Ipress my forehead against the floor-to-ceiling window of my penthouse at Park Towers, which overlooks Central Park. It’s cold to the touch. The early morning traffic fills the streets below, and I can see people walking on the sidewalks in a line like tiny ants. The sun is just beginning to rise, but this city never sleeps. Shit, I barely do these days.

    It’s mid-September, and the leaves are preparing to change from green to orange and yellow—a sign that fall has arrived. Unlike my siblings, I grew up in the suburbs, where harvest festivals, hayrides, and pumpkin patches were a regr part of our weekends. In the heart of the city, there’s only steel and ss and a billion-dor view that might as well be a prison. Some days, I feel like a damn robot, going through the motions of life.

    I was convinced that living in this luxury high-rise with this view would make me happy. My brothers, Asher and Dyson, have penthouses here, along with many of my friends and acquaintances. However, this ce has only made me feel lonely.

    I’m convinced nothing can make me happy anymore. Hockey did at one point, until I tore my ACL for the third time and had a hard recovery. That’s when I knew I’d never y again. The game was my everything.

    Money sure as fuck doesn’t make me happy, and probably never will. Undoubtedly, it might make some parts of my life easier, but the attention it carries isn’t always worth it. There should be bnce, but like most things, I don’t have any, and unfortunately, I don’t care anymore.

    The thirty-thousand-dor Italian espresso machine that my older brother, Dyson, insisted I buy hisses behind me. It’s the third shot I’ve brewed this morning, and so far, I haven’t touched a single one. They’re lined up on the marble counter resembling tiny monuments, showcasing my disinterest in everything.

    Every autumn, I’m like this. Ever since my sister, Eden, passed away, I can’t avoid it. I was hoping this year would be different. So far, it’s not.

    I suck in a deep breath, and I catch my reflection in the window.

    I’m wearing a designer suit, perfectly tailored for me, while sporting five days of stubble that’s transitioned from sexy but trying to not giving a single fuck. I have a neck beard, for crying out loud. The thought makes me groan. The man staring back at me used to be a hockey league defenseman for the New York Angels—one of the most sessful teams of this decade. Five years ago, I had fire in my eyes and ice in my veins. Now I’m just another hollow-eyed billionaire who forgot what winning feels like.

    Eden would hate this for me.

    Memories of my sister flood in; losing her isn’t something I will ever just get over. Even though it’s been years, somehow, her opinions still affect my life choices. I lost one of my best friends.

    I can almost hear Eden’s voice. “Nicky, you’re pathetic. Look at you, turning into one of those rich, boring assholes we always made fun of as teenagers.”

    I fucking am. Shit.

    Not long after she was gone, I spiraled. I made bad decisions, was selfish, and nearly destroyed my friendship with my childhood best friend, Zane. I didn’t respect myself or like the man I’d be. Even now, we’re still repairing our friendship, and one day, I hope it will be a fraction of what it was before I messed up. Worst mistake of my life. I was in a bad ce, and what I did was inexcusable; however, I was also taken advantage of when I was at my weakest. Two things can be true at the same time.

    My phone buzzes, and the monthly reminder shes across the screen.

    Donate to Eden’s favorite literacy program.

    I tap through to the notification without thinking, bumping this month’s donation from fifty thousand to one hundred thousand. The foundation has put libraries near twelve inner-city schools this year. Eden would’ve visited each one and read to every kid who listened.

    I stare at the confirmation screen until it blurs. This is what I do now. Write checks to fill the crater my sister left behind. I throw money at my problems because facing them would be me admitting too much.

    The espresso machine gurgles onest time and falls silent, just like everything else in this ce.

    I line the shots up like they’re tequ and take all three. My phone dings, letting me know that the driver is downstairs, waiting to deliver me to the office. I grab my briefcase and leave.

    When I arrive at Banks Advertising and Marketing Firm, it’s as quiet as a morgue. I enter the conference room for our first meeting today and sit next to Asher.

    “Good morning, all,” Mr. McDaniels says.

    He’s the young CEO of a new start-up for a revolutionary app, and he needs ourpany to help boost him to the stratosphere, because that’s what we do. We can make or break anyone of any size in any industry. This kind of poweres with great responsibility, one neither Asher nor I take lightly.

    The overhead lights reflect off the polished ck table, and if I hear Mr. Big Mac say this app will disrupt human connection one more time, I might lose my cool. He’s twenty-six, wearing sneakers that cost more than most people’s rent, and he keeps using the words synergy and vibe like they’re going out of style.

    “The beauty of our tform,” he says, clicking through slides that hurt my eyes, “is that we’re removing the inefficiencies of traditional human interaction.”

