Page 82 of Until Forever Falls

I feel disgusted. I swore I’d never turn into her, yet I’ve let my own pain become the thing I lean on the most. I was too lost inside it to see how it was carving me into a reflection I couldn’t stand.

My phone is a live wire against my palm, radiating heat like it knows the war raging inside me. Brooks’ name stares back at me, a taunt, a challenge, a door I keep pacing in front of but never open. My heart pounds as I force my thumb down before fear can pull me back.

One ring. Two. Then his voice. “Dylan?”

“Hey,” I say, though the word fractures on its way out.

“I read the letter. Can you meet me? I know it’s late, but I think we should talk.”

Silence.

It stretches, pulls, swells into something unbearable. The longer it lasts, the more convinced I am that calling was a mistake—another entry on my growing list of things I should’ve left alone.

Then finally, “I’ll be there in ten.”

“Okay.” The word barely leaves my lips before I end the call, cutting off any chance for hesitation—his or mine. If I stay on the line I could second guess this entirely. And I can’t afford that. Not after learning the truth.

The dress I was wearing at the reunion felt like a costume—too delicate, too much like someone I wassupposedto be. So, I stripped it off the second I could, swapping it for worn jeans and an oversized sweater that hangs loosely around me. The sleeves slip past my wrists, my fingers disappearing into the fabric as I flex my hands, grasping for something solid.

The low rumble of Brooks’ truck pulling into the lot startles me out of the endless loop I’ve been tracing in the damp grass. My footsteps have carved a restless path in front of the hotel, the salty air clinging to my cheeks, the briny bite of seaweed permeating the air. I didn’t realize how much I needed the aroma of it, something tangible to cling to while my mind spun itself in circles.

His truck door slams shut, but he’s already moving before the sound fades. There’s an ease to the way he crosses the lot, like he’s been waiting for this moment.

Stopping just short of me, he shoves his hands into his jacket pockets. “You okay?”

His words carry more than just concern, but I’m not ready to dissect what’s hidden beneath them. Not here.

Instead, I lift a shoulder, keeping my voice from cracking. “Can we walk?”

Brooks doesn’t ask where—we just move, my steps falling into rhythm with his like they always have. He steers us toward the beach, where the tide restlessly gnaws at the shore. The silence between us isn’t awkward, just tense with all the words we haven’t figured out how to say out loud yet. It lingers, pressing in around us, as if the night itself is holding its breath, waiting to see who will break first.

The sand shifts beneath me as we near the water. Each step buries me for a second before letting go. I stop just short of the tide, watching the waves roll in, as if they might tell me where to begin.

“I don’t really know where to start.” It’s an admission I didn’t mean to voice, but I know he hears it. I feel it in the way he shifts, like he’s steadying himself for whatever comes next.

“It’s like I’ve been dragging these heavy suitcases around for years, convinced they were packed with betrayal. And now you’re telling me they’re empty. That I’ve essentially been breaking myself under a weight that was never even there.”

“I wanted to tell you the truth. Even tonight, I wanted to say it.” His tongue swipes over his bottom lip, deliberating. “But every time I tried, it felt like prying open a door that wasn’t mine to unlock. So I left the letter in your room instead, hoping it could break through to you where I couldn’t.”

The sincerity in his voice cuts through me. It’s not grand, not laced with theatrics, but it’s real. And that’s all I’ve ever needed.

I tear my focus away from him, locking onto the horizon where the sea and the sky blur into something infinite. My fingers fidget, skimming over one another in frantic, meaningless movements. He’s given me honesty—I owe him the same. But the waves are louder now, their crash and retreat pressing in, like they can sense the fractures beneath my skin.

“I couldn’t afford both,” I say after a long moment.

“What? What do you mean?”

“When I left, I had just enough money to keep one phone active. I made a choice. I shut mine off and kept Beckett’s. That’s why no one could reach me.” I press my tongue to the roof of my mouth, attempting to sort through everything in my mind that wants to break free. “I needed his voicemail. I needed to hear his voice even if it was just a recording. It was the only piece of him I had left. I couldn’t risk losing it.”

The confession shakes something loose in me, but I press on, even as my voice wavers. “I got a new phone eventually, when I could afford it, but the number changed. I assumed my absence was just another thing people would adjust to without any effort. So, reaching back out was never something I considered. I wasn’t intentionally hiding from you, Brooks. I was just trying to survive.”

“You were surviving, I get that. But damn, I would’ve given anything to know you were out there, still breathing.”

“I convinced myself no one cared,” I murmur, exhaling like it might lighten the weight in my chest. “Until now.” I force myself to meet his eyes, to let himseeeverything I never had the chance to say, because this next part is what really matters. “But you know what hurts the most?”

He shifts slightly, tilting his head just enough to catch the moonlight, his short chestnut brown hair tousled in a way that makes something ache deep inside me. I used to tease him about the way it always fell into his eyes—now, I almost miss it. He watches me, waiting, like he’s searching for this moment when everything will finally make sense.

“I would have stayed,” I admit, a confession years too late. “Even when my entire world was caving in, even when I felt like I was nothing but broken pieces, you were always worth risking more pain for.”

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