Page 3 of Until We Meet Again

In the months that followed her death, I became a shell of myself as I struggled to navigate life without her. Everywhere I looked, there was a constant reminder of a former life that now felt so far away.

Whistler's, the bar we used to visit almost every Saturday night with our younger brother, Callum, was now the last place I wanted to step foot in. The place where she was so full of life is now unbearable. The memories of us all in there, listening to her favorite musicplaying on the jukebox, usually something by Bryan Adams, and dancing around with some of the old boys flood my mind every time I drive past it.

Without her laughter, the library—a place we would visit every Tuesday after work—felt empty. We'd kept this tradition since we were kids, hanging out after school while waiting for our mom to finish work.

Even during my time at the school where I'd been teaching for a few years, I often found myself struggling. It felt like every conversation I had focused on the fact that Kim was gone. People were always asking me if I was okay. I was grateful for their concern, but it only resurfaced painful memories.

Kim was there wherever I went, but instead of finding peace in that, I found myself falling deeper and deeper into a shithole of sadness.

Sitting on my couch and seeking comfort in a glass of bourbon had become a nightly ritual for me, a coping mechanism for dealing with the crippling pain that consumed me. I was barely living, simply existing. But I guess grief is the price we pay for love.

I found myself at a crossroads one night, faced with a decision: do I let myself drown in sadness forever, continuing to lose all control over my life, or do I build a new one for myself, leaving behind the painful memories?

After going to therapy and meeting Wendy, a wonderful woman who helped pull me out of the depths of grief, I chose the latter. Besides, if I'd continued going down the path I was on, I would've had to face my sister's wrath when the day comes that I see her again, and I have no desire for that.

Two months ago, a college in Chicago called and offered me a position teaching English literature. Despite having previously worked as a teacher in Dallas, this was the first offer I'd received after applying to several other schools and colleges. I accepted the job without hesitation and wasted no time buying a new place to call home. Once I packed up everything I owned, the idea of moving on to the next chapter of my life pushed me forward.

With a heavy soul and my sister's words echoing in my mind, I realized I had no choice but to go."You have one life, Zane, and you have to make it beautiful because I need you to live for both of us."

The constant guilt-tripping from my parents about me leaving them was an enormous strain on my well-being, especially my mom's subtle attempts to manipulate me into staying. I understood that she felt like she was losing another child, but I had to prioritize myself. Making that choice was hard, but it was the right decision for me and one I would've found harder without the support of my brother.

Callum is four years younger than me, and we couldn't be more different. He has dark blond hair and brown eyes that are so deep in shade that they sometimes appear black. In contrast, I have dark brown hair and hazel eyes that occasionally have a golden tint, thanks to being a mix of my parents, whereas Callum is our dad's clone. He's five feet, eleven inches tall compared to me—I'm just over six feet—and I never let him forget it. I like to always be in control, whereas he's carefree and says, "Fuck it," a lot. We're as close as two brothers could ever be, and our bond has only strengthened since losing Kimberley. He was the first to encourage me to take this job opportunity and grasp the chance to move forward with my life. So, I did, and despite my parents' objections, he pushed me to go.

Knowing he had his girlfriend, Zoe, here to lean on made it easier. She's been my brother's rock and, at times, mine too. When my sister passed away, Zoe was a pillar of strength for all of us despite the pain she was going through herself. She and Kimberley had grown close over the years, and I know it hit her hard when we lost her. However, Zoe selflessly set aside her own pain to support the rest of us. She was the one who helped me get not only this teaching job but also my new home.

Thankfully, my new house required no significant changes. Its seclusion in a remote area, away from prying eyes, was the first thing that drew me in. It was a place I could call my own, where I could unwind in peace.

My solitude matters, and for me, it's as vital as the air I breathe.

It's not that I like to feel disconnected from people. Communication is essential as a teacher, and I make every effort to be approachable and someone my students want to learn from. However, in my personal life, I value having my own space and time.

Something Kimberley could never understand.

She was relentless in her attempts to force her views about love on me. She wanted it, but I didn't. I needed independence, wanting to live life on my terms without being tied down by another person. However, she had the opposite dream—she craved the perfect fairy-tale romance.

Something she never had the chance to experience, and it breaks me to know that she was stripped of the one thing

It's not like I don't enjoy dating—I do. I love women. However, I always make it clear that I'm not the guy you see a future with—I'm the guy who will give you everything except his heart. I'll make you feel like a queen and meet all your needs, but I won't fall in love with you.

I refuse to risk having my heart shattered again. One loss in this lifetime is more than enough.

Chapter 3

Zane

After showering, I throw on some sweats and head downstairs. With a glass of bourbon in my grasp and a hand running through my damp hair, I drop down on the couch and prepare myself for a night of reading.

Reaching toward the coffee table, I grabThe Great Gatsby. I read it once during college, but it's the book I'll be focusing on with my students once I start my job at the school, so it needs to be fresh in my memory. The last thing I want is for their first impression of me to be that of a dumbass who has no idea what he's talking about.

When I open the book, the whole thing comes back to me.

My memory is off the charts. I remember every single detail about everything, which can be both a gift and a curse, depending on the type of thoughts that occupy my mind. Lately, those thoughts haven't been all unicorns and rainbows, but I'm hoping they'll improve with this new start, or it really won'tmatter where I live—it could be Dallas, Chicago, or the fucking North Pole, and I'd still be stuck in this cycle of shit.

My phone buzzes about halfway through chapter four, and when I look to my right, a notification flashes up from a dating app.

I glance down at my phone, unlocking it with a quick swipe of my thumb. The lock screen is still the same—a photo of my sister and me laughing, taken way back when life was much simpler. It's been on there since before I lost her, but I can't bring myself to change it despite the bittersweet memories that wash over me every time I look at it. I try to focus on the sound of her laughter and the happiness that used to emanate from her, but those thoughts are quickly replaced by the crushing weight of the grief I carry so deep inside.

Sometimes, the memories fly past me like stray bullets, barely scratching the surface. Other times, they tear me open and leave me in pieces. It's a battle I'm always fighting, but one I'm going to fucking win.

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