Page 64 of Before We Break Again
“Just making sure everything’s set for dinner,” Dustin replies, setting the mugs down on the coffee table.
I move to Santos’s side, handing him a plate with one of the pastries.“Here, Gavin brought these earlier.Thought you might like one.”
He accepts it with a grateful nod.“Thanks.Smells delicious.”
As we all settle in, the atmosphere feels lighter, more connected.The hurt seems to fade into the background, replaced by hope.
Dustin sits across from us, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees.“So, after dinner, maybe we could all watch something together?Like old times,” he suggests, his tone casual but his eyes searching.
I glance at Santos, who meets my gaze with a subtle nod.“I’d like that,” I say softly.“It’s been a while since we’ve all just relaxed together.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Santos agrees, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips.
A comfortable silence settles over us, the only sounds are the gentle ticking of the clock and the distant hum of the city beyond the lake.I take a sip of my tea, letting the warmth seep through me.
As the evening unfolds, I can’t help but feel a sense of gratitude.For this moment, for the chance to rebuild what was broken, for the possibility of healing.The road ahead is uncertain, but sitting here with them, it feels like maybe—just maybe—we can navigate it together.
I take a deep breath, savoring the tranquil ambiance.“I’m really glad we’re doing this,” I say softly, more to myself than to them.
Dustin looks up, his eyes meeting mine with a gentle intensity.“Me too,” he replies earnestly.
Santos reaches over, his fingers brushing lightly against mine in a subtle gesture of solidarity.“We’re in this together,” he adds, his voice carrying a quiet conviction.
A soft smile spreads across my face as I look between them.“Yes, we are.”
The sun dips lower on the horizon, casting a warm glow that bathes the room in soft light.In this serene bubble, surrounded by their presence, I feel a flicker of hope ignite within me.Whatever challenges await us, I know we can face them—together.
ChapterThirty-Three
Dustin
The soft humof the engine drifts through the quiet car as I guide it along the winding roads weaving through the thick evergreens.Oregon’s untamed beauty envelops us, with towering trees overhead casting patterned shadows on the windshield as sunlight streams through the canopy.
The green is endless, a stretch of forest that feels both comforting and isolating, like the world beyond it doesn’t exist.Beside me, Santos stares out the window, his face a mix of relief and frustration, emotions battling just beneath the surface.He’s here, he’s recovering, but I know it’s not fast enough for him.It never is.
In the rearview mirror, I catch a glimpse of Halsey sitting in the backseat, her gaze lost in the blur of passing trees.Her face is calm, but distant—too distant.She’s been quiet lately, so quiet that it gnaws at me, stirring up this relentless anxiety that keeps me questioning everything.What am I doing wrong?Why does it feel like she’s slipping through my fingers, just out of reach?Every time I think I know her, she pulls away, leaving me drowning in my own insecurities.
It’s been three weeks since we moved to Blissful Meadows Ranch.Three weeks of trying to rebuild something that once felt untouchable.Something that once felt like home.We all said we’d try again, that we’d fix the fractures in this delicate, intricate web of connection we’ve spent years weaving together.But now, it feels like we’re just walking on the shards of what’s left, careful not to bleed too much.
Three weeks of careful conversations, of dinners filled with forced smiles, empty words, and awkward silences.Conversations that are supposed to feel normal, but nothing does anymore.There’s this invisible tension between us—this massive thing that lingers in every room we enter, like a pink gorilla in a tutu standing in the middle of the room.Everyone notices it, but no one says a word.No one dares to touch it, because touching it might just break everything for good.
And then there’s the absence.The absence of sex, the thing that used to be our escape.Except for that one time, when we first arrived, when everything was so new and fragile, and we lost ourselves in each other.In the heat of the moment, we became us again, even if it was just for a few fleeting hours.But even that wasn’t real.That wasn’t for us—it was for Santos.I wanted him to feel included, to feel like we hadn’t left him out in the cold while we struggled to fix the emotional wreckage that’s still lingering like a ghost between us.
But now, three weeks later, nothing is fixed.
Everything feels different.Seeing Halsey and Santos every day and not being able to reach out—to touch them, to close that gap between us—has become its own kind of torture.I didn’t realize how much I leaned on that physical closeness until it was gone.Until it became a forbidden thing.
Without sex, I’m just ...here.With all these feelings I don’t know how to handle, with all this distance between us that no amount of words or forced smiles seems to bridge.My therapist was right.I use sex as a shield, a distraction, a way to avoid dealing with the mess beneath the surface.I thought it made everything better, made me feel connected.And yet, without it, I’m left with nothing but raw emotions that I have no fucking idea how to handle.
And that’s just one of my three different therapists who are on rotation, each picking apart my mind in ways I didn’t ask for but apparently need.It’s all about my mental health now—finally dealing with the grief of losing my parents, something I’ve carried for twenty years without ever really facing.It feels raw, like an old wound that’s finally being cleaned out, but it’s exhausting.There’s no hiding from it anymore.
“Physical therapy starts next week,” Santos says suddenly, cutting through the silence, his fingers tapping lightly against his thigh in a restless rhythm.I can hear the tension in his voice, the energy he can’t burn off yet.“We need to figure out the schedule, see how we’re going to handle it.”
Halsey leans forward slightly from the backseat.“You can ride with me in the mornings,” she suggests, her voice calm but practical.“We’ll try to make sure we arrive and leave together.Or Dust can pick you up if you finish early.”
I glance at her in the mirror, her tone so matter-of-fact, as if we’re just logistics and schedules now.I want to say something—anything—to break through the wall between us.But instead, I say, “We’ll manage.”My voice is steady, even though inside, nothing feels steady at all.“Our San will be back on the ice before you know it.”
He scoffs softly, leaning back in his seat.“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.But yeah, it’s a step forward.”
