Page 104 of Keepsakes and Kismet

A gurney unfolds. They take him away.

But nothing they do now will make a difference.

I know it won’t.

Because my best friend stopped breathing three minutes ago.

I stare at the ceiling, my tone completely dull. “You aren’t supposed to touch someone when they’re actively seizing. You’re not supposed to move them. But, in the end, all of that felt wrong.”

“I know.” She wraps me in her arms, lifting me into a hug.

My lips move against the crook of her neck. “It didn’t matter. Nothing I did mattered. By that time, there’d be too much brain damage for him to be okay in the end anyway. I watched him take his last breath in my arms just as the medics ran to us.”

Peyton leans back, cradling my face in her palms, her eyes welling with salt water. Pulling away, I wipe my own tears with the back of my hand.

“It didn’t make sense to me at the time.” Shaking my head, a lock of hair falls in front of my eyes. “He’d been seizure-free for six years. I kept thinking, how could this have happened?”

My voice is shaky as I speak the next words that I hear in my head on repeat. Every night. In the dark of my room. They don’t echo in my mind, they dig into the ridges of my brain, latching onto the crevasses.

“I found out later that it was my fault.”

Her hands drop from my face. “What? No, Callum.”

“Yes. Because for the first time in six years, he didn’t take his medicine that morning. I rushed him out the door, dragging him to practice, even though he didn’t want to go. Even though he had to be at the festival parade later. He was the fucking prince of the whole thing, which I just… I constantly gave him shit for that, telling him it didn’t matter if he was late, because it was dumb anyway. I pushed him, and he forgot his meds because of me.”

Peyton shakes her head. “It’s not your responsibility to make sure another person takes their medicine, Callum. You can only control what you do with your own body. Something like that becomes a habit after a few years.”

But her words don’t soak into my soul like they usually do. Instead, they slide off my shoulder and trickle down my back like everyone else’s. And I do what I’ve done for eleven years: carry on as though I didn’t hear them at all.

“They cancelled the festival that year. And the following year, the town decided to permanently move it up and avoid the anniversary. It’s why my family hosts Thanksgiving early. Not because of Cait—because of me.” I exhale a long, shaky breath. “I couldn’t go to the funeral. I couldn’t face anyone. It was an open casket, and the thought of Ty in a box made me nauseous. But my whole family—the entire town went. Looking back, I’m disgusted with myself.”

She pulls me tight into her arms. “You were just a kid, dealing with an incredibly traumatic incident. I’m positive no one blames you for staying home.” Her hair swishes against my cheek, the silky strands catching on my damp skin.

I ignore her assurances. “I’ve been haunted by what happened. For years. Like I was being followed by this phantom that no one could see… until you. You understand, and you don’t try to fix me. I can’t tell you how much it means…” I trail off, thinking about the impact she’s had on me during our time together. The difference she’s made in my life. “But I, I get it if you… if you want someone different. Someone brighter, who’s happier all the time. You deserve someone who’s not so much work, Pey.”

“Callum—”

“No, please let me finish. You’re Golden Hour. You glow. I’d never forgive myself if I dimmed your light. Yes, I’m making progress. But I’m going to have unhappy moments. Weeks like this might always be unbearable. I can’t promise that I’ll ever be fully healed. And I’d never fault you for choosing what’s best for you.”

Every thought of losing what we have feels like a drip of water in my lungs, drowning me in slow-motion. But it’s her choice to make.

I pause, looking down at the white bedspread, and inhale for three seconds. Exhaling for another three seconds, I feel oddly peaceful, having shared this with Peyton. She can make an informed decision now that she knows everything. And I’ll continue to support her—from a distance, if that’s what she wants—no matter what.

“Is that what you think of yourself? That you drain me?”

I glance at her, observing a flicker of hurt in her eyes. “What do you mean?”

Her eyebrows knit together. “I told you things. I confided in you about my past, the harassment, feeling used. I lowered my walls. You built trust with me. You took care of me. You’re helping me heal.” She hardens her gaze now, looking at me with resolve. “You’re not a drain, Callum. And, honestly, it’s offensive that you’d think of yourself in that way. I made a decision to choose us. Not just you, not just me—us. And the way you’re speaking about yourself insults my good judgment.”

“You really mean that?”

“Why is it so hard to believe?”

“Because you’re precious to me. And⁠—”

“You’re precious to me. And the sooner you accept that as truth, the easier it will be for both of us.” She brushes her thumb underneath my eye. “It’s okay to have dark moments, honey. When you find someone you want to be with, you accept those moments. You love those moments, in a way, because it’s a part of them.”

I love you. I love you. I love you, I want to tell her. But not now. Not when I’m like this.