26
Dylan
N ow
The gym is packed, but I’ve never felt lonelier. I try not to look around the gym much, refusing to search for him—Brooks. But my body doesn’t listen. My eyes betray me, drawn to him like a bad habit I can’t break. And there he is, standing near the edge of the room, with Colton Hayes.
I tell myself it’s not a big deal. They’re just two guys. That’s it. Nothing more. But my body doesn’t quite believe it. I knew tonight would be hard, that the past would find a way to sneak in, but I won’t let it take me under. So I take a breath, square my shoulders, and settle into the act. Calm. Unbothered. Like I’m ready to let it all go.
“Babe?” Aaron’s voice startles me, but there’s no impatience in his tone, just curiosity.
I plaster on a smile, but it feels flimsy, like a sticker peeling at the edges. His gaze narrows, catching the mask I hoped he wouldn’t see. But he doesn’t ask. He never does. Aaron is the kind of person who waits, who stays, who lets me come to him when I’m ready—even when I never quite am.
The crowd’s chatter fades into the background as Chloe’s voice momentarily blares through the speakers, the same high-pitched tone I remember all too well, and I feel a twinge of irritation. The projector flickers on the wall, casting a bright light that makes the whole gym feel even more surreal. The slideshow starts, looping through photos that seem both like a lifetime ago and like they happened only yesterday.
Then I see it.
A photo of Brooks, Colt, Beckett, Miles, Graham, and me. Each movement feels suspended, every detail stretching into painful clarity.
There he is. My brother.
His smile rips through scar tissue I was stupid enough to think had healed. Suddenly, I’m seventeen again—heart in my throat—watching him laugh like he belonged to forever.
“Who’s that guy next to you?” Aaron asks.
I don’t answer. My eyes stay locked on the photo—on Beckett’s face. We look so carefree, so unaware. We had no idea what was coming, or how little time we all had left.
Aaron studies the photo, then me, his brows drawing together in confusion. “He looks a lot like you, D.”
“That was, um…that was my twin brother,” I answer, the words flat, like they no longer belong to me. Was my twin brother.
Aaron doesn’t seem to fully get it. “Your brother?” He squints at the screen, trying to piece it together.
“Yeah.” It comes out too brittle, my voice splintering. I grit my teeth against it, but it’s already out there, exposing everything I swore I wouldn’t. I hate that. Hate how easily it still sinks its teeth into me. It’s like I never really left. Like some part of me has been rotting in this place, waiting for me to come back and tear the scab off.
Aaron watches me closely, searching for a crack to pry open. Hoping if he stares hard enough, he might find a way in. I don’t blame him. I’ve never told him about Beckett, never let him close enough to see the parts of me that still bleed. Denial was easier. I know he has questions—probably a hundred of them—but I don’t have the patience to answer any right now. This part of my life was never meant to be shared.
The slideshow moves on, but I don’t. I stay locked in place, my eyes burning into the screen like I can will him back through sheer desperation. If I refuse to breathe, the universe might undo itself and put him back here where he belongs.
It never does. He’s gone, and I’m here, clinging to a ghost that doesn’t even have the decency to haunt me.
I snatch my purse, hands shaking as I put as much distance between me and Aaron as fast as I can without outright running. I need air, space, anything but this. The bathroom will do. At least there, I can regain some semblance of control over myself, even if it’s a lie.
But the second I step inside, I feel it—her. Chloe Vance. I don’t have to see her, I don’t have to hear her voice. Her unchanging perfume has gone rancid, demanding my attention just by existing.
“Wow, I thought you’d never step foot in Rockport again after you dramatically ran away, leaving Brooks high and dry,” she hums, her voice smooth with that all-too-familiar bite.
The fluorescent buzz of the overhead lights drills into my skull. I don’t bother speaking—what’s the point? Chloe and I were never friends, not even a little, and I’m not about to let her drag me into whatever game she’s playing tonight. Instead, I turn to the mirror, my eyes locking onto my reflection, but it feels distant—like I’m looking at a stranger. A ghost of a girl who thought she could come back here and not drown in everything she tried to leave behind.
