Page 3 of Life After You

“You hear from her?” I ask, my voice quieter than I intended.

Sam’s smirk falters. He hesitates for a second before forcing a grin. “Right, you heard Logey—” he corrects himself at my glare. “We’re busy ladies. Time to get dressed.”

There’s some more back and forth but Sam is relentless. I pace to the bathroom, shutting and locking the door.

I need a shower. I need to clear my head.

Steam clings to the bathroom mirror, swirling in ghostly patterns. My skin is red, glowing from the heat, as motes rise from my body before disappearing into nothing. I run a hand through my damp hair, pushing the black strands back from my face as I brace my arms on the sink. My cobalt blue eyes stare back at me, shadowed by exhaustion, frustration, and something deeper that I don’t want to name.

It’s been weeks.

Calls.

Messages.

Silence.

I swallow back the dull ache. What did I do wrong? Did I even do anything at all? The last time I saw her, she was in my arms. We clung to each other, anchoring ourselves after Braden’sfuneral. But as the day ended, words felt hollow, meaningless. I let her go. What else could I have done?

I turn away from the mirror, and grab a towel, draping it over my shoulders, before stepping closer to the full-length mirror on the back of the door. My back is still healing, the fresh ink standing stark against my tan skin.

I twist, inspecting the tattoo in the reflection. An angel, arms spread wide. Wings draping down my spine like a heavy weight I’ll carry forever. Beneath it in elegant Spanish script.

Mi hermano en esta vida y la siguiente.

My brother in this life and the next.

Braden.

My throat tightens, a sharp ache lodging itself deep in my chest. I trace the outline of a wing with my fingertip, the skin still tender. It’s been months, but it still feels like yesterday, like he could walk through the door, cracking some smart-ass joke, shoving my shoulder like we were still those dumb ass kids sneaking out to raise hell.

I flex my hands, my eyes drawn to my knuckles. My fingers curl into fists, the ink across them stark against my skin. LOVE. HATE. The two things I feel the most, constantly waring inside me.

I shake my head, rolling my shoulders. The rose inked on the back of my hand, delicate but etched in deep black lines—a symbol of love, of loss, of something beautiful and painful all at once.

Mac would get it.

Or, at least, she used to.

I reach for a T-shirt but pause, my eyes catching on the silver ring piercing my nipple. A ghost of a smirk tugs at my lips, a rare thing these days. Braden had dared me, bet I wouldn’t go through with it. And here I am, years later, still wearing the damn thing like a badge of honor.

With a sigh, I yank the shirt over my head, shoving away the heaviness pressing against my ribs. I need a distraction. Anything to stop me checking my phone again, from waiting for a reply that might never come.

Mac, where the hell are you?

I walk out to find Sam perched on the sofa.

“Anything of note?” I ask.

Sam shrugs. “No. Just give her time, man. She lost her brother.”“No shit.” I fume.

He sighs, “Look, she’ll call when she’s ready. And if she doesn’t… we’ll go to her.”

I nod, though his words offer little comfort. Mac has always been the strongest person I know. But losing Braden—her twin, her other half, it left her shattered. I’d seen it in her eyes the last time we spoke. The fire that always burned in her…was gone.

Chapter Three

Kayla

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