Page 139 of Never Started
“I need you to write down everything you’ve ever wanted to do or experience. Places within reach you’ve wanted to visit. Things that would make you feel alive again and remind you that life is worth living.”
“I like this idea,” Via chimes in.
But I ask, “And what idea is that, exactly?”
They look at each other, their smiles widening as they both scream, “ROAD TRIP!”
Chapter seventy-three
Izzy
February 2026
Well, I quit my job. Yep. Quit. No notice.
What the fuck am I doing?
I’m supposed to be on this journey of self-discovery, yet I’m on my third week of this “road trip” with Dessa, and I don’t feel any less lost than I did before we left.
I was sad when Via decided not to come with us, but I understand with her being further along in her pregnancy and not wanting to be that far away from Ander.
We've spent so much time in the vehicle that Dessa has officially turned me into a swiftie. I now know the words to every Taylor Swift song there is. Yay for me.
“The coffee shop is just up ahead,” Dessa says, walking a few steps ahead of me and turning the street corner.
We’re currently in Colorado, and although the sights are gorgeous, it doesn’t fill the empty void that resides in my heart.
“Could you slow the fuck down, Fast Feet McGee?” I shout behind her, trying to match my pace to hers, but fail. “I don’t think the coffee is going anywhere. Why are we rushing?”
“I need caffeine to—”
“Hold up,” I call out, interrupting her, reaching out and grabbing hold of her arm to halt her steps. My eyes land on something that causes my breath to hitch momentarily.
“What the—” Dessa begins, but her words fall short as her eyes land on what has me stunned in place.
We must look like quite the sight, standing on a sidewalk in downtown Telluride, staring at an art studio as if we’ve seen a ghost. But it’s not just the art studio itself that has our attention. No. It’s the masterpiece in the window.
A painting of a man with angel wings, holding on to a faceless woman. The woman, although faceless, appears lost in contrast to the angel, who is holding on to her. There’s something about it that calls out to me, and it feels like a sign. What that sign is, I’m unsure. But I’m drawn to it.
“Do you want to go inside?” Dessa asks, breaking the silence.
My feet move before I can respond, and I find myself standing inside the shop in awe.
There are hundreds of paintings adorned throughout the shop, all stunning. All causing me tofeel. But there’s something about the one in the window that originally grabbed my attention.
A young teenage girl, probably around eighteen, appears from the back hallway. “Hi. Can I help you today?” she asks sweetly.
“Thank you. We’re just looking around,” Dessa replies before I can.
“The one in the window,” I begin, shuffling on my feet. “The one with the angel. Is there a story behind it?”
I love art—specifically paintings. I love the stories behind them the most. However, I love the emotions they elicit whenyou observe them and truly take the time to admire them. I find it can be healing.
I may still feel lost, but I have done some healing since we’ve been gone. Healing that was long overdue. I’ve started virtual counseling with a therapist named Celia. She’s young and beautiful, and although it looks like she hasn’t experienced anything in her life yet, she somehow gets me. She also puts up with my mouthy antics, so there’s that.
She’s helping me process the loss of my baby, the loss of Maverick, and everything in between.
The thing I struggle with most is thatI see Maverick in everything.He’s everywhere. Every day. In every single thing that I do. From the street lights that turn on at night, to fucking chickens on the side of the road. There’s always a constant reminder of him.
