Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Dustin
Even though I’m the one who came looking for her, standing here face-to-face with Halsey Lahey still feels unreal.
She’s the grown-up version of the girl who probably saved my life.
The last time I saw her, I told myself that one day, the memory of her would fade.
That she’d become just another face from the past.
That one day, she’d be nothing more than a shadow—just another face from a past I barely remembered. But here she is, as vivid and real as ever. Standing in front of me, like a memory brought back to life. And all I can think of is how much everything—and nothing—has changed.
Time hasn’t erased the pull she has on me.
The air between us feels charged, like it always did, and for a moment, I can’t find the words.
She’s not the girl I remember, but there’s something in her eyes—the same light that once made me feel like she could see right through me, the part of me I kept hidden from the world.
She’s different now, sharper, more distant, like the world has carved out pieces of her. Yet, she’s still Halsey. My Halsey. The one who brought color back into my life when I thought it was drained of anything good. The one who gave me hope when I was drowning.
I’m right in front of her, paralyzed, speechless.
Say something, idiot.
But what do you say to someone who changed you forever? Someone who you thought you’d never see again? How do you act like you’re not still holding onto everything you felt for them, even after all these years?
The silence between us is thick, loaded with everything we never said, all the years that slipped away. She’s right there, close enough to touch, yet I can’t bring myself to bridge the gap.
Her eyes meet mine, and for a moment, there’s a flicker—like she’s seeing it too. The boy I once was, the one she pulled from the darkness.
The first time I saw her, it was like my entire world shifted, even though I didn’t understand why at the time.
I was standing on the porch of my grandparents’ house, staring out at the unfamiliar world around me.
Blissful Meadows. Dad’s manager had called it my new home, like I was supposed to feel grateful for it.
After the media had parked outside Mom’s house this was the safest place he could find for me.
Blissful Meadows—what a name. It sounded too perfect, too peaceful for someone like me, someone who had come from a life that was anything but serene.
Los Angeles felt like a universe away, like it belonged to someone else’s life.
But the memory of that morning, the morning that changed it all, clung to me, heavy, raw, and sharp.
I’d been asleep when my nanny shook me awake, her voice trembling, hands shaking as she sat down on the edge of my bed.
“Dustin,” she whispered, her eyes wide and frantic, her voice barely holding it together. “There’s been an accident.”
An accident? I blinked, groggy and disoriented.
It made no sense. What accident? Why was she telling me this?
I was at Mom’s that weekend. It was her turn to pretend to care, even though she barely saw me—always off at some movie premiere, always too busy with the next event or a casting call hoping to bring back her career.
Dad wasn’t any better. Worse, even. His absence was louder, harsher.
I couldn’t make sense of the nanny’s words until she said them, clear as day: “Your parents died. It was a car crash . . . no survivors.”
Time seemed to stop. Her voice became distant, muffled, like I was underwater.
Gone? How could they be gone? Both? Just like that?
In one moment, everything had shattered, but I couldn’t feel it. Couldn’t process it. My parents had been wiped out—erased, like they’d never even existed. No final conversation. No goodbye.
Just . . . nothing.
I didn’t believe it at first. They didn’t even talk to each other anymore.
Not since the divorce. They could barely stand to be in the same room.
How could they have been in a car together?
It didn’t make sense. But the truth cut through the confusion—they really were dead.
Another Hollywood disaster, another headline that would sell magazines.
But this wasn’t a story, it was my life falling apart.
The room felt like it was closing in on me, the air thickening until it was impossible to breathe. And then, the void—this gaping, endless emptiness where my parents had been.
For days, I faced the media camped outside Mom’s place.
They moved me to Dad’s, but it was the same.
Cameras, questions, everyone waiting for me to appear and give a statement.
No twelve-year-old should be expected to answer those sorts of questions while they’re grieving, or ever.
It was my father’s manager who took control.
Within hours, I was on Dad’s private jet, headed to some unknown place.
Bradley International. Blissful Meadows to my mother’s parents who I’d met only a handful of times when I was younger.