I can feel Chloe getting closer, the click of her heels echoing off the tiles. I know she’s waiting for a reaction, for me to snap back, to engage. But I don’t. Not this time.
Drawing in a breath, I finally turn toward her, though I don’t meet her gaze. “Why wouldn’t I come, Chloe?” My voice stays steady, even though I feel a little too wired inside. She’s not worth the energy.
Her lips curl into that practiced smile she’s always worn—the one she used in high school when she knew she had the upper hand.
“I thought you’d be too busy. You know, since you haven’t found the time in, what, ten years? Not even to visit your little sister.”
Classic Chloe.
She’s always had a way of pushing buttons. But I’m not about to give her that satisfaction. Not tonight, and especially not over something as absurd as me having a so-called little sister.
“My little sister?” I repeat, confusion knotting in my chest. “What are you talking about? I don’t have a little sister.”
Chloe doesn’t even flinch. Her eyes meet mine, smugness radiating off her. She knows she’s got me, and she’s not letting go.
“Blake,” she sneers, leaning in a little, her voice lower now. “She’s in fifth grade now. She was in my class last year—super sweet kid, by the way. Even asked if we went to school together. But I guess you wouldn’t know much about that, since you didn’t stick around after you—” She trails off, letting the implication settle between us, savoring it like it’s her favorite part.
The name floats between us, one I’ll now never be able to escape. Blake . It doesn’t click, doesn’t land in a way that feels real. My mouth goes dry, and I take a step back, hoping that some distance from Chloe might somehow bring clarity. “You’re lying,” I say, the words betraying more of my own doubt than anything aimed at her. My hands are suddenly cold, and I tighten my grip on my purse, willing it to calm me.
Chloe doesn’t seem to be lying. There’s no playful gleam in her eyes, no hint of the usual mockery. This is something different, more intense. She’s serious.
“I’m not lying, Dylan,” she urges, muted now, more controlled. She’s finally getting what she wants, but it’s obvious it’s not in the way she expected.
Something snaps inside me…a frantic feeling I can’t pin down. My thoughts are racing, trying to connect dots that don’t even exist. My mom had another kid? When? How could I not know? Why didn’t Brooks tell me? Why didn’t my mother?
“I just saw my mom at Ruby’s,” I manage, my voice unsteady. “She…she didn’t say anything about someone named Blake.” I tell myself it doesn’t matter, that I had my reasons to turn her away at the diner. But the guilt seeps in anyway. She asked if I had time, and I couldn’t get away fast enough. No matter how hard I try to twist it, the truth sticks—I don’t really know my mom anymore. Know who she is now, not who she’s been for years. She’s a stranger.
“I didn’t know,” I say, as much to myself as to Chloe.
“You didn’t want to. You left, Dylan. You disappeared. What did you think was going to happen? That Rockport was just gonna pause and wait for you to come back?”
Her words split me open, and I blink repeatedly, caught off guard. I wasn’t expecting the hit, even though I should have. She’s right in ways I don’t want to admit. I thought leaving meant cutting myself free, severing every last thread. But now I see the loose ends I never even knew were there—things I abandoned before I realized they belonged to me.
Chloe shrugs, a little too pleased with herself. “Well, sorry. I just assumed you knew. My bad.” Her apology isn’t remotely sincere, but that’s not the point. She’s already gotten what she came for.
I shove the door open and step back into the gym. I don’t stop. I don’t second-guess. I barely acknowledge Aaron at the table before pinpointing Brooks. He’s laughing at the bar, seemingly untroubled, and my control burns out. He doesn’t even see me coming—not until I plant myself directly in front of him and demand his attention.
“Did you know?” The question erupts before I have time to reel it in. My voice is louder than I intended, drawing the attention of others, but I don’t care.
