"Sometimes, the weight we carry isn't ours to bear— but we carry it anyway"

As the plane touched down, I wasn't sure if I felt relief or regret. Why did I come here anyway? I thought it was home - an escape. I need to connect with nature, or whatever the fuck.

Albeit, this is a lot harder than I thought it would be this time around. Denver smells like memories I'm not yet ready to unpack.

The moment my feet hit Coloradan soil, I realized this didn't feel like coming home— it just felt heavy.
I stepped off the plane and into a city that had once been everything to me, but now felt like a stranger.

Air's thinner, I noticed, sharper, and carried the weight of my past in every breath.

➤

The room was quiet after my shower, despite for the low hum of the air conditioning unit in the corner.

I sit still on the edge of the bed, shoulders slouched, the towel from my shower still damp and twisted around my waist.
Staring out the massive window of my king suite, the lively Denver skyline blurs my tired eyes.

The bedspread beneath me is crisp, far too neat for how disheveled I feel inside.
I splurged on the hotel, insisting on a king suite so I could get some time away from Jabari since he insisted on coming along. I wanted something that felt comfortable, even indulgent, while I was here. But the size of the king room made me feel small, swallowed by the space and the silence.
Jabari is just a door away, probably asleep since I can't hear him, but I couldn't bring myself to check.

I exhale slowly, planting my elbows on my knees, face falling into each hand. The air was cool on my bare skin, body stripped down to just my boxers. It wasn't the cold that bothered me, though—it was the weight pressing on my chest, the tension in my neck.

11:38pm

My phone vibrated where it sat on the nightstand, the screen lighting up briefly to show Morgan's contact. I take a couple glances at it but didn't move to pick it up. Not yet.

I lean back, my hands gripping the edge of the mattress. The dim glow of the room's single bedside lamp cast long shadows across the walls, giving everything a muted, dreamlike quality.
I stare at the phone again, my jaw tightening. It's not that I don't want to hear her voice right now or that I didn't miss her, but I don't want her to hear me like this. She's going to give me advice for things I'm not even sure I'm ready to admit I'm feeling.

I take a deep breath, letting it out slowly, and finally reach for the phone.
My thumb hovers over the screen before pressing the side button, turning it dark.
"Not tonight," I murmur before setting the phone back down.
I lean forward again and rub my hands over my face.

For a couple days, I told myself. Just to figure things out. To breathe.

➤

The next day

I shove my hands into my jacket pockets as me and Jabari stroll through the heart of Penshaw. The warmth of nostalgia dulled the edge of what I was feeling last night. The streets were alive with familiar sights—quaint shops, cheerful townsfolk, and mountain peaks in the distance.

"Damn," Jabari mutters, glancing around. "I forgot that it always looks like this all year."

"Like what?" I ask him, kicking a rock.

"Like a Hallmark movie threw up in here."

I crack a laugh. "Welcome to Penshaw."

As we turn a corner, a giant poster came into view, plastered across the side of the general store.

I can't help but stare at the image of my father, situated confidently in a suit and tie, looking like a good citizen.

"Look at your pops," Jabari says, laughing. "Man cleans up nice. Doesn't even look like the guy who—"

"Let's not finish that sentence," I cut in, my voice dry.

Just then, a small crowd appears ahead, cameras flashing and people waving signs. At the center of it all was "The Governor" himself, shaking hands and posing for pictures like a seasoned politician.

I groan audibly, walking towards the commotion.

"Oh, this is gonna be good," Jabari says, grinning wide.

Dad spots us and breaks into an exaggerated wave, as though he'd been expecting us all along. "Chris! My boy! And... Jabari, his best friend."

Jabari laughs. "I'm more than the best friend at this point, you've known me for-"

Carter ignores him, striding over with two cameras following close behind. He grabs me by the shoulders, turning my body slightly toward the nearest photographer. "There he is—my son, back in town! Oh, the voters are going to love this!"

My face falls to a frown. "Dad, what are you doing?"

"Just framing the shot," Carter tells me, smoothing my jacket like he's styling a mannequin. "We need to look united, son. Family values and all that shit."

"United?" I repeat sarcastically. "I just got here."

"And I'm already proud of you!" My father beams, stepping back for the cameras.

"Dad," I release, tone dropping. "Can we talk? I need to—"

"Not here, son!" Carter whispers sharply, his smile never faltering. "The cameras, remember? Everything's fine, life's perfect, you're perfect, I'm perfect. Let's keep it that way."

Jabari snorts. "Wow, he's really working for them votes, huh?"

Carter shoots Jabari a quick glare before clapping his hands. "Alright, team, let's move this parade down Main Street! Chris, walk with me. Look supportive."

