Page 30 of Until Forever Falls

I risk another look. Dylan is hunched over lost in her sketch, her focus unshaken.

Beckett exhales, his usual teasing edge dulling. “You’re not gonna be the reason she stops smiling, right?”

The question knocks me sideways. “What?”

“My sister,” he responds, and the change in his tone is unmistakable. “You’re not gonna fuck her over, right? Because if you do, I swear I’ll make your life hell. I haven’t seen her smile this much since we were kids.”

“Take it easy, Beckett,” I say, holding his stare. “I wouldn’t do that to her.”

Miles chuckles, nudging Becks with his elbow. “Look at that, Rivers. Your sister has him all domesticated.”

Beckett laughs, though it seems to carry reservation—he’s testing my resolve. “Alright. Just know that if you’re bullshitting me, the smart choice would be to stay in the friendzone.”

Coach Tyler claps, signaling us to fall into formation. Beckett takes off, but Miles hangs back, catching me in the ribs with his elbow.

I exhale sharply, heading for the line of scrimmage. “It’s not like that,” I mumble, even though I know it’s a lie.

It’sexactlylike that.

After practice, Dylan hops into my truck, her sketchbook balanced on her lap as she flips through the pages. She’s quiet today, but her presence fills the cab with an intoxicating warmth.

“So, what’s your plan while I’m stuck serving burgers tonight? More football? Brooding? Staring dramatically into the distance?”

“Actually,” I say, adjusting my grip on the steering wheel, “my dad wants me to meet him at a job site. Says it’s time I ‘get serious’ about my future.”

Her smile falters, the lightness dimming into concern. “And do you? Want to, I mean?”

I hesitate. “I don’t know.”

She rubs at a faint smudge of graphite on her palm, a tiny movement of acknowledgement without interrogation. That’s one of the things I’ve come to appreciate most about Dylan—she doesn’t need me to explain everything.

We pull up to Ruby’s, and she grabs her bag, but something holds her in place. “Hey,” her gaze hooks onto mine. “Don’t let him pressure you into it. Whatever you decide, let it be your decision. Not his.”

She doesn’t wait for a response, just gives a small smile, sealing the words between us. Her door swings shut, cutting her off from me. I drum my fingers on the dash, the truck idling like it’s waiting for me to change my mind. I don’t. I throw it into gear and drive toward the future I’ve been avoiding.

Metal bites into wood, a rhythmic clash of hammer and nail underscored by the growl of machinery. A familiar backdrop I’ve heard a thousand times, but it doesn’t make it any easier to walk into. The site is a mess—boards scattered everywhere, half-finished walls, dust in the air. It’s the same every time I come, and each time, I feel myself suffocating. Dad has been at this my entire life. It’s his thing. And he’s always been sure it’d bemything too. But the older I get, the more I feel it pressing down on me, and the more I want to push back.

I step out of the truck, my boots crunching against the gravel, and make my way toward the crew. I don’t know what to expect today, but I know it won’t be all that different than the last time. Just a lot of heavy lifting and grunt work.

I’m not two steps onto the site when I see her. Chloe. She’s leaning against a beam, her eyes catching mine before she pushes off and walks toward me with that same confident stride I remember all too well—the one that used to make my heart race before I learned who she really was.

She stops just shy of me, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear with an easy flick of her fingers. “Hey, Brooks,” she hums, like gravity never pulls too hard on her shoulders.

“Chloe.” I acknowledge her without offering anything more, my voice flat, controlled. The last thing I need is to get pulled back into whatever game she’s playing.

“So, big game on Friday, huh?” She glances over her shoulder, as if casually checking for her dad. Our parents have been friends for years, and every time my dad needs HVAC work done, he insists on hiring hers…unfortunately.

“Yeah,” I say, rolling my shoulders, wishing I could brush off this conversation. “Should be a good game.”

She studies me—too deliberately, as if she’s mapping out the cracks, looking for a way back into my life. “I’ll be there,” she replies, her tone unnervingly upbeat. “You know, for the game. Knock ‘em dead, Brooks.”

“Uh, thanks…Montclair’s been steamrolling teams all season. We’ll need it.”

“Well, I’ll let you get to work,” she says, her voice still coated in sugar, but there’s a crack in the sweetness now. A fracture. She’s frustrated. “I’ll see you around, Brooks.”

“Mm-hmm, see you,” I mutter, dragging a hand down my face as she turns on her heel, hips swaying slightly with each step. I don’t know what she’s hoping I’ll do—stop her? I won’t.

I shake off the unease, stepping into the controlled chaos of the construction site. The scaffolded pathways twist and tighten around me, forming a maze. Somewhere ahead, my dad is deep in conversation with one of the crew, his posture firm, voice lost in the clang of metal.

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