    Something inside me snaps.

    Maybe I’ve had too much espresso, and it’s finally hit my bloodstream, or I’m over this shit. Or maybe how he reduced human connection to an algorithm pissed me off.

    “Stop.” The wordes out harsher than I intend.

    The room freezes, and everyone goes quiet.

    Asher clears his throat and res at me. Maybe I’ve finally lost my mind. The rest of the team exchanges nces, not sure how to react to my outburst.

    “Did you have a question about the projections?” Mr. McDaniels asks, unfazed by me. I’m not sure he can’t read basic social cues.

    “I have a question about your integrity.” I stand up, and my chair scoots back and falls backward with a loud thud. “You’re twenty-six years old, and you think human connection needs to be more efficient? When’s thest time you had a conversation that wasn’t about market pration?”

    “Nic—” Asher starts.

    “No.” I’m already moving toward the door. “We’re not marketing this. We’re not promoting anything that makes people lonelier than they already are.”

    The silence behind me is deafening. I know what they’re thinking. Nick Banks, the ice-cold closer, has feelings. They’re treating me like I’m crashing out. Maybe I am.

    I’m halfway to the elevator when Asher catches up to me. He’s the only person in this high-rise building who isn’t afraid of me.

    “That was the most dramatic fucking exit I’ve ever seen you make.” He falls into step beside me. “Reminds me of when you used to y hockey and your testosterone was out of control.”

    “Not now, Ash.”

    “Oh, definitely now.” He clenches his teeth. “You just torpedoed a ten-billion-dor deal because you’re suddenly concerned about human connections. We need to talk.”

    The elevator opens. I step in, and Asher follows, hitting the button for the top floor, where our offices are.

    When we’re alone, he turns to me. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

    “I’m not working with that entitled prick,” I exin as we ride to the top.

    When the doors open, I step out and move to my office. Everything is exactly where I left it yesterday. Papers and file folders are scattered across my desk. I take a seat and then log in to myputer. If I don’t acknowledge him, hopefully, he’ll disappear.

    I nce up at Asher, and based on his expression, I know he’s pissed.

    “I’m putting you on leave.”

    My brows furrow. “You can’t do that.”

    Asher may be the CEO of thispany, but I helped start it with Eden. When she passed away, she left it to Asher and me to manage. My little brother is levelheaded and not as irrational as I tend to be, which is saying a lot, considering he takes more risks than anyone I know. However, it’s always calcted and not built on emotion. Asher quickly figures out the probability of the oue he desires the most and gives his full self to every project hemits to. Eden chose him to help keep me grounded. Asher is intelligent, a built-in fail-safe.

    “It’s effective immediately,” he continues.

    “That’s extreme, don’t you think?”

    “Actually, I don’t. You need to figure out what the hell is going on with you. The way you acted back there is unept?—”

    “Asher, I?—”

    “Look.” He holds his hand up. “You’ve been walking around with a chip on your shoulder for months now. Anytime I try to talk to you about it, you blow it off. Either you need to getid or go on vacation. Maybe both. You figure it out. Consider this payback for you forcing me to do the same a few months ago.”

    I roll my eyes at him. “That was different. You were starting shit with the Calloway family. You know they?—”

    He continues talking over me. “I’ll decide when you can return.”

    “Do not do this to me right now. I have projects that are important.”

    Asher doesn’t seem to give two shits about any of it.

    “At this point, I don’t want to see your face in here until November first. We have an investors meeting on the second. Don’t return before then.”

    “November? That’s six and a half weeks from now.”

    He nods. “Very good. Thrilled you can count. You haven’t taken a true vacation since Eden died. It’s been five years, Nick. I know how close the two of you were and how important this marketing firm is to you, but when was thest time you enjoyed yourself and had fun? I’m worried about you.”

    I don’t answer because I can’t. I’m a workaholic—I know that. But what else is there to life?

    I can’t keep a rtionship for over a month. I push people away when they get too close. Not to mention, the inte watches my every move.

    “When’s thest time you felt anything besides angry or numb?” he continues. “And don’t try to pull that jokester, happy-as-can-be, fake-self bullshit on me. I see through it.”

    I can’t move.

    “I know grief has no time limit. I miss the hell out of Eden too,” Asher says. “But you’ve been slowly losing yourself. She’d hate this, Nick. She’d hate what you’ve be. You refuse to have a work-life bnce, every rtionship you rush into fails, and you’re not living your life. You have tied my hands, and now I’m forced to do exactly what Eden would want.”

    “Don’t.” My voice cracks on the word.

