Page 87 of Until Forever Falls

It was a chaotic mess of me losing every ball and her laughing so hard she had to clutch her stomach. I let myself enjoy it. And honestly? It might have been the best game I ever played. There were moments I could almost pretend Beckett was right there, that I could turn my head and see him beside me. It’s strange, the way grief begins to shift without warning. I’ve been carrying it around like a heavy coat, something I can’t take off. But as I listen to her talk—about dancing, her friends, the future that stretches out ahead of her like an open road—it occurs to me that Beckett never really left. He’s still here, in her, in me, in all the places I forgot to look.

Every little thing she shares, things she might not think twice about, feels like something I’ve been waiting to hear. I don’t care if it’s mundane, if it’s about the way she hates tomatoes or how she always loses her socks. It all matters. She matters. And with her here, things don’t feel so empty anymore.

Before she left, she held on a little longer than I expected, like she was afraid we’d slip away from each other the second she let go. I didn’t want the day to be over. Or let go of this feeling that things might be okay. I considered talking to Mom, but when the moment arrived, I let silence win. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe never. I don’t know.

She let it be, and I held onto it like a fragile truce. I’ll always remember what happened, but some conversations don’t need an audience. She seems changed—I hope it’s real. Blake doesn’t need to carry what I did. She gets to have the mom who tries, and I’m still figuring out how to make peace with that.

The cab eases to a stop outside The Drift, and I tell the driver to keep the meter running. My steps quicken as I head inside, straight to my room. The letter is right where I left it, waiting. As soon my fingers graze the envelope, my ribs tense, like a violin string drawn too tight. I let out a slow breath.

It’s time.

The cemetery gates blur past the windows, and before I know it, the drive is over before I have time to prepare. The driver eases the car to the side of the road without needing instruction. I pay him without looking back and step onto the grass. The sun is slanting low behind me, gilding the headstones with its final light. When I kneel beside Beckett’s name, I trace the ridges of the letters, as if the touch alone could bridge the space between us now. He’s not here, not really. But I can still feel him.

I used to think I had all the time in the world to say what mattered. But time is ruthless, slipping through cracks and closing doors before you even realize it’s happening. Now, all I have is this letter, Beckett’s words frozen in ink from a life that should have stretched so much further.

“Hey KitKat,” I murmur, my heart heavy as I speak. “I don’t know where you are, if you’re watching, if you even care. But I miss you. That much, I know.” I press my palm against the cool stone, my throat tightening. “You’d be rolling your eyes at me right now, telling me I should’ve come sooner. And yeah, you’d be right. I should have. But I wasn’t ready.” I swallow hard, staring down at the letter. “I think I am now. Or at least, I want to be. But before I can move forward, there’s something I have to say.”

The pressure behind my eyes builds, but I refuse to let it take over. “I’m sorry.” The words are bitter in my mouth, too little, too late. “I should have told you when it mattered, when you were standing right in front of me instead of buried under six feet of dirt. But I didn’t, and I hate myself for it.” My breath shudders. “You were brilliant, Beckett. You were everything. And I wasted time being angry when I should’ve just said I was proud of you. I’m still proud of you.”

I slam my eyes shut, but it does nothing to hold back the flood. The grief boils over, the self loathing twists deep, and then—then I’m crumbling, shaking, the tears tearing their way free.

“You were fearless. Or at least, that’s what it looked like from where I was standing. Every dream you had, you just reached for it and somehow, the universe made room for you. But me? I spent my whole life feeling like I had to ask permission just to exist. But when I found out you kept your scholarship from me, it was more than just a secret. It was proof that you saw it too—the gap between us, the way my world was so much smaller than yours.” Tilting my head back, I blink hard, willing the tears to ease. “That crushed me more than the secret ever could. You never really knew how much I wanted the world for you.”

Wind stirs the grass around me, dragging against the earth in a way that feels almost impatient. The sky bruises with the retreating sun, streaks of deep purple and orange stretching wide, the world feels too open, like it’s waiting for me to finish.

“I should have been there that night. I told myself I needed space, that there’d be time to fix things—but there wasn’t. Tomorrow never came for you.” I press my palm to my sternum, like I can keep my insides from spilling out. “And now, I’d give anything to go back, to find you by the fire, and tell you what mattered most.” My throat cinches around the words I’d give anything for him to actually hear. “I love you, Beckett.”

My lips press together as I smooth out his letter, the words settling into the space grief carved out a long time ago. For a second, he’s here—not in body, not even in voice, but in the rhythm of his handwriting. Each sentence sinks deeper than the last, pressing into me like footprints left in wet cement.

When I reach the end, my eyes catch on his signature. My thumb dragging over the slant of each letter, half expecting it to smear beneath my touch, to react in some way—to acknowledge me. But the ink stays. The silence stays. And for the first time, I let myself stay with it.

Beckett’s Letter

It feels strange addressing this to myself, so we’re just gonna skip that part…but dude, we did it! Western Oregon University! I still can’t believe it. I mean, who would’ve thought this clumsy freaking kid from Wyoming would actually end up playing college football?

Not me, that’s for damn sure. But here we are. Well, at least I am. You’re probably living it up by now.

Alright, alright, I’ll stop bragging. But come on, this is insane! For once, it feels like things are actually working out. I can’t stop thinking about it—college ball, dude!

A scholarship, man. Actual stadiums and crowds yelling forus. I’ve been dreaming about this forever, but now that it’s happening, it’s kinda insane. Scary, but in the best way.

Dylan’s probably gonna say she’s proud or whatever, but I can’t stop feeling like I’m letting her down. It sucks. We’ve had this plan forever—graduate, ditch our lives, head back to Colorado. Now I’m doing this, and school’s never been her thing. I know I’m messing up what we’ve always talked about, and I feel guilty as hell.

I know she’s been through some real stuff—way beyond just surviving Mom’s fucking circus. But there’s other shit, things she doesn’t share. I get it, though. She’s always had her own way of dealing. Honestly, I never blamed her for not wanting to make friends or anything. She had me, right? (Yeah, okay, not the same.)

She’s been so different since we moved to Oregon. Like, actually different. In a good way. It’s like she’s finally letting people in. And yeah, let’s give credit where it’s due—Brooks. Dude’s got her smiling and talking, like it’s easy or something. No clue how he does it, but it’s working, so I’m not about to question it.

I’ve seen her laugh, actually laugh, not that weird fake thing she used to do when we were kids to blend in. I don’t think she even hates the world as much anymore. She’s…happier? Honestly, it’s kinda cool to see.

Shit man, I don’t want her to think I’m bailing. She’s my freaking twin, my best friend honestly. Really the only person I’ve ever trusted to have my back, no matter what. And now, here I am, chasing this football dream and I feel like I’m leaving her behind to figure things out.

She’s my little sister. Two minutes younger, but still. She’s tougher than most people I know, and I hope you’ve told her that by now because I know I haven’t done it enough.

Just don’t get all weird about it. Keep it cool. You know she hates the mushy stuff.

You better have figured out how to balance everything, future me. If you’re living the dream out there on the field, I hope you didn’t leave her behind. Take care of her, because if you’re reading this and everything’s gone to shit between us, then you’re an idiot, and you better fix it.

Alright, let’s be real for a second—I didn’t think moving to Rockport was gonna be any good. Like, at all. I thought we were just gonna be stuck in another small town with nothing to do but wait for graduation. But, I’ll admit it, I was way wrong.

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