I sigh, falling in step beside my father as the crowd moves with them. "I'm not here for your campaign," I mutter. "I need to talk to you about—"

"Penshaw loves you," Carter interrupts, waving at a passing car. "You should've seen the looks on their faces when I told them my boy was coming back to visit. A hero, they said."

I stop walking suddenly. "I'm not a hero. I'm just trying to deal with my life, and—"

"Life!" Carter cut in, throwing an arm around my shoulders. "Exactly what this campaign is about! Improving lives, building community, and, most importantly, winning votes. Now, smile for that guy with the big camera—he's from the Gazette."

I stare at him, unamused. "Dad."

My father finally glances at me, lowering his voice. "Alright, alright, you've got my attention. But whatever this is, it can wait. I've got a speech in ten minutes, and I need the good people of Penshaw to see me looking like a family man. Just... try not to ruin it."

Jabari bursts out laughing. "Yo, Chris, your dad's a trip."

I shoot him a look, although I agree, then turned back to Carter. "We'll talk later," I mumble, stepping away.

"Sure thing, son! Love you, proud of you!" Carter calls after me, giving a double thumbs-up to the cameras.

As Jabari and I walk away, Jabari shakes his head, still chuckling. "Man, that was like a scene from The Office."

➤

I park in front of my childhood home, the familiar creak of the old porch swing stirring memories I hadn't touched in years. The house looked the same—warm, with its olive green siding and decorated with plants. For a moment, I almost expected to see my mother standing at the door, waving me in like she always used to.

Instead, the door stayed closed. I sigh, grabbing the bouquet of flowers from the passenger seat.

As I walk up the steps, the door flies open, and Mary stands there, her arms crossed and her lips pressed in a tight line.

"Chris," she says, her voice sharp with unspoken emotion. "It's about time."

I forced a smile and hold out the flowers. "Hey, Mom. Thought I'd surprise you."

Mary takes the bouquet, her eyes softening for a moment before she steps aside to let me in without a hug. The house smells the same—fresh linen and pine, a scent that instantly brings me back to simpler days.

We sat in the living room, I'm on the edge of the couch, Mom perched in her favorite armchair. For a while, we made small talk over lunch —about the house, Dad's campaign, the B&B, even a pie she'd been meaning to bake for Sherry. I thought maybe this visit would go smoothly.

But then her tone shifted.

"Why didn't you call?" she asks abruptly, setting her tea down with a thud.

I blink, caught off guard. "I've been busy, Mom. You know how it is. Work, life—"

"That's not an excuse, Christopher." Her voice cracks, her expression hardened. "Do you have any idea how many times I've called you? Or how many messages I've left? And don't tell me you didn't get them, because I know you did."

I lean back, rubbing the back of my neck. "It's not that I didn't want to call—"

"Then why didn't you?!" Mary's voice rose, her face turning red. "Do you know how hard it's been not knowing if you're okay? I'm your mother! I have a right to know what's going on in your life!"

"I didn't want to worry you," I tell her, my voice tight. "You don't need to know everything, Mom. It's not your burden to carry."

Mary stares at me, her jaw trembling. "Not my burden? Chris, I carried every burden when you were younger. When your father was gone, when you scraped your knees, when you cried in my arms because the world was too big and scary—who was there for you? Me. And now, you won't even let me visit you in Nashville. Why? What's changed?"

I stand, hands on his hips, trying to keep my temper in check. "What's changed is that I'm not a kid anymore. I have my own life, my own priorities. Morgan and I are trying to figure things out, and I don't need you hovering over everything."

"Morgan," Mary spit out her name like it was venom. "It's always about her now, isn't it? She's the reason you've shut me out."

"That's not fair," I shoot back, my voice rising. "You used to adore Morgan, what happened? Huh?"

"She's the one who's replaced me."

"She's my fiancée. My future. And if you can't accept that, then maybe you need to take a good, hard look at yourself instead of blaming her."

The room falls silent, the air thick with tension. Mary's eyes fill with tears, but she didn't look away. "I just want my son back," she whispers.

I soften slightly but hold my ground. "I'm still your son, Mom. But I'm not the same kid who needed you to fix everything. You've got to let me handle my life the way I need to."

Mary doesn't respond, her gaze dropping to her hands.

After a long pause, I sigh. "I should go."

This is the last thing I wanted.

I grab my jacket, hesitating at the door. "Thanks for lunch," I speak quietly, though the words felt hollow.

I drive away from the house in silence, the weight of the conversation sitting heavy on my chest. I glance in the rearview mirror, half-expecting to see my mother standing on the porch like she used to when I was a kid, waving me off with a smile. But the doorway was empty.

