Page 77 of Until Forever Falls

“Good lord, child. You look like you’ve seen a ghost!”

Ruby abandons her customer without a second thought, her hands already reaching for me as she steers me toward a booth. Her voice dips, wrapping around me like a worn quilt. “What happened?”

Collapsing into the seat, my limbs are useless. I press my hands against the cool table, like contact alone might pull the words from where they’re stuck in my throat.

“I—” How am I supposed to explain everything that’s happened tonight? How am I supposed to make sense of it when it still feels like it doesn’t belong to me?

Ruby slips in beside me, her presence comforting. “Take your time.” She leans in, close enough to remind me I don’t have to say a damn thing until I’m ready. Maybe not even then. I try to shove the emotions back where they can’t reach me—but they refuse. Ruby doesn’t wait. She just pulls me in, arms holding me tightly, like she knows I’m coming apart at the seams.

And I let her.

I stay there, pressed against her, until the shaking stops and my breath comes easier. Until the tears finally loosen their grip.

When I was younger, working here was one of the few things that kept me afloat. Now, after all these years, walking in and breaking down feels like ripping open a wound I no longer have the right to bleed from.

When I finally pull away, Ruby studies me with a gaze so heavy it feels like it could press me straight through the worn vinyl seat.

“Did you know my mom had another daughter?”

Ruby doesn’t answer right away. She doesn’t need to. The slow drop of her shoulders, the downcast flick of her eyes—it’s enough.

She knew. Of course, she knew. Everyone did.

“Yeah. It wasn’t long after you left.” I can tell she’s trying to gauge how much of the truth I can handle. And I hate it.

“Dylan, when you left, your mom changed.” A pause, as if she’s bracing herself to continue. “She’s sober now, sweetheart. Far as I can tell, completely sober. The way she treated you…it wasn’t right, wasn’t fair, and I knew it. Lord, did I know it. But I didn’t know how to step in.”

She exhales, her relief evident—like this truth has been sitting in her chest for too damn long. “But losing you after losing your brother? That was her reckoning, honey. It was like all the ghosts she’d been outrunning finally caught up.”

I sit there, struggling to process what she just said. My mom? Sober? It lands like a foreign language, something I should understand but can’t quite translate. The person Ruby’s describing isn’t the woman I knew.

Ruby doesn’t slow down. “I don’t know what you’ll want to do with that, and I’m not implying you have to do anything. That choice is yours, always will be. But, sweetheart, Blake didn’t ask for any of this. She’s just a kid. So, whatever you do, don’t let your mom’s mistakes keep you from getting to know her.”

I know Ruby’s right. Blake didn’t choose to be born into a story already stained with loss. And no matter how much anger curdles inside me, how much of it is aimed at the woman I ran away from, none of it belongs to Blake. Even if I can’t forgive my mom, I owe it to my sister to try.

I glance at ruby, and the tears I’ve been forcing down start to rise again. I hope she knows how much this means to me, her being here, even if I can’t quite find the words to say it. She gives my hand a single, reassuring squeeze before drifting away, leaving a sense of comfort in her wake as she tends to another customer.

I sink into the booth, head tipping back against the faux leather, eyes tracing the ceiling like it might split open and hand me an answer. It doesn’t. Just leaves me stewing in the mess of it all—Brooks, my mom, this town that clings to me like a second skin, thick with memories I’ve spent years trying to scrub off. I don’t want to be here. Don’t want to face any of it. But that past has teeth, and no matter how fast I run, it always knows how to bite back.

And now there’s Blake.

The last few days feel like an eternity, and all I want is to hit pause. Or rewind. Just to escape for a little while. But that’s not an option, not with my sister’s name now stitched into my heart, tugging at my guilt, at the longing of what could have been if only I’d stayed.

Eventually, I drag in a breath, scrape together what’s left of my resolve, and shove myself out the door before I’m pinned down for good.

The walk back to The Drift is a blur, my feet moving on autopilot while my mind thrashes against itself. By the time I shut the door behind me, the static in my head is so loud it feels like it might crack through my skill. I need to talk to Beckett. He’s the only person I can call when everything feels too big to hold onto by myself.

I haven’t touched a paintbrush since the accident. The thought alone feels like pressing my palm against an open wound. Photography was the only thing I could stomach, the only creative outlet that didn’t tear me apart. But even that feels like a betrayal of who I was. It’s tangled up in Brooks, in the wayhesaw the world…sawme. And hating myself for it almost burns worse than the memories themselves. Especially here, where every shadow feels like it still belongs to him.

Before doubt can sink in, I pull out my phone and press Beckett’s name. The dial tone punches through my thoughts, calling attention to how desperately I need to hear his voice.

No ring. Just his dumbass joke, the one that fakes you out like he’s actually picked up. One second. Two. Then his laugh—carefree, familiar, gut wrenching.Leave a message, he says, and then the beep cuts through me.

“Hey, KitKat, I miss you.” The words slip out in a hush, like saying them too loudly might make it hurt more. My gaze skates over the room, but nothing sticks, like I’m floating outside my own body. “I went to the high school tonight. The reunion. Wish you were there. Wish everything didn’t feel so—” I press my fingers to my forehead, like I can physically hold myself together. “It’s just different without you here. Wrong.”

I want to rip myself open, let everything spill out. But the words are knotted tight, strangled before they can escape.

“I found something out,” I manage. Saying it feels like stepping into an alternative reality, one where the ground beneath me doesn’t belong. “We have a sister, Becks. Her name’s Blake.”

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