Page 51 of Until Forever Falls

I plant my hands against the ground, deep enough that my nails almost splinter. My body protests, everything leaden, heavy. But I move anyway, hauling myself up piece by piece, as if I’m something irrevocably broken trying to remember what it is to stand.

The bathroom offers refuge, a fragile kind of sanctuary. Stepping inside feels like slipping between worlds, bringing me back to being that little girl, hiding. Into a space where I can breathe. The lock clicks into place, a flimsy barrier, but one that’s desperately needed.

The shower tap sputters before water streams, filling the room with warmth. I peel away my clothes with the same numb efficiency that carries me into the water. The heat stings at first but quickly becomes soothing, easing the shame gripping every inch of me.

Water pools around my feet, carrying away the remnants of everything clinging to me—the anger, the hurt, the helplessness. For a few minutes, it’s just the sound of water and the sensation of it cascading over my skin.

As steam blankets the room, I grab a towel from the rack on the wall and wrap it around myself.

My fingers wipe a section of the mirror revealing a foggy outline of my reflection. I hover on the edge, torn between facing myself or letting the mirror win. The face staring back doesn’t lie, and I lock eyes with a stranger wearing my skin.

The girl in the reflection isn’t the same one who ran to this bathroom for solace. Something is different now—an absence of fear I don’t fully understand yet but can’t ignore.

Her words, no matter how sharp or cruel, can’t break what’s already been pieced back together. They don’t define me. Not anymore.

The floor, the conversation, the tears—they stay behind as I step into the hallway. The girl in the mirror is still learning, still finding her way, but she’s standing again. And that’s enough for tonight.

18

Brooks

Then

Long after I’ve left Dylan, the air in my truck still holds a trace of vanilla, like it’s waiting for something. It’s a reminder of the lighthouse, when, just for a little while, she let her guard down. I wanted to hold onto that version of her, to make sure nothing could reach her, nothing could hurt her. But even as I watched her walk inside, I could see the shift creeping back in—her defenses going up, brick by brick.

Something’s wrong. Dylan’s good at hiding, but I’ve learned how to see through the cracks. She said she’d be okay. She always does. But I know better. It’s in the way she moved, slower than usual, like her thoughts were dragging her down. It’s in the moments when she thinks no one’s watching, her expression betrays more than she realizes. And I see it. Always.

By the time I pull into my driveway, my temples are throbbing. My grip on the steering wheel hasn’t eased since I left her.

The last few days have been relentless—school, football, helping Dad, and now trying to figure out what’s weighing on Dylan. I feel stretched thin, like I’m running on borrowed energy and running out fast.

I shut off the engine and slip out of the truck, slamming the door harder than I meant to.

The world feels slightly off-kilter, like I’m standing on sand, sinking with every second. My hands find the edges of the truck’s frame, stabilizing me until it passes. God, I’m tired.

Inside, the house feels too still, like it’s holding its breath. I toss my keys onto the counter, the clatter cutting through the empty kitchen. The fridge buzzes as I grab a water bottle and take a long drink, but it does nothing to ease the pounding in my head or the unease twisting through me.

Dylan’s face flashes in my mind—the way her lips parted, like she wanted to say something, but thought better of it. Whatever she’s carrying, it’s heavy, and I don’t know if she’ll ever let me take some of the load. But God, I hope she will. She doesn’t have to do it alone, not if I have anything to say about it.

I press the cool bottle against my forehead, exhaling as I push the thought aside for now. Later, I’ll check on her. Maybe I’ll stop by the diner again tomorrow and find some excuse to see her.

But right now, I need to shut my eyes, just for a little while. My body aches and exhaustion threatens to pull me under. Five minutes. That’s all I need. Just five.

The sunlight streaming through the kitchen window does nothing to soften the mood in here. I’m leaning against the counter, arms crossed, trying to keep my temper in check while Dad stands across from me, sipping his coffee like he’s got all the time in the world.

“I’m not asking for much, Brooks. Just a few hours,” he grumbles, his tone already edging into irritation.

I let out a slow breath, trying not to snap. “I told you I’ve got plans.”

“Plans?” He narrows his eyes, setting the mug down on the table a little harder than necessary. “What plans? Hanging out with that girlfriend of yours again?”

“Her name’s Dylan. Not that it’s any of your business.”

“Everything under this roof is my business, and right now, I need you at the site this afternoon. I’m short on hands.”

“Well, maybe if you’d planned better, you wouldn’t be!” The words tear free against my better judgement, but I’m past the point of reeling them back. Dylan mentioned she had a blowup with her mom last night, and I need to check on her, make sure she’s really okay. Not just pretending. “I’m not your backup worker, Dad. I’m not putting my life on hold every time you can’t figure out your schedule.”

Mom steps into the doorway, clutching a dish towel, her movements uncertain. “Let’s not do this,” she insists quietly, as though her words alone might settle things.

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