Chapter 28
28
BEVERLY, 1999
17 years old
I spent my seventeenth birthday alone. Not entirely alone—Mom and Dad were there, of course. They gave me a card and a new pair of dance shoes, and we had cake after dinner, but it wasn’t the same. It didn’t feel right. Not this year.
I tried to act normal, to smile when I was supposed to, to thank them for the gifts, to eat the cake without feeling like it was turning to ash in my mouth. But every time I looked at Dad’s face, I saw the lines that had deepened since November.
Every time I looked at Mom, I saw the effort behind her smiles, the slight tremor in her hands.
And every time I glanced upstairs, I saw Blake’s closed door.
He hadn’t said a word to me since the day we found out about Mom’s illness. Not a single word.
He chose silence over scandal.
At first, I tried to get him to talk to me. I knocked on his door, I sent him texts, I even tried barging in once, but he wouldn’t budge. He’d barely look at me, and when he did, it was like I wasn’t even there. Like I was just some ghost he had to put up with until he could pretend I wasn’t haunting him anymore.
After a while, I stopped trying.
It wasn’t worth it.
Nothing I said would change the fact that he’d made his choice, and it wasn’t me.
So when February rolled around, I didn’t expect anything. And I guess that was the worst part—how easy it was to pretend like my birthday was just another day. How easy it was to sit at the table, blow out the candles, and act like I wasn’t thinking about him the whole time.
I went to bed early, the way I had every night since November. I told Mom I was tired, kissed her on the cheek, and slipped into my room before she could ask if I was okay.
I wasn’t.
I hadn’t been for months.
But she didn’t need to know that.
Neither of them did.
They had enough to worry about.
I curled up under my blanket, staring at the ceiling, listening to the faint sounds of the TV downstairs. My chest felt hollow, like something vital had been scooped out and I hadn’t noticed until now. I turned my head, my eyes drifting to the small box sitting on my nightstand. A pair of earrings, silver and simple, the kind of thing I used to like before I stopped caring.
Mom had picked them out.
She said she thought they’d suit me.
My throat tightened. I didn’t want to cry. Not tonight.
But my chest ached, and my eyes burned, and all I could think about was how last year, Blake had spent my entire birthday trying to make me laugh. How he had stolen balloons from the grocery store and tied them to my chair. How he’d sung “Happy Birthday” off-key, loud enough to embarrass me in front of Tiffany.
How he’d slipped a tiny, hand-drawn card under my door after midnight, just because he thought it was funny to give me two birthdays in one day. It was a terrible doodle of me wearing a crown and holding a giant piece of cake, with Happy Birthday scribbled underneath it.
And now?—
Now, he wouldn’t even look at me.
I swallowed hard, squeezing my eyes shut.
No. I wouldn’t cry. I wouldn’t.
It was just a birthday.
I’d have plenty more.
* * *
I must have fallen asleep at some point because I woke up to the soft sound of something hitting my door.
Thump .
I blinked, groggy, the warmth of sleep still clinging to my skin. The room was dark except for the faint glow of my nightlight, casting soft shadows against the walls.
For a second, I thought I had imagined it.
Thump .
I sat up, my heart already picking up speed.
My eyes flickered to the clock on my nightstand. 2:12 AM.
Another thump .
Slowly, I pushed back my covers and slid out of my bed. My feet barely made a sound against the floor as I crept toward the door, pressing my palm against the wood, waiting.
Silence.
A few seconds passed, then?—
Thump.
It was quiet, barely anything. If I hadn’t been awake, I might not have heard it at all. But I was awake. I was listening.
I hesitated before wrapping my fingers around the doorknob, twisting it, and pulling it open just a crack. The hallway was dark, the only light spilling in from my nightlight.
I sucked in a sharp breath, my stomach twisting so hard it hurt. Blake . He was slumped against the wall, one knee bent, his arm draped loosely over it. He didn’t glance my way. He was staring straight ahead, his expression a blank mask in the dim light. His eyes were bloodshot, the dark circles beneath them stark against his pale skin.It looked like he’d been there for hours.
For a second, I wasn’t even sure if he was awake.
Then his head tilted slightly.
Had he—had he been banging his head against the door ?
I opened the door a little wider. “Blake?”
Something about him felt off. Not just the exhaustion in his posture or the way his hands clenched into fists like he was holding something in. It was something I couldn’t name.
He didn’t look at me. Didn’t even blink. I hated him for this. For shutting me out for months. For ignoring me. For making me feel like I was nothing to him. But more than anything, I hated that even now, after everything, I still wanted to reach out to him.
“Are you…” I cleared my throat, trying again. “Are you okay?”
I hesitated before stepping forward, lowering myself onto the floor beside him, close enough that I could feel his warmth, but not close enough to touch.
“Couldn’t sleep,” he mumbled.
His voice was hoarse, like he hadn’t used it in hours.
He still wasn’t looking at me. His eyes stayed locked on the wall, like he couldn’t bring himself to meet my gaze.
For a long moment, neither of us spoke.
Then, quietly, his voice wrecked, he said, “I didn’t forget.”
Something in my chest cracked.
I pressed my lips together, my throat thick with something I couldn’t swallow.“Then why didn’t you say anything?”
Blake exhaled sharply, running a hand over his face, his fingers pressing into his temples like he wanted to claw something out of his own skull. “I didn’t know…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “I don’t know how to be the person you want me to be. I don’t know how to want you and still be the son they deserve.”
The son they deserve.
I wanted to scream. I wanted to grab his face, make him look at me, make him understand that I didn’t care about any of that.
“Blake, you’re allowed to be happy.”
He finally looked at me. And the second he did, I knew he was breaking.I could see it in his hollow eyes, the way his throat bobbed, and the way his knuckles turned white as he gripped his knee, like he was trying to hold himself together.
“Hey,” I whispered, reaching for him without thinking.
Suddenly, he was standing.
I barely had time to react before he was walking away, disappearing into his room, the door clicking shut behind him.
I sat there, frozen, staring at the empty space he left behind, my chest so tight I could barely breathe.
And then, for the first time in months, I broke. Silent tears slipped down my cheeks as I curled my arms around my knees, biting down hard on my lip to keep the sobs inside.
Because Blake had been right there. Because, even now, after everything, he was still choosing to walk away.