Page 73 of Until Forever Falls

There he is. My brother.

His smile rips through scar tissue I was stupid enough to think had healed. Suddenly, I’m seventeen again—heart in my throat—watching him laugh like he belonged to forever.

“Who’s that guy next to you?” Aaron asks.

I don’t answer. My eyes stay locked on the photo—on Beckett’s face. We look so carefree, so unaware. We had no idea what was coming, or how little time we all had left.

Aaron studies the photo, then me, his brows drawing together in confusion. “He looks a lot like you, D.”

“That was, um…that was my twin brother,” I answer, the words flat, like they no longer belong to me.Wasmy twin brother.

Aaron doesn’t seem to fully get it. “Your brother?” He squints at the screen, trying to piece it together.

“Yeah.” It comes out too brittle, my voice splintering. I grit my teeth against it, but it’s already out there, exposing everything I swore I wouldn’t. I hate that. Hate how easily it still sinks its teeth into me. It’s like I never really left. Like some part of me has been rotting in this place, waiting for me to come back and tear the scab off.

Aaron watches me closely, searching for a crack to pry open. Hoping if he stares hard enough, he might find a way in. I don’t blame him. I’ve never told him about Beckett, never let him close enough to see the parts of me that still bleed. Denial was easier. I know he has questions—probably a hundred of them—but I don’t have the patience to answer any right now. This part of my life was never meant to be shared.

The slideshow moves on, but I don’t. I stay locked in place, my eyes burning into the screen like I can will him back through sheer desperation. If I refuse to breathe, the universe might undo itself and put him back here where he belongs.

It never does. He’s gone, and I’m here, clinging to a ghost that doesn’t even have the decency to haunt me.

I snatch my purse, hands shaking as I put as much distance between me and Aaron as fast as I can without outright running. I need air, space, anything but this. The bathroom will do. At least there, I can regain some semblance of control over myself, even if it’s a lie.

But the second I step inside, I feel it—her. Chloe Vance. I don’t have to see her, I don’t have to hear her voice. Her unchanging perfume has gone rancid, demanding my attention just by existing.

“Wow, I thought you’d never step foot in Rockport again after youdramaticallyran away, leaving Brooks high and dry,” she hums, her voice smooth with that all-too-familiar bite.

The fluorescent buzz of the overhead lights drills into my skull. I don’t bother speaking—what’s the point? Chloe and I were never friends, not even a little, and I’m not about to let her drag me into whatever game she’s playing tonight. Instead, I turn to the mirror, my eyes locking onto my reflection, but it feels distant—like I’m looking at a stranger. A ghost of a girl who thought she could come back here and not drown in everything she tried to leave behind.

I can feel Chloe getting closer, the click of her heels echoing off the tiles. I know she’s waiting for a reaction, for me to snap back, to engage. But I don’t. Not this time.

Drawing in a breath, I finally turn toward her, though I don’t meet her gaze. “Why wouldn’t I come, Chloe?” My voice stays steady, even though I feel a little too wired inside. She’s not worth the energy.

Her lips curl into that practiced smile she’s always worn—the one she used in high school when she knew she had the upper hand.

“I thought you’d be too busy. You know, since you haven’t found the time in, what, ten years? Not even to visit your little sister.”

Classic Chloe.

She’s always had a way of pushing buttons. But I’m not about to give her that satisfaction. Not tonight, and especially not over something as absurd as me having a so-called little sister.

“My little sister?” I repeat, confusion knotting in my chest. “What are you talking about? I don’t have a little sister.”

Chloe doesn’t even flinch. Her eyes meet mine, smugness radiating off her. She knows she’s got me, and she’s not letting go.

“Blake,” she sneers, leaning in a little, her voice lower now. “She’s in fifth grade now. She was in my class last year—super sweet kid, by the way. Even asked if we went to school together. But I guess you wouldn’t know much about that, since you didn’t stick around after you—” She trails off, letting the implication settle between us, savoring it like it’s her favorite part.

The name floats between us, one I’ll now never be able to escape.Blake. It doesn’t click, doesn’t land in a way that feels real. My mouth goes dry, and I take a step back, hoping that some distance from Chloe might somehow bring clarity. “You’re lying,” I say, the words betraying more of my own doubt than anything aimed at her. My hands are suddenly cold, and I tighten my grip on my purse, willing it to calm me.

Chloe doesn’t seem to be lying. There’s no playful gleam in her eyes, no hint of the usual mockery. This is something different, more intense. She’s serious.

“I’m not lying, Dylan,” she urges, muted now, more controlled. She’s finally getting what she wants, but it’s obvious it’s not in the way she expected.

Something snaps inside me…a frantic feeling I can’t pin down. My thoughts are racing, trying to connect dots that don’t even exist. My mom had another kid? When? How could I not know? Why didn’t Brooks tell me? Why didn’t my mother?

“I just saw my mom at Ruby’s,” I manage, my voice unsteady. “She…she didn’t say anything about someone named Blake.” I tell myself it doesn’t matter, that I had my reasons to turn her away at the diner. But the guilt seeps in anyway. She asked if I had time, andIcouldn’t get away fast enough. No matter how hard I try to twist it, the truth sticks—I don’t really know my mom anymore. Know who she is now, not who she’s been for years. She’s a stranger.

“I didn’t know,” I say, as much to myself as to Chloe.

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