    “You need a reality check, Nick.” He shakes his head. “You’re taking a break. A real break. Go somewhere and get lost so you can find yourself. When you scan out, your credentials will be deactivated.”

    Asher moves toward the door.

    “This isn’t fair,” I tell him.

    Heughs. “Oh, boo-hoo. Life isn’t fair. Build a bridge and get over it.”

    The door ms shut, and I sit in the silence, allowing it to swallow me whole.

    I slump into my chair and nce up at myputer, seeing my schedule immediately grayed out. If anything, Asher is thorough.

    Fifteen minutes pass, and I’m still in the same ce because when I leave, I will be locked out.

    “Nick?” Lauren, our executive assistant, says from the doorway. She’s holding two cups. “Saw Asher storm out, mumbling under his breath. Figured you could use this.”

    She sets the mug in front of me, and I notice the tea tag hanging from the side. She’s been bringing me mugs of Earl Grey since she worked for my dad at our family’s financepany.

    When Asher quit the family business and took over the marketing firm, he took our father’s executive assistant with him. Lauren didn’t hesitate to leave. She’s been watching us since we were kids. Now we’re adults, and she’s often the only voice of reason we have.

    “Tell me what happened.” She settles into the chair across from me.

    “I walked out of that bullshit meeting.” I take a sip, letting the warmth spread through my chest.

    “I heard. A few directors are currently having heart palpitations because of that little scene you caused.”

    “Mr. Big Mac doesn’t get it. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was a terminator.”

    Lauren lets out a smallugh. “You know what your problem is?”

    “Please, enlighten me.”

    “You’re thirty-eight years old, and you’re already a ghost,” she says matter-of-factly. “You float through these halls, meetings, and life, but you’re not really here anymore.”

    “I show up every day?—”

    “Your body shows up. But Nick? The real Nics Banks? The one who used to throw baseballs in the hallways and bring me wildflowers from the park?” She shakes her head. “I haven’t seen him in a long time.”

    The tea suddenly tastes like ash. “That Nick had nothing to lose.”

    “That Nick had joy, and you need to find it again.” She leans forward, plucking a chocte from the candy jar next to a stack of invoices I was auditing. “Where would you go if you could go anywhere in the world?”

    The answer escapes before I can stop it. “Cozy Creek.”

    Her eyebrows rise. “Where Zane is?”

    “It’s nothing. Forget I said?—”

    “When were youst there?”

    I do the math, even though I know the answer. “I visited for a few days in January and ended up cutting it short.”

    “Why?”

    “A huge contract came in, so I traveled back to the city. It was abrupt.” I spin the teacup on its saucer.

    “What really happened?” she asks.

    A sigh escapes me. “Shit got too real.”

    She takes a sip of her tea. “I’ll schedule a private ne to take you there. I’ll have everything booked for you within the hour.”

    “Lauren, please.”

    She lifts her hand. “No. I asked you where you’d go, and that was your answer. So, that’s where you’re going. Call Zane. Let him know.”

    “Lauren!”

    With that motherly expression on her face, she res at me. “You’ve been punishing yourself for far too long. I think you walk out of meetings about human connection because you’ve convinced yourself you don’t deserve any.”

    I open my mouth, but she doesn’t let me speak.

    “I’m not done.” She returns to my desk and ces her palms t against the cool wood. “This isn’t a vacation. It’s a lifeline. If you don’t go where your heart leads you, you’ll be what you’re afraid of being—a hollow asshole, just like your dad, who forgot how to be human.”

    Her words are a p to the face.

    “What if I go to Cozy Creek ande back in November and nothing has changed? Then what?”

    “It’s a possibility. But also, what if you go and remember who you are?” She straightens up. “You are Nics Banks. That means something. You’re the happy-go-lucky guy who loves ice skating, skiing, baseball, and bonfires. You never miss an opportunity to tell a joke. You’re not like your brothers and sister, Nick. You grew up differently from the other Banks kids, and somewhere along the way, you lost your true self. It’s time to find you again. And your rtionships, honey? Don’t get me started on those.”

    “Thank you for thatst little cherry on top,” I say sarcastically.

    She heads for the door, pausing at the handle. “Go to Cozy Creek, Nick. If not for yourself, then for Eden.” She gestures at me, at the office, at everything. “She wouldn’t want this to be your life.”

    “How do you know that?”

    Lauren grins wider. “Because she told me that no matter what, she never wanted you to be a cunty cliché like the rest of the Banks family. Asher, on the other hand, there was never any hope for him.”

    I burst intoughter as the door closes with a soft click.

    I sit there, tea growing cold, and realize I’m smiling.

    I guess I’m going back to Cozy Creek. And for the first time in years, I’m excited.