Page 86 of Until Forever Falls

I let out a breath, wrapping my hands around the warm mug. “I just don’t want to mess things up with Dylan.”

Ruby’s gaze softens and she places her free hand over mine. “Then don’t. You’re complicating something simple—she loves you. She always has.” Her fingers squeeze mine before she steps back, then offers the simplest, most frustrating answer. “You want her to stay? Give her a reason that has nothing to do with the past.”

My dad shifts, one elbow on the table, his gaze still on me. Then, with a measured breath, he moves us along, giving me room to breathe.

“Did Colt show up?”

“Yeah,” I mutter, dragging my fork through the syrup. “Didn’t take much to see that Dylan being there rattled him. Looked like he wanted to be anywhere but there. Then suddenly he’s got to rush back to the ER. Could’ve been legit. Could’ve been convenient. Either way, he didn’t stay long.”

“He still hasn’t made peace with what happened with Beckett?”

I take a slow sip of my coffee, letting it run down my throat before I answer. “I don’t think he ever will. Not completely.”

“Guilt’s a heavy thing,” my dad says, his voice edged with knowing. “But until he stops carrying it like a cross on his back, it’ll own him. He wasn’t at fault that night, but in his head? He’s still the one holding the wheel.”

I push my plate away, appetite gone. “Yeah, well, tell that to Colt. He’s been living like he’s got a debt to pay ever since. Became a whole doctor just trying to balance the scales.”

I let out a frustrated breath. How do you get someone to see they’re not responsible for a tragedy they couldn’t have stopped? It’s like trying to talk someone out of drowning when they’re convinced the water’s their fault. How do you bring someone back to shore when they’re certain they belong in the depths, convinced the waves are some kind of penance they have to pay.

I’ve seen it for years—the way Colt carries himself, like he’s not even allowed to breathe. It’s like he’s convinced that forgiveness is something he’ll never deserve, even though deep down, he’s desperate to believe otherwise.

I drain the last of my coffee, absently tracing the rim as my dad finishes eating. When I was fighting for my life, Colt never let me do it alone. When everyone else left, he showed up, no matter how exhausted he was, or how much else was on his plate. He’d watch mindless TV with me for hours, crack the worst jokes just to get me to laugh—because that was his way of telling me I was still here, still me.

I push back from the booth and stand, tossing a few bills on the table. Outside, the weight of an oncoming storm is pressing down. I have things to do, work to keep me busy. But even as I walk out of the diner, my mind isn’t on any of it. It’s still stuck on her.

Dylan’s here. In the same town. Breathing the same air. And she’sstaying.That simple truth makes me believe, with a surge of cautious optimism, that Colt can finally shatter the illusion of culpability he’s carried with him for so long. He just has to take the first step.

31

Dylan

Now

My phone stays silent, an empty screen staring back at me, erasing any trace that the fight with Aaron ever happened. Maybe that’s for the best. As awful as it sounds, I’m relieved. Constantly holding everything in felt like standing on the edge of a cliff, waiting to fall. But now, being here, talking to Brooks, I finally feel like I’m on solid ground.

The salty harbor air caresses against my skin, lifting along my neck, weaving through my hair. I press my shoulders back, push my hands deeper into my pockets, and clench my fingers against the fabric. A useless attempt to keep my hands from shaking. Any minute now, my mother will show up—with Blake. I shift my weight from one foot to the other, restless, my pulse stuttering between panic and excitement. I’m officially meeting my little sister. Only the second time I’ll be seeing her, and yet it feels like I’ve been waiting for this moment forever.

I’m surprised my mother didn’t put up a fight when I asked to see her alone today. No prying, no guilt, just a simple yes. It’s a rare thing, and I’m letting myself appreciate it. This morning, I found myself back in front of the house, like muscle memory had pulled me back there. Blake wasn’t home. She had dance class. Maybe that was for the best—I wasn’t ready to step inside yet. So, I picked somewhere else to meet, somewhere that didn’t come with memories tucked into every corner. I may not know how to hold all this at once, but I do know one thing—right now, Blake is what matters.

A small, nondescript sedan rolls to a stop, its faded blue paint catching the afternoon light. It’s the kind of car you buy when reliability matters more than sentiment. I’d recognize that grip on the steering wheel anywhere—firm, precise, hands at ten and two. Unmistakable. My mother. Even before she stops out, before she moves to help Blake from the back seat, I know. It’s her.

Blake barely pauses before closing the door, and when her gaze lifts, it snags on mine. The resemblance to Beckett is undeniable—like someone copied and pasted his features onto a smaller frame, dark hair just as unruly, storm-colored eyes just as wide and sharp. It’s like looking at a crossroads between timelines, and I’m not sure which one she belongs to.

Mom’s fingers press lighting against the top of Blake’s shoulders, but she doesn’t react. Her focus is on me, her steps confident with an energy that’s almost electric. The anger towards my mother, the resentment—all the things I worried would take up space in this moment—shrink down to nothing. None of it matters. Not right now. Blake is a bridge between what I lost and what I still have, and I want to meet her in the middle.

“Hi, Blake,” I say, the words careful, like setting down something fragile.

The corners of her mouth lift, just barely, like she isn’t sure whether she’s allowed to let her excitement show. She exhales, shifting slightly, her gaze skimming the ground before meeting mine. “Hi, Dylan.” She blurts, as if she’s been holding it in for hours. “I knew who you were the other day when you came by the house.” A pause, then another breath. “I was too nervous to say anything.”

“You did?” I ask, though I’d already guessed as much from what Chloe told me.

She squints up at me, her curls brushing her cheeks. “I’ve seen pictures,” she begins, like she’s just let me in on the best secret in the world. “Of you and Beckett. There’s a whole box of them in the closet. Some are kind of old and crinkly, but I liked looking at them. Mom told me about you, too.” She nudges a pebble with her toe as she speaks, like the ground is part of the conversation. “I used to pretend when I was younger I had a big sister. Like, if I wished hard enough, maybe you’d just show up one day. And now you’re here.” She pauses, glancing up at me again. “It worked!”

Her words land somewhere deep, in a place I didn’t realize was still tender. I sink to one knee, meeting her eyes, hoping she can see everything I don’t know how to say yet. “Would a hug be okay?”

Her answer is immediate—she steps forward, arms looping around me like she’s done it a thousand times before and this isn’t only our second meeting, but it’s something we’ve always known how to do. She holds on tighter than I expect, her small fingers clutching the back of my shirt. I close my eyes, letting the moment settle, letting it stitch up something I thought would always stay broken. Tears gather at the edges of my vision, but they’re not from loss. They’re from the hope that maybe life isn’t too far gone to find my way back.

Blake and I spent the whole day together. We wandered, letting conversations take us wherever they wanted. Mini-golf was ridiculous. I was even worse than I thought, but Blake hyped me up like I was some kind of olympian.

---