His GPS Always Navigated To My Best Friend’s Apartment Chapter 10

His GPS Always Navigated To My Best Friend’s Apartment Chapter 10

Three years later

I pulled the car over onto the side of the road overlooking the sweeping expanse of the Great Plains, letting

the rushing wind whip through my hair.

Resting in the passenger seat was a limited-edition Disney plush doll.

Logan had brought it back for me just yesterday after returning from a business trip to Orlando.

He’d smiled and said that even though Director Sterling was an absolute powerhouse at the office, the passenger seat of her car still deserved a little bit of a fairy tale.

I had simply smiled and accepted it without objection.

The plush doll swayed slightly as a strong gust swept through the open window. I reached over to straighten it, my fingers brushing against its soft, plush ears.

A sudden memory flashed through my mind-Ethan had once given me a stuffed animal too, years ago. But later on, Chloe had spilled her drink all over it, ruining it completely.

I hadn’t said a word back then.

Thinking about it now, I couldn’t even bring myself to care enough to talk about it.

I had since been promoted to Regional Director for the entire Northern Division. I had bought a house of my own here in Oak Creek and had a reliable car to get me wherever I wanted to go.

My life was full, peaceful, and structured in a way that left absolutely no room for anyone to casually barge

in and disrupt it.

My phone vibrated in my hand.

It was a notification from my college alumni group chat. Someone had just dropped a photo into the thread.

Ran into Ethan on the street today. What the hell happened to him? I almost didn’t recognize him.

I tapped open the photo.

The man in the picture was wearing a threadbare, faded flannel shirt, clutching a plastic grocery bag as he

walked aimlessly down the sidewalk with hollow, vacant eyes.

He looked like he had aged at least a decade, stripped entirely of the suffocating arrogance that used to

define his success.

Someone else immediately replied to the thread.

[I heard his company went completely bankrupt three years ago. He’s been drinking heavily every single day

since. He even had to sell that luxury penthouse downtown.]

[What about that girl, Chloe?]

[Oh, she vanished the second the money ran out. Turned around and hitched herself to some wealthy trust-fund guy immediately.]

(Word is Ethan’s living completely alone now, renting a cramped room in some run-down, dilapidated building on the edge of town. He’s living a pretty miserable life.]

I didn’t reply. I swiped out of the thread and left the group chat entirely.

The devotion he once assumed he could squander with impunity had ultimately become a lifelong regret he

would never be able to outrun.

I’d heard through the grapevine that inside his beat-up, broken-down car, the navigation system still saved a

single address.

But he no longer possessed the courage to ever drive out there.

There was no longer anyone waiting for him at the end of that route.

In the past, my taste buds had been forced to survive in the agonizing friction between bland, clear broths

and fiery hot sauces.

Antacids were a permanent fixture in the inner pocket of my purse, and the right to choose a restaurant for a date was a privilege exclusively gripped in his hands.

But now, if I want something sweet, I eat something sweet. If I want something spicy, I season it with extra

hot sauce exactly the way I like it.

I no longer have to carefully calculate the time, and I never have to worry about someone suddenly busting through my front door, demanding that I squeeze in and make room for an extra set of silverware.

Foodie buddies?

I let out a soft, low chuckle, shifted into drive, and pressed down on the accelerator. The car surged forward

into the open road.

In the rearview mirror, the path I had traveled gradually shrank into a thin, fragile line. Along with it, the name that had once consumed the entirety of my youth was left far behind in the dust.

The highway ahead stretched out, vast and completely empty.

There would be no car suddenly swerving into my lane, and there would be no impatient voice barking out

my name.

The Great Plains were so incredibly vast.

Vast enough to bury every single piece of the past, and grand enough to unfold every single piece of the

future.