Page 4 of Until Forever Falls

“What the hell did you just say to me?” she demands, stepping closer until her breath warms my face. She knows exactly what I’m implying, but denial is the lifeblood of addiction. The addict has to keep lying to themselves to maintain the cycle.

Her hand shoots up, aiming to slap me, but I catch her wrist just in time. I hold it for a split second before letting go and slamming my door shut with a resounding thud. I’ll deal with the repercussions later.

“You know what? Greg’s coming home soon.” Her clipped tone leaves no room for debate. “So, you and your brother better get your fucking act together, or else you won’t like the consequences.” She throws out the threat, but I know it’s just her way of deflecting—her alcoholism is the real issue, not me.

“Whatever you say, Your Majesty!” I shout back, leaning against the door and releasing a long, shaky breath. As her footsteps retreat down the hallway, I stare up at the ceiling, willing my heartbeat to slow.

I startle at the sound of my brother’s voice outside my door. Slowly, I open it a sliver to face him.

“Dill, some of the guys from football tryouts invited me to a bonfire tonight. You should come along—get away from Mom,” Beckett suggests, clearly hoping to convince me.

I absentmindedly twirl a curl, trying to seem uninterested. “Oh, I see. And what makes you think I’m free tonight, huh?”

Beckett’s laughter is effortless, his grin widening as if he’s enjoying some inside joke. “Quit being a brat, Dill. We just got here. I know you haven’t met anyone yet. Come on, they seem cool. It could be fun.”

“Oh, please. You’ve known them for, what, a day? Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” I prop myself against the door frame, already uninterested in the thought of mingling with a bunch of athletes I don’t care about.

“Whatever. Stay holed up alone in this dump, pouting,” Becks says with a dismissive wave.

“Fine, I’ll go.” I give in. “But only to avoid being around when whatever his name is gets here.” Neither choice is ideal, but tagging along with my brother beats being left alone with Mom.

Beckett snorts. “It’s Greg, Dylan. You know that.”

“KitKat, I couldn’t care less what his name is. I’m not sticking around here longer than I have to. Greg and Denise can ride off into the sunset together and never speak to me again, for all I care.”

“First off, don’t call me that. Second, could you maybe dial down the drama for once?” Becks groans, frustration evident as he thumps his hand against the doorframe before turning to leave. “Be ready to go in ten minutes, or I’m leaving your ass here.”

I smirk, knowing exactly how much helovesthe nickname. It started back home, thanks to Miss Patty, the little old lady who ran the food bank. She had a habit of calling Beckett ‘eye candy’ whenever he stopped by. Naturally, I ran with it. He’s been KitKat ever since.

I flip him off in response, but I’m too slow. My middle finger meets the back of his head as he strides away.

3

Brooks

Then

Football practice is the usual grind: the sound of cleats hitting the turf, Coach Tyler’s sharp whistle cutting through the air, the sting of sweat running down the back of my neck. Routine. But today feels different.

I jog into position as the new guy steps onto the field. Beckett Rivers. His name has been floating around the locker room, and some of the guys joke that he looks too “soft” to try out for the team. But the second I saw him throw, all those jokes disappeared.

I’d bet he’s been playing his whole life—he has a natural talent. His grip on the ball is confident, his release smooth. Every pass spirals clean through the air, hitting his targets with pinpoint accuracy.

Coach Tyler calls for a few reps, and I line up as his receiver. The chemistry between us clicks immediately. Beckett drops back, eyes scanning the field before launching a perfect pass. I barely have to adjust before snatching the ball mid-stride and taking off toward the end zone.

Removing my helmet, I sling it under my arm and walk toward him, amusement flickering across my face.

“Not bad,” I say, offering a quick nod. “You ever think about playing varsity? We could use a solid QB.”

Beckett wipes the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, then shoots me a sly grin. “That’s the plan, Holland.”

“Coach Tyler would be insane not to put you on the team,” I reply, chuckling as I give him a light push. “Hey, you know what? We’re all heading to a bonfire later. You should come. Everyone’s gonna be there.”

Beckett raises an eyebrow, clearly weighing the offer. “You sure?”

“Why not?” I shrug, motioning toward the team. “It’s a good way to meet everyone. Plus, you’ll fit right in.”

“Alright, I’ll think about it,” Beckett says, the subtle tip of his head giving me the impression that he’s not about to pass up an invitation.

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