The road stretched ahead, winding through the quiet Penshaw suburbs, but I barely noticed. My mind replayed Mary's words—her hurt, her accusations, her anger.

"She's the one who's replaced me."

I tighten my grip on the steering wheel, guilt warring with frustration. Morgan hadn't done anything wrong. She's my future, my partner, the only person who truly understands the weight I carry. But in Mary's eyes, she was the reason for everything—the distance, the silence, the broken connection between mother and son.

As the sun dips behind the mountains, I pull into a rest stop, cutting the engine and letting the quiet envelop me.
I reach for my phone, staring at Morgan's name on the screen again.

I want to talk to her, to hear her voice, to remind myself why all of this was worth it. But as much as I love her, I can't shake the creeping doubt.

Would it ever really be over?

I lean his head back against the seat and close my eyes, the faint hum of the engine the only sound in the stillness.

Somewhere in the distance, a train whistle echoed through the night, lonely and unresolved.

➤

The next day

I sit on a weathered boulder, my head bowed as the wind tugs at my jacket. The Rockies loom around JB and I, their jagged peaks slicing into the blue sky. I hadn't been back here in years, but nothing changed. The same trails, the same trees, the same silence that used to calm me as a kid.

Now, the silence only makes my thoughts louder.

Behind me, Jabari finally trudges up the trail, a water bottle in one hand. "Man, I don't know why you dragged me up here. Denver got bars. Denver got restaurants. Denver got women who smile back when I say hi. But no, we're out here in the middle of nowhere, about to get eaten by a mountain lion. This is white people shit."

I don't bother looking up. "There aren't mountain lions on this trail."

"Oh, excuse me, Mr. Rocky Mountain Tour Guide. Maybe you missed the memo where nature is dangerous and Jabari don't hike." He plops down on a rock beside me, dramatically stretching his long legs. "So, what's up? You gonna stare at the dirt all day, or are we actually gonna talk about what's on your mind?"

I sigh. "I didn't ask you to come up here to play therapist."

"Too bad. You getting the deluxe package. No co-pay." Jabari leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "So, this is about Morgan, isn't it?"

I hesitate, my jaw tightening. "It's not about her at all. It's about me. I'm... tired, J. Tired of feeling like the past is going to crash into us at any second. Malcolm's gone, but it doesn't feel over. What if I can't protect her next time?"

Jabari let out a low whistle. "Man, you've got some heavy stuff rattling around in that big head of yours. You ever try, I don't know, not thinking for five minutes? Works for me."

I shoot him a look. "This is serious."

"So am I." Jabari's tone softens. "Look, Chris, I get it. You've been carrying the weight of the world on your back for years now. You're so busy looking over your shoulder, you don't even see what's ahead of you. But let me tell you something, alright? You've already won. You beat Malcolm, Beck, and Tate. You kept Morgan safe. And you're still standing. That's all the proof you need that you can handle whatever comes next."

I shake my head. "It's not that simple."

"Of course it's not. Nothing worth having ever is." Jabari stands, towering over me, and points toward the horizon. "But look at that. The mountains. The sky. The whole damn world laid out in front of you. You think any of it cares about what's behind you? No. It's tellin' you to keep moving."

I let the words sink in, my gaze following Jabari's finger to the jagged peaks in the distance.

"And for the record," Jabari adds with a sly grin that makes me roll my eyes, "you're not doing this alone. You got me. And I'll personally fight off every mountain lion or crazy uncle ghost that tries to mess with you and Morgan."

I let myself chuckle. "You really know how to ruin a moment, you know that?"

"It's a gift." Jabari pats him on the shoulder. "Now come on. Let's finish this hike so you can call Morgan and stop being a moody little—"

"Alright, alright!" I stand, shaking my head. "Let's go."

➤

The phone only rang once before Morgan answered, her voice soft and unassuming. "Hello?"

I smile faintly, gripping the steering wheel as the open road stretches ahead. "Hey. What are you doing?"

"Looking at bouquets," she replies, her tone light but distant, as if she were holding herself back. "What are you doing?"

I hesitate, glancing at the fading silhouette of the mountains in the rearview mirror. "Thinking about you," I say honestly. "And missing you."

Her voice softens, her guard slipping. "I miss you too. When are you coming home? I mean... here?"

I exhale, a slow realization settling over me like a sunrise. "I thought I needed to come back here to find something," I admit, voice steady but thick with emotion. "But home... home isn't a place. It's you. It's always been you."

Morgan goes silent for a moment, and then her voice becomes warm and full of relief. "Chris..."

"I'm coming home," I state firmly, my chest tight with a mix of longing and certainty. "Right now."