Chapter Forty-Four
Forty-Four
Later, when the day has blurred into night and the closing credits of yet another Gossip Girl episode fade, I hit pause instead of letting the next roll.
“Her name was Bryce.”
Is. Was. I never know which to settle on. “She’s my twin.”
The admission scrapes out against Carson’s bare chest. My palms lie flat over his heartbeat, our sides pressed together on the bed. We’ve been like this for hours, the only break when he got up to grab the Chinese food that sits untouched on the nightstand.
No words. Just this offering of comfort that speaks louder than anything else could.
But now, I’m ready to give to him for once. He’s dead still above me, but it isn’t passive. It’s bated, like he’s holding something in reserve just for me.
I inhale once before letting it out, “She—Bryce was everything to me. Some twins are notorious for clashing, but we always got on. Always. We did most things together. Same college, same room, same friends. It wasn’t that we didn’t have our own lives but…
sometimes it felt like mine was an extension of hers. I adored her.”
The pang in my chest widens until it feels like it’ll split me open. “That’s probably why it’s so hard.”
My voice catches, then falls to pieces. “It was 3:27 in the morning when I got the call.”
Carson stiffens. I feel the change where my cheek rests against him, a tremor running through muscle and bone.
“She was at a party,” I force out. “Drinking. And then she… she got behind the wheel. She’d never done that before. Ever. But that night she did, and she lost control. By the time I got the call, she was just…” gone.
The silence after is brutal.
Then his hands are in my hair, weaving through it. “What was she like?”
It’s a straight-up question, no hesitation marring it and I’m grateful. Grateful enough to keep going.
“Lively. She wasn’t scared of anything. Not like I am. In a lot of ways, we were opposites.”
“Like?”
“Swimming,” I admit, sitting up and folding my legs beneath me.
My finger traces idle shapes on the bedspread.
“I hated it, couldn’t even look at the water without panic, but Bryce?
She was obsessed. Wanted to swim forever.
She dreamed of pursuing it professionally, but she never did.
Told us it was because she didn’t think she could make D1 and that she was too much of a narcissist to settle for less, but… ” My hand curls. “I never bought that.”
Carson’s hand lands over mine, swallowing it whole. I’m not alone. I close my eyes, seeing her face rise behind my lids, but I let the visual stay for once.
“She was there for every nightmare,” I tell him.
“She’d talk me through it and breathe with me until the dark loosened.
I think that’s why they eased up these last few years.
Because she made me feel safe. My parents always wanted summers in places like Grove, but Bryce…
she’d always push for anywhere else. Somewhere that wasn’t on the ocean’s cusp.
” A sad smile tugs and trembles. “Even though this, this was her idea of a dream vacation.”
“She why you wanted to learn?”
“Maybe.” I ponder over it some more. “I think so. I carried a lot of guilt. Bryce always played it off, but I knew the nightmares wore on her. She’d be tense the whole day after.
I understand why now; it really does feel like I’m dying and God, only when she left did I realise how terrifying it must’ve been for her to watch. ”
The guilt curdles in my gut.
When I dare to look up, Carson’s washed in grey from the TV. His eyes are softer than I’ve ever seen. For a heartbeat the glow shifts. Moonlight again, and we’re back to that first night. His hand holding mine, me high on the rush of facing fear.
“It wasn’t just her,” I confess. “If I hadn’t seen you out there, I don’t think I’d have found the courage to step in. You looked… unstoppable. Like you were pouring everything into every stroke. For a moment, you made the ocean look like something I could want.”
Something shifts. Fingers lace through mine, a squeeze anchoring me to him.
“Since losing my dad, it’s the small things I miss most. Like being able to go home.
The second he died, it stopped being home and turned into just a house.
” He drags a hand down his face as though the motion can rein him in.
“I miss the meals together. That breakfast you and Aspen made? It was the first time I’d sat at that table with people since he left. ”
He blinks hard, as if to clear something from his eyes, but never once does he look away.
“Then there’s the shit I’ll never get to do. Like tell him about falling in love, or seeing his reaction to reaching places we only dreamed of.”
“Yeah,” I exhale. He gets it. “It’s unfathomable that we can’t share our best moments with them.
How am I supposed to accept never seeing her or laughing with her again?
We were born together, and stupidly I never thought I’d have to exist in this world without her.
” A single tear slips free. I don’t wipe it away.
I let it fall and land in my open palm. “The pain is a lot,” I choke.
Before I can curl my fingers around the drop, his hand finds mine. He coaxes my palm open until it rests against his.
“You’re only just grieving her, Brielle.
You never let yourself.” His tone isn’t scolding, it’s pleading.
“Pain right now is good. Don’t fight it.
Let it run its course.” His brows pinch as he works through whatever’s moving in him.
“It’ll never leave you. But things shift.
I’m learning that now. It won’t always feel this grey and empty. ”
The promise lands delicate, marked by the sweep of his thumb across my knuckles. For a moment, our eyes linger there, until at last his gaze climbs to mine.
Then he asks it. “Do you feel guilty?”
I draw in a breath. “No.” The word releases with the next. “I don’t.”
It’s true. It wasn’t my fault. It was Bryce’s choice to get behind the wheel.
Carson studies me too carefully, his eyes seeing everything and more. “You don’t feel guilty over that,” he says at last, his pause weighted. “But you feel guilty about something, don’t you?”
Oh. I want to bury it, but I know he won’t let me.
My eyes drop, tracing the bedspread where our hands are joined.
“She was the golden one. My parents… they lit up around her. She made it easy. She made them easy. And now it’s just me.” My voice splinters, quieter. “They‘re left with me.”
It’s an ugly thought, and I can’t bring myself to look at him once it’s out. But his hands come to my face, guiding me back to him with that same unshakable strength he carries everywhere.
“Don’t.” The command is so fierce. “Don’t do that to yourself.”
Another tear falls, but his thumb is already there, brushing it away like it’s nothing.
“You’re not their burden. You’re not what’s left. You’re not half of anything. You’re Brielle Jameson, and that’s more than enough.”
I shake my head, choking on the words. “You don’t know—”
“I know,” he cuts in, vehement, “I know exactly what I fucking see. And what I see is the strongest, kindest, most beautiful girl who’s been carrying too much alone, and still—you give. You make people feel like they matter, even while you’re breaking inside.”
My hands lift on instinct, curling around his wrists, holding him there.
“You’re an inspiration, baby,” he rasps, conviction woven into every syllable. “My inspiration. And I’ll never let you believe otherwise. Not while I’m here. And I’m here forever.”
I’ve heard promises before, empty ones that crumbled the second I leaned too hard. But this—this feels different.
Unbreakable.
Maybe that’s why, for the first time in a long time, I believe.