22
Brooks
Now
It’s the same gym—the same sound of squeaking sneakers, the same scuffed floors, even the same people—but it feels smaller now. Or maybe that’s just me. Like I don’t quite fit the way I used to.
But the second she steps through the door, I see her.
Dylan’s standing at the check-in table, pen in hand, her shoulders tight but squared, like she’s bracing herself for whatever’s coming. I don’t think she’s seen me yet. Good . That gives me a second to figure out what the hell I’m supposed to do.
Our breakfast was a wreck, but Dylan let go of everything she’s been holding in since I left her. I didn’t take it personally. We both had our demons to fight ten years ago, and now, we’re doing our best to come back unscathed.
I notice Aaron’s with her. Of course, he is. I don’t know when he got in from New York, but it’s just the cherry on top of an already shitty situation—seeing him standing so close to her, leaning in like he belongs there. It’s just another fucking reminder. I had my chance to tell her everything, and I blew it. Again .
I should stay put. Just keep my distance and let her have this. But damn, it’s hard.
Maybe it’s better this way. She looks…settled. Like her life back east suits her. Meanwhile, I’ve been stuck here, holding onto something that slipped through my fingers a decade ago. Everyone knows it. Part of me thought maybe—just maybe—she missed me, missed this place, and coming back here would make her see things differently. But seeing her now, seeing her like this, I’m not so sure.
I guess that’s the difference between us. I never figured out how to. Not really. This town hasn’t felt right since the day she left, and honestly, neither have I.
Miles notices her too, his face lighting up as he crosses the room. Dylan shifts, tucking her hair behind her ear as Miles leans in to greet her, his hand gesturing toward the woman by his side. His wife. I’ve met her a few times over the years, always bright and full of energy. After graduation, Miles and I faded into different lives, both of us lost in our own hell, trying to outrun pain we had no idea how to face. It’s obvious now—Breigh was the one that saved him.
They exchange a few words, Dylan’s smile tightening as Miles says something else, his expression softening like he’s trying to smooth over whatever disturbance he’s just stirred. Her posture stiffens briefly before she nods, her eyes flicking toward the tables. Moments later, Aaron guides her away, the two of them weaving through the growing crowd to find a seat.
I tear my focus from them before I do something stupid—like follow.
Instead, I scan the room until I spot Colt leaning against the wall near the bleachers, arms crossed, his shoulders tight like he’s ready to bolt. The guy looks like he’s just seen a ghost, and I know exactly why—Dylan’s the phantom that’s been haunting him. Her being here wasn’t exactly on anyone’s bingo card.
“Did you know she’d show?” Colt asks as I walk up, his voice just loud enough to hear over the noise in the gym. He’s keeping his eyes on the far side of the room, arms crossed tight like he’s bracing for impact.
“Yeah, she’s been in town a few days,” I admit, but it doesn’t feel that simple. Nothing about Dylan ever does. “You okay?”
Colt huffs, barely looking at me. “Not really. It’s like everything I’ve been trying to forget just walked through the door and signed the fucking guest book.”
I shift, following his focus to the tables. She’s smiling at something Aaron’s saying, but there’s a nervousness in the way she holds herself, like she’s trying to keep it together for appearances.
Colt exhales through his nose, shoulders slumping. “This wasn’t how I saw tonight going, man. I…don’t know if I should be here.”
Since prom night, Colt’s been the type to let things fester until they hit a breaking point, and I know better than to push him before he’s ready. Still, part of me thinks I should say something comforting, help him get ahead of whatever guilt he’s feeling.
But my focus keeps drifting. No matter how hard I try to stay present, it always circles back to her. To Dylan. It always has.
We settle into a comfortable silence, watching people mill around the gym. A group from the drama club is reenacting some inside joke by the old trophy case, their voices carrying over the noise of conversation. A few rows of folding chairs sit mostly empty in the back corner, reserved for people who need a break from acting like they don’t still hate everyone.
“It’s weird, isn’t it?” Colt says after a while. “How some people still fit here like nothing’s changed, and the rest of us feel like we’re walking through a museum.”
He doesn’t have to explain. I know what he means. Some people move through life untouched, their worst moments nothing more than failed math tests or unrequited crushes. Then there are people like us, dragged under by things too big to process at seventeen, left to claw our way back up while everyone else keeps living their normal lives.
“Not everyone had to go through the kind of crap we did.”
I think about the nights we’d sit in my truck after everything went down, both of us too messed up to say much, but too afraid to be alone. I’d always thought Colt was holding it together better than me, but maybe I was wrong.
The gym doors creak open, and a new wave of people filter in. I spot some old teammates, a couple of girls from visual arts, even the janitor who used to let us sneak onto the football field after hours. The familiarity is comforting, but it also feels like a reminder of what’s missing.
“Crazy how many people showed,” Colt says, his voice quieter now.
“Guess some people like nostalgia.” I lean against the wall, shoving a hand into my pocket. “Maybe they want to prove something—to themselves, to everybody else. Show off their perfect lives or some shit.”
“Not everybody’s here to flex, man.” Colt’s tone is surprisingly sharper now. “Some of us are just trying to make peace with the past.”
I glance over at him, realizing I’ve hit a nerve. “Fair enough,” I say, letting the topic drop.
We fall silent again, the hum of voices filling the space between us. I want to say more, to dig into the things we don’t actually talk about, but this isn’t the time. Not here, surrounded by ghosts of who we used to be.
Chloe’s voice comes through the speakers, still high-pitched and unchanged. The projector flickers to life on the wall, casting a bright square of light over the gym. A slideshow starts, looping through photos that feel oddly distant and too close at the same time. A few of these were mine—pictures I took when we still thought everything mattered more than it actually did.
There we all are. Six of us. Me, Dylan, Colt, Beckett, Miles, and Graham. A mess of arms and heads crammed together in a group shot, each of us leaning into the other, acting like we had everything figured out. I can almost remember the spring air in that picture, that weird, lighthearted feeling that everything would stay the same forever.
Colt lets out a short, humorless exhale. “Look at us. A bunch of idiots thinking we knew anything about life.”
His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he pulls it out, his eyes narrowing as he scans the message. The words are brief but the change in him is instant. “Looks like I’m off the hook,” he mutters, mostly to himself. “The hospital’s short handed, I’ve gotta go.”
He stands a little straighter, dusting off his shirt, his expression hardening into that no-nonsense look he always gets when duty calls. No time for distractions. Not now.
I agree, unsure of what to really say. Colt’s been at the hospital for some time now, deep into his surgical residency. Something about seeing things firsthand pushed him to do more, to become more. But it’s also left him worn down.
His eyes flick back to the slideshow, the group photo still displayed on the screen. “Remember those letters we had to write to ourselves senior year, to open today? We thought we had everything ahead of us, like the world was ours for the taking. I guess I wasn’t ready for how hard life would hit. When you grab yours, just…throw mine out, okay?”
Without saying anything else, Colt turns and walks toward the exit. His silhouette disappearing into the crowd, leaving me alone with nothing but the image on the screen.
I stare at the six of us, full of life, hopeful, and completely unaware of how quickly things could fall apart. A wave of realization hits me. We’ve all made our mistakes, lost chances, and come out the other side with scars we never saw coming.
Maybe it’s time to figure out how to stop running from things I’ve been avoiding. Not just for myself, but for the people I still care about—people like Dylan and Colt. To try and make things right, not because I owe it to myself but because it feels like something I owe them—and maybe everyone else who’s still here, still fighting, still trying to piece what we lost back together.