Page 19 of Until Forever Falls

“Oh. Yeah, that makes sense.” Heat creeps up my neck, a reluctant realization setting in. Of course, people already know who I am. I fidget with the sleeve of my cardigan, the fabric twisting between my fingers before I pause, recognition resurfacing. “Wait…you were at the bonfire last weekend, weren’t you?”

“I was,” he admits, rocking back on his heels, like he’s enjoying making me work for it.

“And do I get to know your name, or are we keeping this whole mystery thing going?”

“Colt. Colton Hayes.”

I tap a finger to my lips, pretending to think. “Colton Hayes…nope, doesn’t ring a bell. Is this the part where you tell me you’re kind of a big deal?”

“You know,” he drawls, crossing his arms. “I was going to play it cool, but if you insist…yeah, I’m a legend. Hall of Fame, really.”

“Wow,” I deadpan. “And here I was, thinking you were just some guy I tackled in the hallway.”

“Nope. You’veofficiallyrun into greatness.” He steps back, but not before giving me a once over like he’s memorizing the moment. “If you want another chance to be starstruck, I’ll be on the field later. Feel free to come and admire.”

“Tempting, but I should probably head home.”

“Rain check, then?”

I huff an amused laugh. “We’ll see.”

“Oh, we will,” he says playfully, stepping away. “Later, Dylan.”

I don’t look back as I head home. The air sharpens as the afternoon fades, slipping from warm gold to dusky blue. Each step pulls me farther from the weight of attention, the outside world shrinking behind me as my thoughts settle back into their usual, restless hum.

By the time I reach the front door, my shoulders are tense, bracing for the usual onslaught of my mother’s pointed remarks, coupled with Greg’s unfamiliar presence taking over the house.

But as I step inside, I’m met with nothing but stillness. No prying eyes, no sharp words waiting to hit me. Just space. I kick off my shoes and let out a breath, finally letting my guard down.

My room still doesn’t feel like mine, the packed boxes proof of it. But past them, tucked beneath a pile of clothes, a flash of color catches my eye—my paint palette. I haven’t painted since we moved. I tell myself I don’t have time. That I shouldn’t. But my hands are already reaching.

Settling down, I pull out a canvas and begin. The brush moves instinctively, each stroke pulling something loose inside me. The longer I paint, the more the world outside disappears, leaving just me, the colors, and a blissful feeling I’ve missed.

I’m so lost in the moment that the shift in the air doesn’t register until a shadow cuts across my canvas. I glance up, my stomach tightening as I meet my mother’s pinched, irritated stare.

“What are you doing, Dylan?” She speaks through clenched teeth, the strain bleeding through despite her attempt at control.

“Just…painting.”

“Painting.” The word falls from her mouth like it’s something vile. “You’d be better off putting your energy into something that actually matters. Trust me, life doesn’t have time for distracting little hobbies. You’ll learn that soon enough.” Her fingers barely graze the air in the direction of my boxes, like acknowledging them is an inconvenience. “Clean this shit up before Greg gets back.”

“Right, because who wouldn’t want life advice from you?” I mumble under my breath, something I know I’ll regret later.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing. I’ll clean it up. Wouldn’t want to ruin the facade you’re putting on for him.”

“Watch yourself,” she warns. “Do you have any idea how lucky you are? You should be grateful, Dylan. And this?” She wrinkles her nose in the direction of my paints. “This is why you’ll never get anywhere if you don’t grow up.”

Her words should’ve dulled by now, worn thin from the endless repetition, but they still rip through me like a fresh wound.

“If getting somewhere means ending up miserable like you, I think I’ll pass.”

She clicks her tongue, shaking her head like I’m a lost cause. “I have given you everything, and you can’t show an ounce of appreciation.”

A dry chuckle scrapes out of me. “Appreciation for what? For making me feel like a burden in my own home?”

She moves closer, shoulders squared, her voice a razor’s edge. “Don’t test me, Dylan. I’m not going to let you sabotage everything we’re building here.”

---