Page 25 of Until Forever Falls

I hadn’t planned on telling him I was in town just yet. I was hoping to ease into it, maybe even at the reunion.

Ruby, completely unfazed, continues, “You don’t know?”

“Know…what?”

“Well, Brooks owns The Drift, sweetie. His father helped him renovate the old church a few years ago. I figured you knew—since you’re staying here, of all places.”

My brain misfires, like a skipped frame in an old film reel. Brooks owns this hotel? My mind flails, trying to process. I didn’t even handle the reservation—I let Aaron take care of it.

“Oh,” I exhale. “No, I haven’t seen him. But I, uh, should just check in and head to my room. Get settled.” I say it too fast, like I’m trying to outrun my own thoughts. “It was good to see you, Ruby, truly,” I add, but I can’t quite look her in the eyes.

“Take care, sweetheart. Enjoy the rest of your night, and don’t be shy—come visit whenever you can.”

Her hand rests briefly on my sleeve, the touch light. She steps back, watching me go with an expression all too perceptive, she knows there’s more I’m not saying.

I sweep my eyes across the lobby, and everything seems different. The exposed beams, the stained-glass windows overlooking the ocean—it’s all so familiar, yet undeniably altered. Sleek, refined, nothing like the crumbling, forgotten place I once escaped to. A decade has passed, but standing here, it feels like nothing’s changed.

He actually bought the church.

Am I really ready to stay here?

I’m not sure how long I stand at the front desk, the check-in slipping by unnoticed as my mind drifts in a fog. When I finally move, the hallway feels like it’s closing in around me. The photographs on the wall are hard to ignore, their presence suffocating in their quiet grandeur. They document the church’s revival, each frame unmistakably displaying Brooks’ work.

One shows the church in its dilapidated state—peeling wallpaper and windows long shattered. Another holds the forgotten pews, stacked like disused relics, the same image that’s burned into my mind. My fingers brush the edges of each frame. I’ve been in town less than an hour, and already, everything I thought I outran is waiting for me.

The Drift is small, only big enough for a handful of rooms, but the view from mine is something out of a dream—glass walls stretching from floor to ceiling, framing the ocean as if it were painted just for me. I set my bags down with a delicate thud, barely registering my movements before I step onto the patio. The sky blushes with shades of pink and purple, casting a delicate haze over the water. For a heartbeat’s length, the world feels calm—as though time has paused, leaving me in this space where, just for now, I’m allowed to feel okay.

Almost.

The mural of the girl on the beach seems to call to me, and the memory of the day I painted her follows, creeping in softly, as if she’s been waiting for me to return.

10

Dylan

Then

The bleachers are warm beneath me, and the hard plastic digs into my thighs, but the view of the field makes it worth it.

I watch Brooks glide over the turf with undeniable agility, running the last of his drills with the football team. The afternoon sun glints off his sweat-dampened hair, and a jittery surge of anticipation courses through me.

With each step he makes toward the bleachers, his smile grows, and my pulse seems to follow suit, hammering faster with each beat.

He stops just shy of the railing, towel clutched in his hand as he wipes his face. “I’m going to hit the showers. Don’t go anywhere.”

My reply is lost somewhere in the air, his retreating wink enough to leave me speechless as he jogs away. I’m motionless for a fraction of a second. Then, I pull my gaze away with a deliberate effort, training my attention back on the field. The last thing I need is for anyone to see me caught in the act of ogling him. Instead, I try to drown out the buzz of nerves by watching the other players leave, but the flutter in my stomach refuses to dissipate.

“Dylan?”

I jump, almost slipping off the edge of the bleacher. Whirling around I find Beckett standing there, his lips curled in that maddening all too familiar grin.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you, Dilly.”

“You’re such an ass.” I force my breath in, but my heart refuses to listen, pounding too loudly to be ignored.

“And yet, here I am, keeping you company,” he shoots back, crossing his arms. “By the way, did I interrupt your creepy staring sesh? You were practically drooling.”

“I was not!”

---