It was one of those perfect L.A. days: bright sun, soft breeze, not a single cloud messing up that endless blue.
Joy was in her Audi, tailing a silver-gray Cadillac like a bad spy movie. She'd been glued to Hughes's bumper all morning.
The Cadillac finally nosed into the parking garage of some high-rise downtown. Hughes parked, stepped out looking annoyingly good in that navy coat, locked the car, then walked straight over to Joy's window and yanked the passenger door open.
"How long exactly were you planning to stalk me?"
Joy rubbed the back of her neck, flashing the most awkward grin of her life. "Heyyy… funny running into you, huh?"
Hughes leaned against the doorframe, pulled a cigarette from his coat like he had all the time in the world, and lit it with that lazy flick of his wrist. "You've been on my ass since breakfast. Spit it out—what's the play?"
Okay, so full honesty: Joy remembered from her last life that today was the day Hughes got into a nasty wreck near K22. The Thunder family buried the details, so she had no clue what time it actually happened. Plan A: shadow him 24/7 and make damn sure he never got close to that stretch of road.
So far? He'd just bounced between studios. Zero K22.
She was sweating bullets trying to come up with a cover. "I just… happened to see you, that's all."
Hughes smirked, eyebrow arched like he could see right through her skull. "Right. Well, I'm leaving now. Try not to show up in my rearview."
Joy forced a laugh. "Heh. So… any plans this afternoon?"
He gave her that cocky, half-lidded look. "You asking me out, Grant?"
She figured screw it—keeping him in sight was easier if they were actually together. "Yeah. I am. You in?"
He laughed under his breath, not even surprised. "Get in my car."
Two minutes later she was buckling up in the Cadillac while he merged back onto the freeway.
Joy's brain was screaming: He's probably heading toward K22 now. Gotta stop him.
"Hey, any good movies out?" she blurted.
Hughes shot her a sideways glance. "You want to see a movie?"
"Totally. Unless you've got something else going on?"
"Nope." He spun the wheel and took the exit toward Santa Monica instead.
Yes! Far away from K22.
"Let's hit the theater by my place in the valley. I've got a membership—discounts and everything."
Hughes snorted. "The five bucks you save isn't worth my gas."
"I don't care. That's where we're going."
He shut up and drove.
They crossed the Sunset Bridge, the whole city glowing gold under the late-afternoon light. L.A. always looked softest from up here—like the west coast was one giant warm hug, nothing like the sharp, cynical edges of New York.
Then, out of nowhere, Hughes pulled off under the bridge and parked on a quiet stretch of riverbank.
He killed the engine, got out, peeled off his coat (too hot), and walked down to the water in just a white dress shirt that fluttered in the breeze.
Joy sat there blinking. Wait, weren't we going to the movies?
She followed him down to the shore. The sunset was ridiculous—orange, pink, the river sparkling like it was made of liquid gold.
"You remember this spot?" he asked suddenly, voice low.
Joy swallowed. "Yeah. This is where we… made it official."
He stared straight ahead, hands in his pockets. "Thirteen years, Joy."
Something about the way he said it felt heavy, almost sad. "Feels like a blink."
He gave a soft huff of laughter. "You told me back then: either we don't start at all, or we go till we're old and gray. That sound familiar?"
Joy curled her fingers into her palms. "I was pretty naive."
"So you changed your mind?" Still not looking at her.
"I didn't change my mind about commitment. I just… changed what I think love is supposed to look like."
He finally turned. "And what does it look like now?"
"That I have to be a whole person first before I can belong to someone else."
He smiled—small, genuine. "Already told you—you grew up."
She smiled back. "I owe a lot of that to you. Thirteen years is rare, Hughes. I don't regret a single day of knowing you. You shaped me. I'm grateful."
He lit another cigarette, the flame briefly lighting his face. "You said I didn't respect you. I'm working on that."
"Thank you. Really. But… I owe you an apology too."
One eyebrow up. "For?"
"For assuming the worst. I decided you were trying to control me when maybe you were just trying to protect me. I was kind of a jerk about it."
He tapped ash into the breeze, quiet for a long beat. "That's… not what I expected to hear."
"I can be wrong, you know," she said softly. "If I misjudged you back then, why didn't you just tell me? Why take the blame and bend over backwards for my stupid rant?"
He looked out over the water again. "Can't answer that."
He never would. Because the real answer was tied up in the reason they broke up—something he'd decided she'd never know.
The wind picked up, cooler now. He turned toward the car. "Come on. It's getting cold. I'll take you home."
"No!" Joy said, too fast. "I mean… I'm not going home till after midnight."
He pivoted, staring at her like she'd lost it. "So you want me to hang out till twelve?"
She nodded, cheeks pink.
He laughed—slow, amused, a little arrogant. "You know what that sounds like, right?"
She rubbed her hands together nervously. "I know how it sounds. I just… want to catch up. Rare night we're both free."
He considered her for a second, then shrugged. "Get in. We'll figure something out."
Back in the car, Joy suggested a couple places, then shot down Venice Garden because of paparazzi.
Hughes sighed dramatically. "Lady, you're killing me. Keep this up and the only place left is my house."
"…Fine."
In her head she was doing cartwheels: as long as he was nowhere near K22, she didn't care if they sat in a parking lot till dawn.
This lifetime, she and Hughes were never meant to end up together. That ship had sailed.
But at least she'd get to watch him breathe, live, grow old.
After everything they'd given each other for seven solid years, that felt like closure enough.