That’s what they called it, but it felt anything but. Stepping off the plane was like entering a world frozen in time. The sun was too bright, the air too still—like even the earth didn’t know how to handle the wreckage of my life. Everything felt wrong.
But inside? Inside, all I felt was cold. Empty.
I stood there, in the middle of this picturesque town that felt like it belonged on a postcard. But I was a stranger here, an outsider. Nothing mattered. All I wanted was for the nightmare to end. For something—anything—to feel normal again.
And then I saw her.
She came running across the yard, light on her feet, a basket cradled in her arms, her curls wild and unruly, lifted by the wind as if they had a life of their own.
She was like something out of a fairytale, like she didn’t quite belong in the same world the rest of us did.
She was younger than me, but there was something about her—this energy, this spark—that made it impossible to look away.
The emptiness inside me flickered, just for a second. Like maybe, just maybe, things could feel okay again.
But I didn’t understand then—what this girl, with her wild curls and easy, unguarded smile, would mean to me. I didn’t know she’d become the light in the darkness I was drowning in. The first flicker of hope when I thought there was nothing left but shadows.
I froze, standing still as a statue on my grandparents’ porch.
Something about her made the world slow down, like she had the power to bend time itself.
The sun caught in her hair, turning it into a glowing halo, and for just a moment, the suffocating pressure I’d been carrying eased, if only a little.
She saw me, and I braced myself for the look I’d been getting all week—pity, maybe a polite smile, like I was someone who needed to be handled delicately. Like I was fragile. But Halsey didn’t look at me that way. No, she stopped, really seeing me, like I was a puzzle she was determined to solve.
Her hazel eyes, wide and curious, locked onto mine. Everything else faded—the house, the porch, the world around us—leaving only the two of us in this strange, suspended moment. Two strangers, yet somehow, it felt like there was already something between us.
She stared at me, as if she could sense the storm inside me, as if she already knew something about me that I didn’t even know about myself yet.
Then, she took a step toward me. And another.
Each one felt like a countdown, like something important was about to happen, even though I couldn’t understand what that could be.
“Hi,” she said when she finally reached me, her voice soft but sure, like she wasn’t afraid of anything. Like she knew exactly what she was doing, even if I didn’t. “I’m Halsey. And you are?”
My mouth opened, but the words didn’t come out right away. I hadn’t spoken much since the accident. Talking felt too much like feeling, and I couldn’t handle that. Not yet. Not when everything was still too raw.
But she waited, like she had all the time in the world. Her eyes steady on mine, patient.
“Dustin,” I finally managed, my voice rougher than I meant it to be.
She nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips, but her eyes stayed on me, unwavering. “I brought cookies for Gigi and Grandpa Doug.” She lifted the basket slightly, as if offering a peace treaty.
I blinked at her. “Gigi?” Grandma’s name was Mildred, and Grandpa was Doug, but Gigi? And was she my cousin? I recalled being Mom’s only child and she had no siblings.
“Some call her Milly,” she said with a grin, like it was the most natural thing in the world. “My sister and I call her Gigi. She’s like a grandma, you know?”
I glanced at the closed door, confusion flickering across my face. Dad’s manager stood awkwardly by, like he didn’t know what to do with me now that he was about to deliver me to my new life.
Just then, the door creaked open, and Grandma stepped out.
She thanked the manager, who handed her an envelope.
It was filled with all the legal things they needed to care for me.
Grandma smiled warmly at Halsey, who handed over the basket of cookies, and then—just like that—Halsey’s eyes were back on me.
“They’re for your grandparents,” she said, her smile softening. “But you can have one if you want.”
I should’ve said something. Thank you. That’s what a normal person would say. But I wasn’t normal anymore. I wasn’t the boy I used to be. I was just the kid whose parents had died in a car crash, and now I was standing here, lost in a place I didn’t want to be, with people I barely knew.
Halsey watched me closely, like she could sense every emotion racing through my mind—the confusion, the grief, the overwhelming feelings I couldn’t yet understand.