Page 59 of Until Forever Falls

“It’s just something I’ve never told anyone. I don’t even know how,” I finally admit, the words tumbling out in a shaky breath.

He pulls me into a hug, a steady presence that refuses to waver. His arms stay wrapped around me, his hold full of something I’ve never known—support, safety, a wordless reassurance that reminds me I don’t have to carry this burden alone.

Time seems to blur. Seconds stretch into minutes, minutes into hours, yet Brooks never lets go. Somewhere along the way, we shifted, moved from the floor to the bed, his arms still wrapped around me, keeping me close. His embrace is something I didn’t know I needed, but now realize I can’t breathe without. It’s a silent challenge to my walls, proving to me I don’t have to carry every broken piece alone.

“When I was eight, my mom was dating this guy named Levi,” I start, the words scraping their way out of my throat.

“You don’t have to,” Brooks says softly, his voice careful, like he’s afraid I’ll break.

“No, I do.” I sit back slightly, just enough to see his face, though I can’t hold his eyes for long. “Levi was her boyfriend, and at first, he was…different. Nice. The kind of nice I didn’t trust, but Beckett and I hadn’t seen much of that in a long time.” My fingers tighten around the fabric of his hoodie, twisting it as I try to steady my breath. “I should’ve known better. I think I did know better.”

Brooks doesn’t say anything, and I force myself to keep going before I lose the nerve.

“One day, Beckett was at a friend’s house, and Mom was working late. Levi and I were alone. It started normal—he made lunch, asked about school—but then he…” My throat tightens, and I stop.

Brooks shifts beside me, not closer, not further, just enough to let me know he’s still there. “Take your time.”

“He started saying things—calling me pretty, saying I was special. But it wasn’t right. It didn’t feel right at least. I tried to brush it off, but then he cornered me. He kissed me, and I—” My voice cracks. I can’t look at Brooks. “I tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t stop. He held me there, and I couldn’t—I couldn’t move. I couldn’t even make a sound.”

I never understood how much of it I’d been bearing on my own, how much it had worn on me until now. My hands curl in my lap, trembling with a rage I can’t control. I hate it. I hate the way it strips me down.

“I’ve never told anyone,” I admit, the words spilling out before I can stop them. “No one’s ever asked. At least not the right questions, and I never…told? I didn’t know how to bring it up.” My voice wavers, the anger and shame bearing down on me.

Brooks shifts, and then his arms are around me again, pulling me close like he can shield me from everything, even the past. He doesn’t say a word—no promises, no clichés about how it’s not my fault. Just holds me like he’s bracing me until I’m secure again.

“I didn’t know what to do,” I whisper, voice raw. “I couldn’t even tell my mom. She wouldn’t have believed me, and even if she did…” I trail off, the enmity rising up like bile.

“She should’ve protected you,” Brooks says quietly. His voice is calm, but there’s a steel edge beneath it like he’s grinding his teeth to keep himself in check. “None of that was on you.”

My shoulders sag, the discomfort bleeding out slowly. “She didn’t. And after he left her, she just…drank more. Like if she stayed numb, she could trick herself into believing she wasn’t alone again.”

I keep talking—about how I’d buried it, how I’d convinced myself I could just forget everything, even when it haunted me in ways I couldn’t explain. I mention how I kept to myself, avoiding friendships, thinking it was easier that way. Brooks listens, never interrupting, while all I want to do is crumble, and somehow, that resolve in him makes it feel like I can.

Eventually, the tears stop, draining me until nothing’s left but emptiness. Fatigue sinks into my bones, crushing and unrelenting. Without thought, I collapse into him, and he doesn’t shift, doesn’t let me fall.

After all this time, the isolation loosens its grip, and the darkness cracks. Someone’s standing in the storm with me.

I wake up to a quiet room, the kind of stillness that attempts to stifle the air in my chest. My body feels leaden, even though I haven’t moved an inch. The curtains are drawn, leaving the room dim, and for a second, I consider rolling over and pulling the comforter over my head. Staying here, hiding, feels safer. Easier.

A soft knock at the door interrupts my thoughts, enough to draw my attention. I lift my head as Brooks steps inside. His brown hair tumbles in messy waves over his forehead, and his green eyes, hazy and half-lidded, blink slowly as though the morning hasn’t caught up to him yet. There’s a softness to him in this state, bathed in the gentle half-light of morning, that brings a sense of calm to my heart.

“You’re awake.” His voice carries a quiet assurance, and it’s comforting, to not feel like I’m something that might fall apart.

“You’re still here.”

“Of course,” he replies, sitting on the edge of the bed like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Beckett let me crash in his room.”

For a heartbeat, a queasy feeling rises in my stomach. “Did you tell him anything?” The thought of Beckett knowing sets off a flare of anxiety deep in my gut.

Brooks shakes his head firmly. “God, no. I wouldn’t do that.”

I exhale, a wave of relief following, and I sink back against the pillow. “Thanks,” I rasp, but the word tastes too feeble, too insignificant for what I’m feeling.

“How are you feeling?”

I stall, words slipping through my fingers like sand. “Numb,” I mutter, the only thing that doesn’t feel like a lie.

Brooks leans forward, his hand finding mine. He doesn’t squeeze or pull—just leaves it there.

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