship.

My phone buzzes insistently. Three times. Four.

"Everyone can wait." I crack the window, letting cold air snap me alert. "The only person whose opinion matters right now is mine, and I vote for anywhere but here."

The road curves upward, winding into the mountain pass like a ribbon thrown carelessly against the darkness. Pine trees lean in from both sides, their branches heavy with snow that glows ghostly white in my headlights. The world narrows to this tunnel of light cutting through the storm.

"Letting myself go." I taste the words again, bitter as burnt coffee. "What the hell is that? Two years of my life and that's what he comes up with?"

My hands grip the steering wheel until my knuckles ache. The windshield wipers scrape against ice, their rhythm hypnotic and useless. Snow builds up faster than they can clear it, turning the glass into a kaleidoscope of white and shadow.

"I was the one holding us together." My voice cracks, not from sadness but from pure rage. "Making dinner while he played video games. Remembering his mother's birthday. Pretending his friends weren't complete jackasses."

The tears come without warning, hot against my cold cheeks. I swipe at them with my hand, furious at my own reaction. I don't want to cry over Zach Kane. He doesn't deserve the salt.

But they keep coming anyway, blurring my vision until the road becomes an impressionist painting of white and black. I blink hard, trying to focus on the yellow line that's disappearing under fresh powder.

"Damn him." The words fog the windshield. "Damn his stupid hair and his stupid car and his stupid—"

A gust of wind hits the car, rocking it sideways. Snow swirls across the asphalt like smoke, erasing any trace of where the road ends and the shoulder begins. I ease off the gas, my heart hammering against my ribs.

Okay, maybe the weatherman had a point.

Another sob escapes before I can stop it. The kind that starts in your chest and builds until it feels like your whole body might shake apart. I pull over, hazard lights blinking orange against the white void, and let myself fall apart for exactly thirty seconds.

"Get it together, Nia." I wipe my face with my sleeve, tasting vanilla lip balm and defeat. "You've survived worse than some guy with commitment issues and a gold chain."

Have I, though? The question sits in my chest like a stone.

I remember a sign a few miles back—Mountain View B&B, next three exits. The kind of place that probably serves hot chocolate in chipped mugs and has quilts that smell like lavender. Somewhere I can hole up until this storm passes and my mascara stops running.

"Just need to make it that far." I put the car back in drive, inching forward into the swirling chaos. "One mile at a time."

The snow thickens, each flake fat and determined. My phone sits silent in the cup holder, probably full of messages I'm not ready to answer. Questions about where I am, why I left, whether I'm okay.

I'm not okay. But I'm driving anyway, following taillights that might be real or might be wishes, climbing higher into mountains that don't care about broken hearts or bruised pride.