Page 52 of Until Forever Falls

Dad’s voice drops, and somehow that makes it worse. “You think you’re too good to help? That camera of yours going to pay the bills? Or fund this big future you’re dreaming about?”

My pulse kicks up as I push away from the counter, stepping closer. “I’m not asking anyone to pay for anything. I just want something different! What is wrong with that? I’m not going to take over the family business just because it’s what you want.”

His jaw tightens, and he mirrors me, closing the distance with a deliberate step forward, his frame casting a shadow that feels bigger than it should. “This isn’t about what I want. It’s about doing what needs to be done. You think photography is going to put food on the table? You’re chasing some pipe dream while I’m out here trying to give you a future!”

“That’s your choice!” My voice rises, but I can’t stop it. “You want this life. Not me. I’m not going to stay in Rockport forever, running a business I don’t fucking care about. I have plans, dreams, and I’m not giving them up just because you think I should!”

His dominance hangs between us, a beast crouched low waiting to strike. Mom shifts uncomfortably in the corner, her grip on the towel tightening as though it’s the only thing keeping her stable.

“An adult doesn’t get to pick and choose when they’re responsible, Brooks,” he snaps. “You’ll be at the site in an hour. End of discussion.”

I want to argue more, to tell him exactly where he can shove his demands, but Mom steps between us, her voice calmer than either of us deserve. “Brooks, why don’t you just go help your dad for a few hours? You can see Dylan another day.”

I glance at her, her eyes pleading for some sort of truce, and I realize I’m not going to win this. Not with him. I grab my truck keys off the counter and head for the door without another word.

I pull into Ruby’s parking lot, the pressure hanging over me like a cloud. I don’t even bother going inside. Instead, I park and head around the back, knowing Dylan will find me. She always does.

A few minutes later, she steps out the back door, wiping her hands on her apron. When she sees me, her expression softens. “Hey, you okay?”

“Not even close,” I admit, dragging a hand through my hair, fingers snagging at the roots. “My dad’s pulling the same old puppet strings, yanking harder this time.”

She slouches against the wall, waiting for me to speak. Not pushing, just there. A tether I didn’t know I needed. Light slashes through the open door, catching in her hair, setting fire to the strands. But it’s the way she stands that pins me in place—strong but defensive, like she’s already bracing for something to fall apart.

I step in, erasing the space between us. Words are pointless, flimsy against the crush of everything bearing down on me.

My hands cradle her face, tracing the heat spreading beneath my fingertips. Her breath hitches, and I feel it against my lips before I even press forward. Then we’re lost in it, in the way her body sways into mine, in the need pooling between us. The world shrinks down to this—her—and the way she lets me have this moment, like it’s mine to take.

Reality slams back in like a cold wind. The second I pull back, everything I tried to forget crashes over me. “I have to go,” I say, the words unwelcome. My hands stay where they are, desperate to hold onto something real, but the moment is already slipping. “He’s waiting at the site.”

Her forehead dips against mine, a small gesture of understanding. “Do you want to meet up tonight then?” she asks quietly, her voice filled with a patience I don’t take for granted.

“Yeah,” I say, nodding slightly. “Sounds great.”

She gives me a soft look, like she knows I’m holding back. We’re both battling our own demons. I let my hands drop and take a step back, forcing a half-smile that feels forced even to me. “I’ll text you,” I say, turning toward my truck.

As I cross the parking lot, the dizziness from yesterday surges again, stronger this time. It’s like reality careens sideways, twisting under me like the universe just snapped my spine. My vision blurs, colors and shapes bleeding together. I pause to brace myself, but the ground seems to tilt beneath me.

“Brooks?” Dylan’s voice sounds from behind me, sharp with worry.

I try to turn, to let her know it’s fine, but my legs give out before I can. The last thing I hear is the sound of her running toward me before everything goes dark.

19

Dylan

Then

I pace the hallway, wearing a path into the dull gray tile, the harsh fluorescent lights overhead cast an artificial glare that makes my eyes ache.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Emily, Brooks’ mom, says softly. “Why don’t you sit down? It’ll be a while before the doctor comes out.”

This is not how I imagined meeting his parents—unkempt, wrung out, and on the edge of coming undone. His dad, Scott, is built like the houses he’s spent his life constructing, hands rough and calloused from years of labor. His face is weathered, but there’s kindness in his eyes that makes you feel like you’ve known him forever. His mom, on the other hand, is a living, breathing hug—constantly making sure I’m comfortable, her voice the soothing cadence of a well-loved song.

I can tell she’s the heart of their home.

They’re nothing like the family I come from. Nothing like my mom. When she speaks, the words come slurred, edged with bitterness, never quite reaching her lips. Her bleached blonde hair looks overgrown, too bright against the dark shadows under her eyes. There’s no solid ground in her presence, no sense of stability. I’m honestly relieved she hasn’t attempted to show up.

I can’t get the sight of him crumpling to the ground out of my head—the way his knees buckled, the way time seemed to stretch as I ran toward him, powerless to stop it. The moment replays, over and over, each loop tightening something in my chest.

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