Page 11 of Until Forever Falls

“It’s been a long time,” I say, finally regaining a little composure.

Brooks acknowledges that with a brief, thoughtful nod, his eyes wary, as if he’s not sure how I’ll react. “Ten years.”

Those two words land between us like a fault line, splitting open the past we never truly buried.

The years have piled up, yet even a lifetime wouldn’t be enough to outrun the aftermath of what happened. A decade has passed since I gave my heart to him, and though time has clearly changed us, the past still tugs at me, like it never left.

I stand there, speechless. What do I even say? After I left, I turned my back on love. I turned my back on everything that reminded me of the pain. The idea of letting anyone close again after what he did took longer than I care to admit. He didn’t just break my heart; he destroyed the version of me who believed in love, in trust. I spent years guarding myself, afraid I wouldn’t survive another betrayal.

Brooks’ eyes sweep over me, pausing almost imperceptibly near my mouth. I feel it, even if he doesn’t mean for me to.

I start to ask why he’s here, but the question forms in my gaze before the words leave my lips.

“I’m staying here…at the Beauport Hotel.”

I raise an eyebrow. “I assumed.” I mean, the fact he’s staying here doesn’t surprise me; it’s the most obvious explanation. What confuses me is why he’s come so far. I can’t imagine for a second that he’s left Oregon permanently. However, I tuck the question into the back of my mind—some things, I realize, are best left alone.

The elevator dings, its doors sliding open. Brooks steps forward first and holds them for me, his presence surprisingly solid. “What floor?”

“Lobby,” I murmur, still trying to find my footing in this strange moment.

He presses the button, and then, after a beat, turns back to look at me. “So, are you coming? To the reunion next weekend?”

The question is deceptively simple yet there’s so much more behind it. In the faint sheen of the elevator doors, I catch his eyes on me—searching, waiting. Hope flickers there, or maybe just curiosity. I force my gaze to my own reflection, rooting myself in the present. I am here. No longer the girl who ran, but the woman who never looked back. I try to hold onto that truth, but the past presses in, threatening to close the distance I worked so hard to create.

And now, here he is, standing in front of me, asking if I’ll return.

“To Rockport?” I spit out the words, disbelief lacing my tone. “God, no.”

“Right,” he says, his lips pressing together, trying to hide his reaction, though a shadow of hurt flickers his eyes. “That’s too bad. You could visi—”

The elevator lurches to a stop, and as the doors slide open, I sprint forward, desperate for air. For space. A tightness grips me, as if there’s not enough oxygen in the room to fill my lungs.

“Wait!” Brooks calls after me, and this time my feet stop moving. I brace myself against a nearby table, spinning around to confront him. I open my mouth, but the command to leave me alone evaporates, hovering on the tip of my tongue. It doesn’t come out. His eyes—God, his eyes—are full of something that mirrors desperation, as though he’s silently pleading for my attention. I’m immobilized by it.

“Can we talk? Please,” he asks, his voice insistent as he inches closer. “Just for a second. There are so many things I need to say to you.”

I want to walk away, but my legs won’t obey, staying frozen in place for reasons I can’t explain. “We’re long past talking, Brooks.”

“That’s not true,” he emphasizes, as if he can’t bear to let this go. “If you could just hear me out—”

I glance at my watch, more out of habit than any real sense of time. “I can’t. Not right now.”

He steps closer again, his hands slightly outstretched, like he wants to touch me, but he stops himself.

“When?” he presses. “Just tell me when.”

“Never,” I snap, my voice rising. “This is crazy. Seeing you again, it’s just…wild. I don’t even know what to say to you.” I try to take a deep breath, but my chest is too tight, too constricted to allow one.

“It’s not crazy, Dylan. Crossing paths with you here, so far from home, feels like a sign—this moment was meant to happen.”

I’m on the verge of either laughing or exploding. “Home? Rockport isn’t my home, and running into you isn’t a sign—it’s a curse.”

Brooks flinches, his eyes shifting downward as he combs a hand through his hair, visibly deflated. “You still hate me that much?”

I shake my head, but the movement feels like I’m trying to rid myself of more than just the question. “It’s not hatred, Brooks. It’s…it’s something more than that.”

“Then why are you so determined not to hear me out?” His voice cracks, just a little, likethisis the one thing he can’t seem to understand.

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