Page 10 of Until Forever Falls

“Fuck off, Dylan,” he mutters, leaning heavily against the wall.

“You know…I could just let you faceplant right here. How you went from driving to barely standing is a mystery, but if you tell me to fuck off again, I’ll solve it by walking away.”

“I’m just tired, Dill.”

I huff a laugh and guide him toward his bed. As soon as he lands, he’s gone—like someone flipped a switch, his body going slack against the sheets.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, his voice thick with sleep, barely lifting his head from the pillow. “Love you.”

“I know, Becks,” I say softly, tugging the blanket up over him. “Just sleep, okay? Love you too.”

5

Dylan

Now

I stand at the ocean’s edge, the tide creeping up the sand, inching closer with each pass. Tears threaten, and I swallow hard, forcing them back down, but the tidal wave of memories from Rockport rises, ready to pull me under.

I didn’t mean to run—I wasn’t trying to. But seeing Brooks hit like a shock to my system, stirring up everything I swore was settled.

Ten years I spent building walls around the past, convincing myself leaving was the right choice—yet here I am, breaking all over again.

Aaron appears beside me, his presence grounding as he pulls me into a hug. I press my face into his chest, the tears spilling freely now, soaking into his shirt while he holds me close.

“Do you want to talk about whatever that was?”

“I…don’t think I can right now.”

“That’s okay. If you ever change your mind, I’m here.” With a gentle sweep of his hand, he moves a strand of hair from my face, and a sense of calm begins to spread through me. The sound of the ocean, the distant cry of seagulls—it all fades into the background.

“Want to grab a bite? Maybe get your mind off of it? There’s this place I want to take you to—best lobster roll in all of Maine, or so they say.” Aaron pulls back slightly and offers me a half-smile. “We could drive up to the lighthouse, maybe rent some bikes. Whatever you want. I’m not picky. Well…except if you suggest skinny-dipping. I’m drawing the line there. The hotel might not appreciate that.”

A reluctant laugh escapes me, the tension in my shoulders easing just a fraction. A distraction might be exactly what I need. “Something to eat sounds great, but I need to go back to the room first. I want to shower.”

Aaron squeezes my hand. “Sounds like a plan. I’ll handle the reservation after I change and meet you in the lobby.”

“Okay.” I manage a small smile. “Shouldn’t take me long.”

“Take your time,” he says, pressing a quick kiss to my forehead before gently taking my hand in his.

We make our way back to the hotel, and once we’re inside our suite, he disappears to quickly change while I head to the bathroom. The sound of the shower and the warmth of the water help ease the ache in my chest, though my mind continues to race. I rush through washing up, swiftly pulling on fresh clothes and battling with my damp hair, trying my best to make it presentable. As I head to the lobby to join Aaron, I stop dead in my tracks.

Near the elevators stands one man, leaning against the wall, his presence lighting up the space like it always does. A sharp sensation pierces my ribs, and I struggle to inhale. I’m certain I’m imagining things—imagining him—until he turns.

And then, like the world is slamming into place with a force I wasn’t ready for, the air stills in my lungs.

It’s BrooksfuckingHolland.

Again.

He chuckles at something on his phone, but the sound dies instantly when his gaze flicks up, landing on me—tracing my features like I might disappear if he blinks.

“Dylan.” He says my name like a question, like he’s trying to convince himself I’m real, that I’m actually standing here after vanishing by the pool.

I freeze. It feels like an eternity before I can even breathe, before I can process the fact that he’s here…that we’re both in Maine. He shifts slightly, exhaling like he has a thousand things to say but no idea where to start.

“I didn’t know if you’d recognize me,” he admits. “Um, at the pool.” But there’s a sadness in his eyes, something that tells me he’s speaking of more than the years or distance.

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