He frowns, his drink paused halfway to his mouth. “Know what?”
“About Blake,” I say, disbelief coating each word. “Did you know about her? My—my sister . Did you know and not tell me?”
His expression falls, and I can see the guilt flicker across his face.
That’s all I need.
“You did,” I accuse, my voice rising. “You knew. Brooks, I’ve been here for days, and you never said a word. You let me walk around this town, completely clueless, and you didn’t think I deserved to know?”
He sets his drink down, his shoulders tensing as he straightens up. “I was going to tell you,” he cautions. “I just…didn’t think it was the right time. I didn’t want to throw that at you when you were already—”
I cut him off. “When I was already what? Dealing with being back here? Seeing my mom? Grieving my brother? Feeling like my entire past is staring me in the face?” My voice hardens. “You don’t get to decide when the ‘right time’ is, Brooks. You should’ve told me.”
“I was trying to protect you,” he protests, but it only infuriates me more.
“Oh, please! Try a new excuse, Brooks. Hell, maybe try the truth for once! You think you’re protecting me? Tell me, when has that ever worked? When has keeping me in the dark ever made shit better?”
I don’t give him the satisfaction of offering me another lie. I spin on my heel and walk away, my thoughts a fucking cyclone. A sister. I have a sister. And somehow, the whole damn town knew except me. As if I’m some delicate little thing they have to protect.
But that’s not who I am anymore. Not even close.
My footsteps echo in the empty parking lot, each step faster than the last as I try to outrun everything—Chloe’s words, Brooks’ silence, the sudden reality that nothing in my life is what I thought it was.
“Dylan, wait!” Aaron’s voice carries from behind me, quick and panicked. I don’t turn around. I don’t have the patience for this.
“Dylan, come on!” That voice isn’t Aaron’s. It’s Brooks’. It’s deeper, rougher, with just enough edge to stop me in my tracks for just a moment. “Don’t do this again. Don’t run away!”
Run away? He has no right to say that to me, not after everything he’s done. I force myself to keep moving, heading toward Aaron’s rental car.
Aaron reaches me first. “Dylan, what the hell is going on? Are you okay?” He grabs my arm gently, but the irritation it sparks shoots straight through me, rattles me like a goddamn earthquake.
I shake him off. “I just need to go.”
“Go where? What happened back there?” His voice rises, and I know he deserves an explanation. But I don’t have it in me right now.
“Can we not do this here, Aaron? Please,” I beg, hoping he’ll let it drop.
But of course, now he doesn’t. “No, we’re not just glossing over this. Not this time. First, you ditch me without a word, and now this guy is chasing you down like his life depends on it. So tell me—what the fuck is going on between you two?”
“Nothing!” The word bursts out of me, too forceful to sound convincing.
“You expect me to believe that? Because it doesn’t feel like nothing, Dylan. It hasn’t felt like nothing since we ran into him back in Maine.”
I wrap my arms around myself, trying to steady my nerves. “I told you, Aaron. Brooks was a friend from high school, and that’s all there is to it. Can we just leave it alone? Can we just go back to the hotel?”
“No, we can’t,” he snaps. “Because every time I see him, every time his name comes up, this fucking shadow falls over you. And now this?” He gestures back toward the school, frustration radiating off him. “There’s something you’re not telling me. Fuck, I didn’t even know you had a brother until tonight! What else haven’t you told me?”
I turn away, hoping to end this, but his voice stops me.
“Is the ‘B’ tattooed under your collarbone for him?”
I whip around, disbelief coloring my voice. “Are you serious right now?”
“I am.” he insists, his gaze digging into mine. “Is it for him, Dylan? Because, damn it, it sure as hell doesn’t feel like you’ve fucking let him go.”
“Oh my God! It’s not for Brooks!” I shout, my throat raw from the intensity. “It’s for Beckett. My twin brother, Aaron! Who died when we were seventeen.”
