Page 6 of Life After You

Sitting on the edge of the bed, I fished my phone out of my pocket and stared at the screen. Two missed calls from Logan and a single text message. My chest tightened as I swiped the notifications away, the familiar ringtone still echoing in my ears.

I lay back on the bed, the ceiling blurring as tears filled my eyes.

I stood rigid as the pastor spoke kind words about Braden, his voice steady but distant. He didn’t know him, I thought bitterly. None of them did—not like I did. Yet here he was, recounting the highlights of my brother’s life as though they’d been close friends. What gave him the right?

The cemetery was full. A sea of familiar faces gathered to pay their respects, but their presence felt suffocating rather than comforting. The low hum of murmured prayers and the occasional sniffle blended with the soft rustle of leaves in the wind. I stared at Braden’s coffin, the gleaming wood catching the muted gray light as it was slowly lowered into the ground. My parents’ graves were just a few feet away, their headstones weathered but unmistakable. The sight of them twisted something sharp and cruel in my chest.

A scream tore from my throat before I even realized I was making a sound. It was raw, animalistic, the sound of a heart breaking beyond repair. My knees buckled as the pain surged through me, a tidal wave that left me gasping for air. I collapsed onto the ground, the earth beneath me damp and unyielding.

Strong arms caught me, pulling me back against a broad chest. Even without looking, I knew it was Logan. His familiar scent—clean, warm, with a faint hint of cedar—wrapped around me like a fragile shield against the storm raging inside. His voice came next, soft murmurs that I couldn’t quite make out, drowned by the roar of my grief.

Time blurred. I didn’t even know how long we stayed like that, Logan’s arms a steady anchor in the chaos. Eventually, the sobs subsided, leaving me hollow and drained. When I finally looked around, I realized everyone else had gone. It was just the two of us now, standing in the quiet cemetery. I leaned forward, breaking free from his hold. My legs felt weak, but I managed to stand. Logan kept his hands on my arms, rubbing them gently, his touch grounding me.

“Say something, angel.” He whispered, his voice hoarse.

I shook my head, the lump in my throat making it impossible to speak. There was nothing I could say that would change anything, nothing he would want to hear. Logan cupped myface in his hands, his eyes red and swollen, mirroring my own. Slowly, he pressed his forehead to mine. We stayed like that for a long moment, sharing the weight of our loss in silence.

Finally, I pulled away, “I have to go, Logan. I’m so sorry.”

I didn’t wait for him to respond. I turned and walked away, leaving him standing there among the graves.

I abruptly sit up, cutting off the memory before it swallows me whole. Taking a shaky breath, I pull my phone out again and check the text message.

Logan: Don’t shut me out, Mac. I’m here for you.

The text hit me hard. Logan hated texting, he barely ever said more than a few words, like he was thrifty and paid by the character. I wonder how long it will be before he realizes that I left, that I am gone for good. Guilt twists in my chest, but I shove it down. I know I am being too hard on him, especially since I am the one who left without a word. But, dammit, he has a whole career in front of him. Whatever time we had together was always going to have an expiration date.

I stare at the screen for a long moment, my thumb hovering over the reply button. I know better. If I text him back, he’ll call. And if he calls, I’ll answer. And if I answer…he’ll talk me into telling him where I am.

It would take him less than a day to get here. He’d drag me back, and I’d let him.

Because I’m weak when it comes to Logan.

But I can’t do that.

I take another shaky breath and delete the notification. The heaviness in my chest doesn’t go away, but I steel myself against it.

I need to do this. I need to start over, away from the memories, away from the noise, and away from any distractions.

For myself.

And for Braden.

The warm water streams over my skin, washing away the exhaustion and grime from the long journey. I tilt my head back, letting it cascade through my hair as I close my eyes. The shower is small but cozy, the steam filling the space and fogging up the mirror on the other side of the room. For a moment, it's easy to pretend I'm anywhere but here—anywhere but at the start of a new chapter I'm not sure I'm ready for.

After scrubbing away the remnants of the day and the faint floral scent of the boarding house shampoo from my hair, I shut off the water. The sudden silence is almost deafening, broken only by the occasional drip from the showerhead. I reach for the towel hanging on the back of the door, wrapping it tightly around me.

When I turn to the mirror, the sight of my reflection gives me pause. I wipe away the condensation with the edge of my towel and stare at the woman looking back at me. She feels like a stranger. I lean in closer, examining the features I've grown to resent. At five-foot-four, I've always been on the smaller side. My slim frame seems even more delicate now, the stress of the last few months evident in the faint shadows under my bright blue eyes. My olive-toned skin looks pale and tired, drained by sleepless nights and too many tears.

But it's my hair that always catches my attention—and not for the right reasons. The rich brown strands hang wet and heavy against my face, clinging to my neck and shoulders. It isn't my natural color. The real color is buried beneath layers of dye, hidden like so much else in my life.

I reach up, running my fingers through the dark locks. I used to be blonde, just like my mom. Braden once told me it was hard to look at me sometimes because I reminded him so much of her. I’d dyed it not long after that conversation, unable to bear causing him more pain. It felt selfish to cling to something as trivial as hair color when it brought him so much sadness.

Still, sometimes I miss it. Not just the blonde, but what it symbolized—the girl I used to be before everything fell apart.

The thought makes my chest tighten, so I turn away from the mirror and busy myself with drying off. The room is cooler now, the window slightly ajar to let in the evening breeze. I pad barefoot over to the bed, running my fingers over the deep purple comforter before collapsing onto it. The mattress is firmer than I like, but after everything I’ve been through, it feels like a cloud. I pull the comforter up to my chin, curling into myself, letting my damp hair fan out over the pillow. My body aches from the tension of the past few days, but sleep doesn't come easily. My mind churns with fragmented thoughts of Braden, Logan, and the life I’ve left behind.

I don't realize I’ve dozed off until a creak from the hallway jolts me awake. The faint glow of the moonlight filters through the curtains, casting shadows across the room. My stomach growls loudly, reminding me I haven't eaten since the diner earlier. Rolling out of bed, I cinch the towel around me and cross the room, grabbing the white robe hanging on the back of the door. It's oversized, a little scratchy, but I can wrap myself up in it just fine. I stretch quickly before making my way out the door. The hallway is quiet, the wooden floorboards cool against my feet as I make my way downstairs.

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