Page 135 of F*ckboys

"We need to talk," I say when she answers.

My older sister is silent for a long moment on the other end. On the outside, it looks like Raine and I are so close and tell each other everything. But in reality, there's so much I've hidden from her and the others over the years. Things I'm not proud of that I needed to do in order to keep the family business afloat. Onlymy grandmother knows the half of it, and most of it was at her direction.

"I've been waiting to hear those words for a long time," she says at last. "I'm here. Talk."

The words spill out of me in a torrent. Everything I've done, the lies, the violence—she listens without judgment. And when I'm finished, wrung out and empty, she speaks. Not with anger, but with love.

"You were protecting our family," she says gently. "And the past is gone. All you can do is decide the man you want to become, and start walking that path. I'll walk with you. It's never too late."

Tears burn my eyes. After everything, she's still here for me. Still willing to forgive.

"Thank you. Raine," I whisper. "For not judging me, ever, even though some of my actions were pure evil."

"That's what family is for." I can hear her smile through the phone. "Welcome back, little brother. It's felt like you've only partially been here for a long time, but now I see the whole you again. I'm so relieved. I hope you feel the huge weight off your shoulders."

I end the call and sit in silence, letting peace fill the spaces where darkness once dwelled. The road ahead won't be easy. But for the first time, I feel hope. Maybe Fallon was right after all. Maybe our ending—temporary or not—was a beginning.

Chapter 78

Fallon

After days of silence, the urge to reach out gnaws at me. I wasn't sure how much time apart I needed—days, weeks or months—but I miss Aksel dearly. I rummage through memories of him, searching for something to breach the chasm between us. A flash of his smile when showing off a rare comic sparks an idea.

I rifle through dusty boxes in the attic until my fingers close around smooth cardboard, and I pull out the package encased by familiar plastic wrapping. A first edition Footrot Flats comic. The companion book to Aksel's prize possession, the one I gave him for his seventeenth birthday. I'd had this ready to go for his nineteenth birthday, naïvely assuming we'd always be together, so it's been collecting dust for quite some time.

As I wrap the comic in decorative tissue bearing a pretty pattern, a pang squeezes my chest, a vivid reminder of simpler times. I slip it into a gift box and scribble a note, the words tumbling out in a rush:See you soon, trouble.

I remember Aksel's delight at discovering a rare issue, the way his eyes would light up like the sky on Fourth of July. Late nights camped out on his bedroom floor, our hushed voices and laughter muffled by shadows as we got lost in other worlds.

The comic is a relic of what we once shared, untarnished by the ugliness that came later. For a moment I let myself pretend that the rift between us never formed, that we're still the people we were as teenagers with our whole lives stretched out before us.

But time marches on, and there's no going back. We're strangers now, bound by a history that feels like something from another lifetime. Still, I cling to the hope that this small piece of our past might pave the way to reconciliation.

That we can find our way back to each other, even though we can never again be those kids with stars in our eyes, dreaming of forever.

My finger hovers over the button that will summon a courier to my house to drop the gift off at Aksel's, my heart jackhammering. Sending this is a leap of faith, a white flag in our private war. With a deep breath, I hit send.

Aksel

A package arrives on my doorstep, Fallon's familiar scrawl on the brown paper wrapping. I nearly pitch it in the trash, the urge to punish her flaring hot and bright. I hate being ignored, and being ignored by the woman I'd put my life on the line for is agony. But curiosity gets the better of me.

I tear into the package and stare. A first edition Footrot Flats comic, edges in pristine condition, slips into my hands. A wave of nostalgia washes over me as I trace the familiar cover,transporting me to the aftermath of my seventeenth birthday. Fallon had shyly presented this comic's companion issue, her cheeks pink as though she was both excited and nervous to present it to me. "It's your white whale, thought you'd like to finally catch it."

For a long moment I can only stare at the cover, an undertow of memories threatening to drag me under.

Fallon remembers.

After everything that's passed between us, she remembers the things that mattered most, that still matter most now. The little details that shaped our history, moments worn soft around the edges with time.

I trace a finger across the comic's cover, transported to the past. To the joy of uncovering a new issue together, Fallon's delighted laughter as we pored over each page. I knew she didn't love the comics, but she did it for me. The simplicity of those early days, before life conspired to pull us apart.

The gift is an olive branch, a fragile bridge to what we once shared. A reminder that despite the distance between us, our history remains—and with it, the possibility of finding our way home.

That maybe we can be those kids again, if only for a little while. The ones who still had a lifetime of adventures ahead, whose future was filled with promise.

Tonight I'll lose myself in the comic's pages, remembering how it felt to be us. Tomorrow the real work begins, but for now, I'll cling to the hope Fallon's gift represents.

The hope that we might yet have a new story to tell.

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