Chapter 55
Fifty-Five
The sky’s a star-studded velvet spread, stitched in silver. Balmy air clocks me, and my head aches from how long I’ve been staring up. Or maybe that’s just the weight of everything rattling inside it.
Stories of a boy fighting an internal battle. Of a spark that flared recently, then vanished again.
One question refuses to let up, looping with the memory of his face again and again.
How much does he have left?
My sigh comes out shaky, and I press the heels of my palms into my eyes.
I want to talk to him.
I want to be near him.
I want to go back.
I want to move forward.
Too many things, I want.
I drop my arms, staring down at the open message thread. My fingers hover over the keyboard. How are you? Backspace. It feels too generic for what it really is.
Tomorrow. I’ll seek him tomorrow. Maybe on the beach, with familiar sand underfoot, and strangers close enough to fill the gaps in our silence.
But now, under this sky, I’m wishing I was with him for an entirely different reason. A selfish one.
We were supposed to watch this together.
He told me this night was the best—something about timing, how the Earth’s tilt made the view cleaner from Grove’s coast. Said you’d get longer trails if you were patient and caught it at the right time.
My phone buzzes and my heart skips, stupid-hopeful. But, twice in one day, it’s not him.
I let out a long breath before swiping. “Hey.”
“Hey, girl.” Alex’s raspy notes roll through the receiver. “Saw the read receipts and figured you were up. Thought I’d give you a call since it’s been a minute.”
My chin drops to my knees, a half-smile tugging despite myself. “You miss me that much?”
“No,” she replies, teasing. “I just thought I’d bless you with my voice.”
I roll my eyes, but it’s lighthearted. Warm, even.
Bridging the space between us was always going to be terrifying—how could it not, when her texts had sat blue and unanswered for weeks—but it was a jump I’m glad I braved. It was Dr. Gazelle that planted the seed, but it was Dad who gave me the final push.
“You don’t have to fix everything all at once,” he said gently, “but you’ll never forgive yourself if you don’t at least try.”
I didn’t know if she’d even reply. Didn’t know if I deserved it. But minutes after the message, her name lit up my screen. A call, not a text.
The tears came soon after—hers, mine—spilling over months of silence. Guilt, sadness, regret, all of it coming undone thread by thread.
Ever since then we’ve been finding our way back one text, one call at a time.
“Can’t sleep?” she asks.
The time on my phone glows just shy of midnight.
A month ago, the answer would’ve been a given.
Back then, I couldn’t sleep without pacing tracks into the floor, or numbing myself with endless scrolling.
Now it’s different. I sleep earlier, wake with the light.
It’s not always peaceful. Some mornings I wake cold and empty. Others, my dreams leave me soft, held.
But the one constant: no nightmares.
“No, it’s not that.” Though something tells me if I tried, tonight I’d only toss. “I’m waiting for the meteor shower.”
“Oh. I didn’t know you were into that kind of thing.”
“I wasn’t.” My eyes find the North Star. Polaris. “It’s… new.”
There were nights Carson talked endlessly about the sky. Constellations tangled with stories, science folded into myth. This shower was one of his favorites. I don’t recall all the details, but I remember the way his eyes burned brighter than the stars he pointed to.
There’s white noise over the receiver, a faint rustle, like she’s tugging her blanket tighter. Then, softly, “I went to see B yesterday.”
I hum. “That’s good. It’s nice knowing you visit her.” Really, really nice. I remember the lavender bouquet by the headstone the first time I went—that was Alex.
“Always,” she murmurs. “It’s peaceful, you know? Just… sitting there with her. Talking.”
I know exactly what she means. I’ve been back three times myself. Once before Mom’s detox, all three of us visiting our fourth. It rained a little that day. And it felt right.
“At least when I’m back, I’ll be able to go more often.”
We talk a bit more about that— me returning— and I rub absently at my chest.
Then, almost as an afterthought, she mentions, “Oh. When I was going in, I’m not sure, but I could’ve sworn there was some guy leaving Bryce’s grave.”
My brows knit. “It wasn’t anyone you recognised?”
“No.” She sounds thoughtful. “He was tall, but I couldn’t really see his face. He had a cap pulled low. Green, kinda faded. You know, one of those with the letter—”
“C.” My voice is airless.
“Yeah.” Static crackles. “How’d you know?”
I sit up too fast, the world tilting around me.
How do I know?
Because I’ve worn that cap. Because once, it was tugged over my head with a whispered you’ll be okay. Because the last time I saw Carson, that cap hid his face then, too.
My heart thuds, and my fingers tremble like I’m suddenly cold. Or burning. Or both.
“Sorry, Alex,” I rush out. “I need to go. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Wait—are you okay—?”
“Yeah. I’m fine.” I hang up.
The phone falls onto chair with a dull thud and I’m up and pacing.
He went to see Bryce? I can’t even think past that to figure out the why.
He went to see Bryce.
I need to see him. I need to see him now.
Before I know it, I’m hurtling down the steps, sand searing my soles, and crashing through his door.
Reese jolts at the slam. “Brielle?” He’s across the room in seconds.
“Where’s Carson?” My eyes sweep the counters, the glass doors, the staircase swallowed in dark.
I’ve been here a handful of times since everything fell apart, and every time, it’s the same: no Carson. Tonight seems no different.
“Hey. What’s wrong?”
“He’s not upstairs?” I’m already turning for the steps when his hand clamps tight on my arm.
“Brielle. Slow down. Talk to me.”
The desperation slips out raw. “I need to see him.”
Blue eyes narrow. “Is something wrong?”
“Please. I just—please.”
Something in my voice must land, because after a beat he pulls out his phone. A few swipes, then his brows knit. “His location says he’s out by the South Ridge.”
South Ridge. The name’s familiar and it takes less than a minute to remember the sign. Off the beaten path. Tucked away.
I clutch his arm. “Can you drive me?”
“Bri—” He falters. “Are you sure this is—”
“Yes.” My voice cracks. “Please.”
A long breath. His jaw works. Then, a single nod. “Okay.”