The admission lands between us like a grenade, and I watch the impact crack through him in real time. His expression slipped from anger to something shaken, as if he’s realizing how much of me exists outside what he thought he knew.
“The one in the photo.”
“Yes, Aaron. Beckett. My twin brother .” My voice trembles, and I don’t bother hiding it. I clutch my chest, simply speaking his name is enough to make it feel as though I can’t breathe.
My fingers dig into my ribs, pressing hard, as if I can hold myself together just by the force of my grip. “He died right before I left this fucking town.” My head drops, my breath shallow as I struggle to loosen the painful knot in my chest. “ That’s why I have the tattoo. That’s why I don’t talk about it…because it hurts.” I wrestle down the instinct to choke, my throat burning, and I pull my arms in tight, as if holding myself together will make the pain stop. “It still fucking hurts.”
“You’re telling me all of this now?” Aaron stumbles back, my words slamming into him like a punch to the gut. “How did I not know this? How could you never tell me something so important?”
“Because I don’t talk about him,” I snap, my emotions bubbling over. “I can barely even think about him without falling apart. And maybe that makes me a terrible person, or maybe it makes me weak, but it’s the truth, Aaron. I don’t talk about Beckett. Not to anyone.”
“Not to anyone,” Aaron repeats, his tone flat. “And I’m supposed to be the person who you want to spend your life with.”
“Aaron—”
“No, Dylan.” He holds up a hand, cutting me off. “This isn’t about Beckett. This is about us. How am I supposed to feel like I really know you when you keep entire pieces of your life hidden? You say Brooks is just a friend from high school—your past—but it feels like you’re still stuck there, and I’m on the outside, looking in.”
“That’s not fair,” I argue, my voice wavering. “You have no idea what it’s like to live with this—to wake up every damn day feeling like a piece of your soul was ripped away, and no matter how hard you try, it’s never coming back!”
“You’re right, I don’t!” he yells, his voice hoarse from pent-up frustration. “Because you’ve never let me! I tried, Dylan. I tried to be what you needed, but every time I thought you might let me in, you pulled away. You’ve always kept me at arm’s length! And I told myself it didn’t matter…that as long as you were with me , it would be enough. But now I’m starting to think I was wrong. Maybe I can’t give you what you need. May—” He cuts himself off, his voice faltering as if the confession is too much to bear. “Maybe…I was never meant to have you.”
The words cut deep, and no matter how much I try to convince myself I don’t have the energy to fight with him—not right now—the sting is excruciating. It feels like everything I’ve been holding in is about to explode, but I’m too fucking exhausted to even scream.
I hear Brooks before I see him, but it’s Aaron I feel first. His body locks up, and the air around us suddenly turns to stone. His shoulders tense, a telltale sign this is about to get worse. He doesn’t turn immediately, but I can sense it—the weight of his anger cracks, and something colder, more detached settles in.
It’s not just resignation. It’s the crushing realization that nothing either of us says or does will fix this. And he knows it. The second he knows…the fire drains from him, and all that’s left is defeat.
Aaron lets out a bitter laugh, the sound slicing through me like a dull knife. “Right on cue.” He gives Brooks a look that could cut glass. “She’s all yours man, I’m done.”
I should call after him. Do something. But he’s already turned his back and walked away, leaving me standing there, my pulse thrumming against my skin.
Brooks steps closer, his hands now shoved into his pockets. “Are you okay?”
I shake my head, pressing my lips together. If I try to speak, I might break.
“Dylan, can we go somewhere? Somewhere quiet, where we can talk?”
“Why? So you can protect me more? Keep more secrets?”
“No,” he pleads. “So I can explain…tell you what happened after Beckett died, why I pushed you away.”
I stand there for what feels like forever, my body can’t decide whether to fight or flee. I meet his gaze, and briefly, I swear he thinks I might stay.
“No,” The word is barely an exhale, but it guts me on the way out. My hands tremble, empty of fight, empty of anything else but pure exhaustion. “I can’t do this anymore.”