Page 17 of Before We Break Again
I whip my head toward Dustin, my frustration reaching its peak.“You really think I’m going to invite you to stay with me?”
His lips curl into that maddening smirk that I used to find charming, but now it just makes me want to scream.“Well, I’m not planning on leaving until you agree to treat him—and come with me.”
I fold my arms across my chest, trying to build some kind of barrier between us.“You really think you can just stay here until I agree?”
“Pretty much,” he says, completely unfazed, his tone casual.
I let out a long, exasperated sigh, pushing past him toward the door.“I’ll probably say no.”
But even as I say it, there’s no real conviction behind the words.I’m too tired to fight with him, and he knows it.I try to walk past him, but he steps in front of me, blocking my way with that same determined look I remember from all those years ago.
“There’s nothing you can say or do that will convince me,” I mutter, but I’m not sure if I’m saying it for him or for myself.
“I can be more stubborn than you, baby,” he replies, his voice low, and that damn glint in his eyes—he hasn’t lost it.“Try me.”
“You’re infuriating,” I say, my voice tight as I try to push down the rising frustration.But there’s something else underneath the surface, something I don’t want to name.That feeling I used to get when he’d push my buttons just to see how far I’d go before I broke.
“And you’ve always found me endearing for it,” he shoots back with a grin, his eyes softening in a way that makes it impossible to stay completely mad at him.
I roll my eyes, wishing I could still resist that grin, but it’s been years, and even now, he can still get under my skin.“Go book some swanky hotel and leave me alone.”
He leans in closer, his voice dropping to a serious tone.“No one can know I’m in Dallas, especially close to Santos.There was some misunderstanding while I visited him.If people find out I’m here, the rumors about us being caught kissing will start up again, and cleaning up his image is fucking exhausting.”
I groan, pinching the bridge of my nose.“Fine,” I say, my voice resigned.“But you’re staying on the couch, and you’re leaving tomorrow first thing in the morning.”
He doesn’t miss a beat.“Because you’ll be leaving with us?”
“No, I’m not doing this,” I snap, but even as I say that, I know I’m only arguing for the sake of it.
The truth is, the idea of helping Santos, of being part of their lives again—it’s all been sitting at the edge of my mind, waiting for the right moment to slip in.
And Dustin—he knows it.He can probably sense it.
But can I just up and start a new life close to them?Can I let myself dream, believe once more?
It’s fear versus love, and I’m not sure which one will win.
Fear of reopening old wounds, fear of being shattered again, of stepping back into a world that left me broken once before.Or love—the kind that never truly fades, no matter how much you try to bury it.The kind that stays with you, etched into your bones, long after you’ve convinced yourself you’ve moved on.
And with Dustin and Santos, it wasn’t just a regular first love.It was something more—something deeper, overwhelming, like falling into a whirlpool where there was no escape, no turning back.It was the three of us, tangled up in a mad, undeniable love, a connection that went beyond anything known to humans.
They weren’t just my first loves.They were my everything.The two people who shaped my entire existence, who made the world make sense in a way it hadn’t before.I loved them recklessly, desperately, long before I understood what that love would cost me.They were my whole world once, and deep down, no matter how much time has passed, I know they always will be.
That kind of love doesn’t fade.It lingers, an ache that never really leaves, pulling you back to what could have been, to the possibilities you never let go of.
As I glance at Dustin, standing there with that familiar smirk that hides all the pain beneath it, I wonder if this time we can make this work, or if it’s already over and we can never love again.
And if being with them will be simple, and most of all, if I’ll survive the fall.
ChapterEight
Santos
I layon the hospital bed, trying to block out the dull ache in my leg—and the sharper, more grating noise drilling into my ears.That’d be my father.He’s here to ‘fix’ me.
If I had the energy, I’d tell him I didn’t need fixing.That I’m fucking fine.Peachy.My ankle is wrapped tight, propped up like it was some fragile, precious thing I’m supposed to care about.But how could I?How could I focus on this when everything around me feels just as broken?
Jean-Luc Bélanger has this way of making me feel worse, even more shattered than I did lying on the ice, knowing everything was completely and utterly fucked.He should’ve stayed at the hotel with my mom.Maybe that would’ve saved me the headache.
