Page 75 of Until Forever Falls

“Is the ‘B’ tattooed under your collarbone for him?”

I whip around, disbelief coloring my voice. “Are you serious right now?”

“I am.” he insists, his gaze digging into mine. “Is it for him, Dylan? Because, damn it, it sure as hell doesn’t feel like you’ve fucking let him go.”

“Oh my God! It’s not for Brooks!” I shout, my throat raw from the intensity. “It’s for Beckett. My twin brother, Aaron! Who died when we were seventeen.”

The admission lands between us like a grenade, and I watch the impact crack through him in real time. His expression slipped from anger to something shaken, as if he’s realizing how much of me exists outside what he thought he knew.

“The one in the photo.”

“Yes, Aaron. Beckett.My twin brother.” My voice trembles, and I don’t bother hiding it. I clutch my chest, simply speaking his name is enough to make it feel as though I can’t breathe.

My fingers dig into my ribs, pressing hard, as if I can hold myself together just by the force of my grip. “He died right before I left this fucking town.” My head drops, my breath shallow as I struggle to loosen the painful knot in my chest. “That’swhy I have the tattoo.That’swhy I don’t talk about it…because it hurts.” I wrestle down the instinct to choke, my throat burning, and I pull my arms in tight, as if holding myself together will make the pain stop. “Itstillfucking hurts.”

“You’re telling me all of this now?” Aaron stumbles back, my words slamming into him like a punch to the gut. “How did I not know this? How could you never tell me something so important?”

“Because I don’t talk about him,” I snap, my emotions bubbling over. “I can barely eventhinkabout him without falling apart. And maybe that makes me a terrible person, or maybe it makes me weak, but it’s the truth, Aaron. I don’t talk about Beckett. Not to anyone.”

“Not to anyone,” Aaron repeats, his tone flat. “And I’m supposed to be the person who you want to spend your life with.”

“Aaron—”

“No, Dylan.” He holds up a hand, cutting me off. “This isn’t about Beckett. This is about us. How am I supposed to feel like I really know you when you keep entire pieces of your life hidden? You say Brooks is just a friend from high school—your past—but it feels like you’re still stuck there, and I’m on the outside, looking in.”

“That’s not fair,” I argue, my voice wavering. “You have no idea what it’s like to live with this—to wake up every damn day feeling like a piece of your soul was ripped away, and no matter how hard you try, it’s never coming back!”

“You’re right, I don’t!” he yells, his voice hoarse from pent-up frustration. “Because you’ve never let me! I tried, Dylan. Itriedto be what you needed, but every time I thought you might let me in, you pulled away. You’ve always kept me at arm’s length! And I told myself it didn’t matter…that as long as you were withme, it would be enough. But now I’m starting to think I was wrong. Maybe I can’t give you what you need. May—” He cuts himself off, his voice faltering as if the confession is too much to bear. “Maybe…I was never meant to have you.”

The words cut deep, and no matter how much I try to convince myself I don’t have the energy to fight with him—not right now—the sting is excruciating. It feels like everything I’ve been holding in is about to explode, but I’m too fucking exhausted to even scream.

I hear Brooks before I see him, but it’s Aaron I feel first. His body locks up, and the air around us suddenly turns to stone. His shoulders tense, a telltale sign this is about to get worse. He doesn’t turn immediately, but I can sense it—the weight of his anger cracks, and something colder, more detached settles in.

It’s not just resignation. It’s the crushing realization that nothing either of us says or does will fix this. And he knows it. The second he knows…the fire drains from him, and all that’s left is defeat.

Aaron lets out a bitter laugh, the sound slicing through me like a dull knife. “Right on cue.” He gives Brooks a look that could cut glass. “She’s all yours man, I’m done.”

I should call after him. Do something. But he’s already turned his back and walked away, leaving me standing there, my pulse thrumming against my skin.

Brooks steps closer, his hands now shoved into his pockets. “Are you okay?”

I shake my head, pressing my lips together. If I try to speak, I might break.

“Dylan, can we go somewhere? Somewhere quiet, where we can talk?”

“Why? So you canprotectme more? Keep more secrets?”

“No,” he pleads. “So I can explain…tell you what happened after Beckett died, why I pushed you away.”

I stand there for what feels like forever, my body can’t decide whether to fight or flee. I meet his gaze, and briefly, I swear he thinks I might stay.

“No,” The word is barely an exhale, but it guts me on the way out. My hands tremble, empty of fight, empty of anything else but pure exhaustion. “I can’t do this anymore.”

27

Dylan

Now

---