23. Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Three
Kayla
My eyes flutter open, seared by a blinding light that burns straight through me, like a flashbang detonating behind my ribs. A ragged breath escapes my lips as I lift a trembling hand, feebly attempting to shield myself. The light slips through my fingers, slipping through the gaps like grains of sand. It does nothing to lessen the intensity, but it gives me a moment—just a moment—to adjust.
The haze lifts, and I realize I’m already standing. My heart pounds, unease curling through me. How long have I been here? Where is here?
The ground beneath my feet feels familiar, the scent of sun-warmed grass and earth wrapping around me like a forgotten lullaby. A strange déjà vu prickles at my spine as I turn in slow, disoriented circles, taking in the tall grass swaying in the breeze, the daisies blooming at my feet. The white petals stand in stark contrast to the tarnished green, kissed by the golden hues of late summer.
The meadow.
A sharp inhale catches in my throat. I know this place. It’s the meadow behind our childhood home. But that doesn’t make sense.
I glance down, and my breath stutters. A white summer dress flows around my legs—the one I haven’t worn in years. My fingers skim over the fabric as a breeze tugs at my hair, sending loose strands into my face. A flash of gold catches my eye. I go still.
No.
With trembling hands, I grab a lock of my hair, pulling it in front of me. My breath shudders out in a broken gasp. Blonde. Not the rich, chestnut brown I’ve kept it dyed since Mom passed. My natural color. A color I haven’t let myself wear in years because every time Braden saw it, it shattered something inside him.
I twirl the ends between my fingers, my stomach twisting itself into knots.
Is this a dream?
A sharp, stabbing pain lances through my skull, so intense my knees nearly buckle. I hiss, pressing my fingertips to my temples, but the pain only intensifies. My thoughts are tangled, blurred—faces I can’t quite place, flashes of white, the sterile scent of antiseptic. It all slips through my mind like smoke, impossible to hold on to.
The more I try, the worse it gets.
I exhale shakily and drop my hands, surrendering to the serenity around me.
A dozen yellow butterflies lift from the grass, their delicate wings catching the sunlight as they dance through the air. The meadow hums—crickets chirping, leaves rustling—a world untouched by grief. By pain.
It’s peaceful here.
For the first time in what feels like forever, the weight on my chest eases. I sink to the ground, letting the warm earth cradle me, fingers skimming over the soft petals of a daisy. I pluck it, rolling it between my fingers, a strange sense of comfort settling in my bones.
"Hey, little sister."
The voice shatters me.
I freeze. My lungs lock up, my heart hammering wildly against my ribs.
No.
Slowly, I turn. Afraid that if I move too fast, the illusion will break.
He’s there.
Braden.
Leaning lazily against the old wooden gate, just like he always used to, that easy, shit-eating grin tugging at the corners of his lips. His blonde hair is a little longer now, curling at the ends, and his blue eyes—God, his eyes —are as bright as the endless summer sky.
Tears blur my vision.
"Braden?" His name falls from my lips in a whisper, a prayer, a desperate plea.
My body moves before my mind catches up. I scramble to my feet and stumble forward. He meets me halfway, and I crash into him, my arms wrapping tight around his waist. He’s solid . Warm. Real. A sob rips through me as I clutch him tighter, burying my face in his shirt.
He smells like sandalwood and home.
"You feel real," I choke out, fisting the fabric of his shirt, terrified that if I let go, he’ll disappear. That this will end .
Braden exhales, a familiar, exasperated sound, then gently pries the daisy from my fingers, twirling it between his own.
"I can’t believe you’re gonna make me say the cliché shit, little sis." His voice is soft, but there’s a weight to it. A sadness. "You can’t be here, Mac."
The words land like ice water, stealing the warmth from my bones.
I shake my head, my pulse thundering in my ears. "What do you mean? I don’t understand—"
"Wait, now you’re doing cliché responses too? My little sister, the NPC," he teases, shaking his head. But the humor is forced. Hollow. "You shouldn’t be here… with me."
A voice drifts on the wind, calling my name. Desperate. Familiar.
I stiffen, glancing around, but there’s nothing.
Fear curls around me, looking for a way in.
"Braden, what’s happening?" I reach for his hand, gripping tight, begging him to explain.
His gaze darkens with sorrow. "Eugh. This feels like a script. Like we’ve rehearsed it. You know who that is, Maccy-moo."
The nickname hits me like a punch to the chest.
"He can’t be without you."
"Who?"
Agony explodes behind my eyes, and I crumple, a strangled cry tearing from my throat. The meadow warps, rippling like disturbed water. I clutch my head, the pain unbearable.
Braden kneels beside me, his hand firm on my back. "Fuck. I gotta say it." He makes a face, like the words physically pain him. "It’s not your time."
Tears spill down my cheeks as I reach for him, my grip weak. "Please… I want to stay. I want to be with you." My voice fractures under the weight of my grief. God, I’ve missed him.
Braden’s fingers tighten around mine, grounding me. Slowly, he pulls me to my feet, guiding me toward the gate. The pain intensifies, and I stumble, my free hand catching on the rough wood. My fingertips brush over a heart carved deep into the grain.
The voice calls again. Louder. More desperate.
Panic flares in my chest. "Braden, I—"
"Head injuries, eh?" His voice is wry, but his eyes are filled with sorrow.
A face flashes through my mind. Dark, messy hair. Electric-blue eyes. A lopsided, charming smile.
My heart clenches.
"Logan."
Braden presses the daisy back into my hand. "That’s the one. Also, when I said, ‘Over my dead body’ and all that… I appreciate it. It would’ve been gross. But you have my blessing, six minutes twenty-two."
My breath catches. "No—no, you can’t go."
Braden smiles, gentle, teasing. "You’ll get here when you get here. Hopefully old and wrinkly, so I can make fun of you, alright?" He leans in, pressing a kiss to my temple.
I choke on a sob as the world around me turns blindingly bright.
The meadow dissolves into nothingness.
His voice is the last thing I hear.
"You need him, too…"