Page 29 of Until Forever Falls

The two of us raid the fridge, but it’s as bad as we suspected: a nearly empty bottle of ketchup, an unidentifiable jar of something green, and a block of cheese that looks like it could double as a science experiment.

“This is pathetic,” Beckett mutters, holding up the cheese like it personally offended him.

“I didn’t think I could even feel this hungry anymore,” I admit, bracing my hands against the counter’s cool surface. Most nights, hunger fades into the background, a familiar presence. But tonight, it’s sinking its teeth into me, desperately waiting to be fed.

The worst part is how unsurprising it is—how we just carry on, treating it as something to be endured. My throat burns, but I keep it down, stepping into the bathroom and yanking the shower handle. Steam curls around me before the water even hits, blurring the mirror, blurring everything.

Beckett’s voice cuts through the humid air as I step out of the bathroom, water trailing down my calves. “Hey, maybe you could get a job. Something part-time like you had back in Wyoming.”

I tighten the towel around me and roll my eyes. “Oh yeah? Where am I supposed to work, genius? This town isn’t exactly full of options.”

He smirks without looking away from his phone, one leg hanging off the couch. “Ruby’s had a ‘Help Wanted’ sign up last week—unless you’re above slinging pancakes for tips.”

I grab my sweatpants and a hoodie, tossing the towel into the laundry basket. “I doubt a place like Ruby’s hires high schoolers.”

“It’s your best shot unless you want to babysit brats or stock shelves at Mr. Doyle’s hardware store down the street.”

“I guess I could check out Ruby’s tomorrow after school,” I say, yanking my hoodie over my head, the fabric catching on my damp hair.

Beckett kicks his feet off the couch, stretching like a cat. “Wow. Would you look at that? You’re growing up.”

I grab a throw pillow off the couch and chuck it at him. “Shut up, KitKat. You’re older than me by three minutes. Don’t act like it’s three decades.”

“I’m just saying, with your sparkling customer service skills, we might be able to eat dinner next week.”

“You’re right. Then I can buy all the fancy ketchup and edible cheese I want,” I shoot back, collapsing onto the couch beside him.

Our laughter fades too quickly, subdued by the same burden we’ve carried since we were kids.

“Seriously, though,” I say, picking at a loose button on my cardigan. “If I can start saving, maybe we can go to Colorado after graduation like we planned.”

Beckett doesn’t say anything at first, his gaze fixed on the TV, but then he nods. “Yeah…maybe.”

11

Brooks

Then

My cleats press into the turf, leaving shallow imprints as I taper off into a jog toward the sideline. Practice has become my second favorite part of the day—second only to the time I get to spend with Dylan after it’s over.

She’s here again, sitting in the bleachers, just as she’s done every day for the past six weeks. I don’t know how it happened, how we went from two strangers that night at the bonfire to…this. But she’s woven herself into my life so seamlessly it feels like she’s always been here.

Her legs are tucked beneath her, one hand gripping the sketchbook she always brings, the other holding a pencil she twirls absently between her fingers. She doesn’t pay much attention to the drills; it’s clear she’s here for the atmosphere—for me.

It all started after that day we painted the mural in the church. At first, it was just me giving her rides home when I noticed her walking. Then it turned into late nights after her shifts at Ruby’s Diner, sharing fries and milkshakes we could barely afford. On weekends, we traded it for early mornings—pancakes before her shift, both of us watching the clock, knowing it was never enough. Hours blurred, then days, until there wasn’t a clear before or after.

As I unscrew the cap of my water bottle, my eyes catch on her. She’s lost in whatever she’s sketching, her expression momentarily unguarded. Soft around the edges, her breath coming easier for the first time all day.

Coach Tyler yells for us to huddle up, and I force myself to focus. Practice will end soon enough, and then it’ll be just me and her again. Beckett and Miles flank me, their shirts sticking to their backs, but there’s no sign of exhaustion—just that restless charge that keeps them moving, always ready for more.

Becks smacks the back of his hand against my arm. “You’re gonna burn a hole through her with the way you keep staring,” he says, just loud enough for the three of us to hear. Miles, ever the instigator, snickers. “Yeah, bro, it’s giving obsessed. Reel it in.”

I throw him a flat look. “Maybe worry about your own tragic love life before dissecting mine.”

“Love life,” Beckett snorts, cutting in before Miles can defend himself. “Tragic? Nah, tragic has potential. He wouldn’t know what to do even if the girl lived in his house. Hell, even if she was family.”

“Funny,” Miles deadpans.

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