Page 56 of Until Forever Falls

Of course.

It was a dream.

I let my eyes trace the raindrops racing each other down the pane, tracking the erratic paths they take as my eyes adjust to the darkness. Maybe this is all we’ll ever be— Brooks and I—fragments of dreams and memories. Pieces of something I can’t quite let go of, no matter how much it hurts to hold on.

Last night, my anger overshadowed everything else, like a wall I wasn’t ready to break through. But now, as I lie here staring at nothing, the sharp edges of it have dulled, leaving room for something else to creep in. Regret? Maybe. Or just the growing realization that I’ve been avoiding the full picture.

I haven’t let Brooks explain. Not really. My pain and confusion have been louder than his voice, drowning out anything he might have tried to say. Maybe I wanted it that way. It’s easier to hold onto my version of the story—to keep blaming him—than to risk hearing something that might prove I made the wrong decision.

But no matter how much I try to shove it aside, Brooks wasn’t just a part of my past; he was one of the few people who ever made me feel seen. Loved. Safe in a way that no one else ever managed to. Aside from my brother, he’s the only other person who ever slipped past the barricades I didn’t even know I was fortifying.

And that’s what makes it so much harder. The betrayal doesn’t just hurt because he let me down. It hurts because I trusted him completely. I gave him a part of me I never let anyone else touch, and he demolished it.

Even now, I can’t let that go.

The blanket falls to the floor as I grab my dress from my suitcase and lay it on the bed. It’s simple but elegant—enough to look like I’ve got it together, even if I feel far from it. The reunion is in a few hours, and I’m still trying to convince myself I have the strength to show up.

As I plug in my phone, there’s a sharp knock at the door. My pulse picks up slightly, the sound unexpected. For a moment, I think it might be housekeeping, but when I drag it open, Aaron stands there, drenched from the rain and holding a small brown duffle bag.

“Aaron?” My voice falters in surprise. He doesn’t belong here, not in this place that exposes so much of my past.

“Hey,” he exclaims, raking his fingers through his damp hair. “I figured you could use a little company tonight.”

“What?” My words stumble out as I step aside to let him in. “How? How…did you?”

“I missed you,” he insists, dropping the duffle bag near the door. “Figured if you’re going to this thing, you might like having someone with you.”

“You flew all the way here for this?” I cross my arms instinctively, a shield against the vulnerability I suddenly feel. His gesture is thoughtful—too thoughtful. It’s like he’s peeled back a layer I wasn’t ready to share.

“Of course I did,” he boasts, his tone steady, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “The reunion’s irrelevant, honestly. What matters is you. I’d go anywhere to be with you, Dylan.”

I exhale, leaning back against the wall. “You shouldn’t have.” I may sound ungrateful, but there’s no denying the truth. A part of me wishes he hadn’t. My life in New York feels so far removed from the person I am here, like it belongs to someone else entirely. And Aaron showing up feels like a reminder of the fractured line between the two.

“Maybe not,” he says, undeterred, “but I wanted to be here. So, where’s the reunion happening? What’s the plan?”

My eyes drift toward my dress. “It’s at the high school. In the gym. Nothing fancy.”

He nods, scanning the room briefly before looking at me again. “How are you holding up?”

“Not great,” I admit finally, shifting to the edge of the bed. “I thought I’d be ready for this, but now that I’m here, it’s…harder than I thought it’d be.”

“I’ll be there, and if anyone gives you grief, I’ll take care of it.”

I press my lips together, looking down at my hands. He has no idea what he is talking about. “Aaron, this isn’t some big dramatic scene. It’s a bunch of people talking, mostly pretending their lives are perfect. I’ll be fine.”

“Maybe,” he replies, pulling off his damp jacket and tossing it over the back of a chair. “But it doesn’t hurt to have backup.”

I don’t respond. He’s here because he cares, I know that, but his presence feels like a reminder of how far Ihaven’tcome. I came here thinking this was about closure, about finally confronting my past so I could go back to him with a clean slate. But now I’m starting to wonder if that was just a story I told myself to avoid admitting the truth—I’ll always be stuck.

“Thanks,” I say finally, though the words barely make a sound. “For coming.”

He gives a small smile, and I look away, focusing on the dress again. It feels like a costume now, part of some performance I’ve trapped myself in. I’d wanted to do this for me, to prove I could. But with Aaron here, it feels like I’m just trying to hold up the version of myself he’s always seen, the one who’s brave enough to move on.

“I’ll get ready,” I say after a long pause, pushing myself up from the bed. “Might as well get it over with.”

Aaron’s expression softens, but I don’t wait for him to continue. Instead, I grab the dress and step toward the bathroom, closing the door behind me. Alone again, I press my hands to the sink and stare at my reflection. The plan had seemed so simple before—come back, face what happened, and leave it all behind. But now, I’m not so sure the past is something I’ll ever really escape.

The gym doors tower ahead, framed by an arch of gold and teal balloons that shine under the bright lights.

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