Page 93 of Until Forever Falls

Oh! I also got Brooks a vase. Not because I’m sentimental, but because I owed him one. The Drift’s lobby used to have a perfectly nice one—until it met an unfortunate, tequila-induced demise at my hands, or more accurately, my stomach. So, in the spirit of redemption, I scoured Paris for a worthy replacement, set it in the lobby when we got back, and watched as Brooks’ expression flickered from irritation to reluctant amusement. I think we’re even now.

Now, we’re sort of living together. And honestly, KitKat? It feels unbelievably right. I left my apartment in New York without a second thought. For a while, I stayed at the hotel, giving Brooks and me time to relearn each other. Not that we ever really changed.

Then, one night, one conversation, and suddenly, I was moving in. I teased him that he just wanted to make more money off the room he was practically giving me, but we both knew better. It wasn’t about money or convenience. It was about us. Reclaiming something we lost and making it ours again.

Now, here we are. The way everything has fallen into place—it’s almost eerie. I can’t remember the last time I felt this secure, this sure of where I’m supposed to be. Probably not since you were here. I don’t know. My life, my choices—even my heart—are mine again, no longer claimed by grief.

I see Blake a few times a week, and every time, she’s grown—not just in inches but in confidence. She talks more, laughs louder, and when she dances, she lights up in a way that makes my heart explode. She lives for it, and I never miss a chance to take her, to sit and watch as she moves like the music is part of her. She commands the studio with the same ease you had on the field. And though I miss those bleacher seats, I wouldn’t trade this view for anything.

I’m not chasing some perfect version of happiness anymore. I’m just here, now, letting life happen instead of bracing for the worst. It’s freeing, terrifying, and completely necessary.

Mom’s still sober, every day she chooses that fight, and I’m trying to meet her where she is. I don’t know what our relationship will look like in the end, but I know this—she’s trying. And that’s something.

After today, your number won’t ring. Your voicemail won’t catch my words—but I’ll never stop talking to you. Your heartbeat shaped me before I even opened my eyes. I’ll love you past forever, Beckett—even when time forgets us.

Death can’t rewrite that.