Page 88 of Until Forever Falls

Turns out, Rockport’s kinda cool. I mean, who knew? Colt and Miles? Dude, those guys have turned out to be some of the best friends I’ve ever had. I didn’t think I’d click with anyone after leaving the old place, but they’ve got my back like no one ever has. Whether we’re messing around on the field, grabbing burgers, or just talking trash, it’s been a hell of a good time.

Honestly, I don’t think I would’ve made it through half of this year without them. At this point, they feel more like brothers than anything else—not that I’m exactly in the market for more siblings. One Dylan is plenty, thanks. But coming here, that’s probably the one good thing my mom’s ever done. I can at least thank her for that.

Anyway, I’ll stop getting all serious now. Go Wolves!!

KitKat

32

Dylan

Now

A splash of purple catches on my skin as I continue to put the finishing touches on the canvas, and a familiar throbbing in my head reminds me how long today’s been. The sound of Chasing Shadows by Alex Warren fills the air as I move to the stereo, my fingers brushing the dial to turn up the music. With a fluid motion, I return to blending the brush into the dark paint, adding another layer of depth to the scene. I take a step back, a faint smile tugging at my lips as I look over the piece. It’s nowhere near finished, but the foundation is there, and that’s enough to spark a sense of pride.

My brush makes a soft clink as it dips into the water, but my gaze never leaves the canvas. That spark of creativity within me ignites, coaxing me to layer more, to add just one more stroke. It’s been too long since I felt this buzz—the satisfaction of transforming emptiness into meaning, of filling the void with something that speaks.

I found myself wandering into a quiet art store downtown after visiting Beckett’s grave. What began as a single glass of wine soon became several, and now midnight is creeping up on me.

A sudden flicker of light dances across the room, followed by the unmistakable hum of electricity, before the room plunges into darkness. “Great,” I mutter, rubbing my eyes as they struggle to adjust.

I move slowly through the shadows, my fingers brushing the dresser before my body jolts from hitting a chair. “Seriously?” I breathe through gritted teeth, stumbling back. The windows tremble with the wind outside, and briefly, I question if I should have just turned in earlier. But the painting…it was like it was waiting for me.

I stumble toward the nightstand, my hands skimming along the bed for stability. When my leg hits the side, I almost lose my footing. Just as I grab my phone, it vibrates in my hand. I let out a sigh of relief—it’s not dead. I swipe at the screen, squinting at the name of the person texting me so late.

Brooks:Hey, just wanted to warn you, there’s a pretty bad storm coming in.

Dylan:Yeah, I noticed. The power just went out here.

Brooks:At The Drift? When?

Dylan:No…at my place in New York.

Dylan:Jk. Yeah & only a few minutes ago.

Brooks:Strange. The backup generator should’ve kicked on by now. You good?

Dylan:Yeah. Just painting actually. But I think I’ll call it a night, nbd.

Brooks:You were painting?

Brooks:I’ll head over and check it out.

Dylan:No, don’t. I can just go to bed. It’s fine.

Brooks:Nah, I’m coming. Be there in ten.

Dylan:You’re impossible.

Brooks:You love it. See you soon.

I let out a soft, almost bubbly laugh, the alcohol blurring the edges of my thoughts. His message is still on my screen, teasing me, and I can’t help the smile that creeps up. I nibble on my nail absentmindedly, my mind swirling with thoughts of him and this sudden arrival.

Then, it hits me—the excitement building in my chest.

Wait. What the hell? Am I…giddy?

I need to distract myself.

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