21. Chapter 21

"You don't have to do it, Brynn," Asher says from beside me. He's holding my hand as we stand shoulder to shoulder.

Bryce had just dared me to do a backflip off the back of the boat. And all I can think about is smacking my head off the stern.

It's the summer before our sophomore year. The weather is perfect. It's one of those summer days where it's hot but not too hot. The Nelsons picked Bryce and me up for a day on Lake Michigan. Mr. Nelson just got a new forty-seven-foot Carver yacht. He couldn't wait to get it on the water. Mrs. Nelson came over and got us, since we were home alone with Nadia.

"I'm scared," I rush out, voice barely above a whisper.

Asher places his hand on my lower back, and I swear his touch is more powerful than the sun's rays. My body instantly heats from his touch. His touches have been coming more and more frequently. We've shifted from friends to awkward teens navigating dating, and now there's a more powerful urge beneath our skin.

"What are you scared of?" he asks, eyes searching my face.

Asher knows I'll tell him the truth. I've never lied to him. Not in all the years we've known each other.

With a sigh, I look out across the lake. Bryce is floating on his back waiting for me to flip, while Mr. and Mrs. Nelson are both sunning on the bow.

"Everything," I answer.

Asher uses the hand that he's holding to bring me toward him. His other hand finds my hip, pulling me so that our bodies are flush. Withdrawing his hand from mine, he brings his hand up to my face. Cupping the side of my face, he drags his thumb across my jawline. His gaze locks on mine.

"As long as I'm standing next to you, you have nothing to be scared of, babe. I love you."

Lowering his mouth to mine, his lips find mine, locking us together in a searing kiss.

Warm tears stream down my face as I fight to hold on to the memory. Sleep is slipping from my grasp as my body tries to wake up. I will myself to fight it, the consciousness. I want to be back there. Back with my brother. Back with my boyfriend. Back before everything changed. Squeezing my eyes shut, I beg my body to give me five more minutes. I'm desperate. I just need five more minutes of hearing their laughter, seeing their smiles, and remembering what it was like to have my heart feel complete.

But that doesn't happen. My consciousness awakens, and my slumber is officially gone. Slowly, my eyes open, but the tears don't stop. Rolling over to my side from my back, I pull the sleeves of the oversized hoodie up over my hands, resting my hands under my head, as my body curls into itself.

Tears pour from my eyes like a summer rainstorm, which is only fitting since I was dreaming of our last summer together. Summer days were our favorite days growing up. No school, no homework, and no routines. The only thing we had to worry about was where we were going for the day. Bryce, Asher, and I would take turns deciding what we would get up to for the day. The three of us were inseparable. I'd give anything for one more summer together. Three months of the three of us finding crazy things to do. The crazier, the better, because we had each other by our side.

This day is always hard, but this year is even harder. I'm not sure if it's because it's been five years, and five just seems so monumental. Or is it the fact that my heart is wanting to give into whatever this attractiveness I have for Quinton, and the last time I gave my heart away, I lost the two boys that held parts of it?

My body snuggles deeper into the oversized hoodie that I wear every year on this day. The hoodie belonged to Asher. It was his freshman sweatshirt with his last name on and number twenty-two on the back. He gave it to me to wear on his first game, and I never gave it back. Whenever I'd go to his house, I'd sneak sprays of his cologne so I always had his smell on me.

His scent lingers, but only slightly, which breaks my heart even more. I dream of him and Bryce, but their features are getting blurrier. I'm starting to forget the small details that made them who they are. Their smells are fading, the sound of their laughter and their mannerisms are slipping from my grasp.

Sobs rack through my body as that realization hits me. I'm slowly forgetting them. But how could I ever forget them? Bryce was a part of me. He shared my DNA. We shared a womb. He was my mind, body, and soul. The other half that kept my heart beating. That was until I fell in love with our best friend. Asher's embrace could make even the darkest days shine bright. And oh, did they ever, that wonderful day in the hospital.

Today marks my fourth consecutive day in this room. The sounds of machines beeping has become a soundtrack I crave. Because those sounds, those sounds mean Asher is still breathing. He is still here, even though he is somewhere dreaming of better days. As much as everyone tries to get me to leave, I refuse. I am needed by his side.

Thankfully, we own this hospital. I am given the opportunity to shower in the staff locker rooms, even though I have no desire to leave his side. Those showers are the fastest showers I have ever taken. I don't want to be away from him for too long.

Mother had a cot delivered for me to sleep on, but I refuse. Each night after the nurses come in for their nightly check, I slip out of the cot and climb under the covers next to Asher, careful not to disturb the wires that he is connected to. The bed is hard, the sheets scratchy, but I didn't care because I am beside my Asher.

Losing Bryce was devastating, but I fought hard to keep myself strong. Strong for the beautiful man lying next to me. Placing my arm across his stomach, I curl into his side. Each night I share with him a story that the two of us shared.

"Do you remember our first Valentine's Day together as a couple?" I ask him, pausing, praying for a response. But one doesn't come, so I continue. "You showed up at our house in dress pants, a dress shirt, and a tie. You were so handsome in your light-blue shirt. It made your eyes pop. I couldn't stop staring at them all night. You planned the whole night, starting with having our family driver take us on our date.

"Dinner was at Steak'N Shake because you knew I was obsessed with their strawberry milkshakes and shoestring fries with cheese sauce. I loved that you didn't try to take us somewhere fancy, even though it was Valentine's Day. We were the best-dressed couple in that entire diner, but I loved it. I knew that things were changing between us, and we were becoming more serious, but that was the night that I knew that I loved you, like really loved you. You were always you. You didn't try hard to impress me, you just told your jokes—as cheesy as they were. You didn't judge me for inhaling two milkshakes. You were you, I was me, and we were just us.

"But our date wasn't over after dinner. Oh no, you surprised me with tickets to see The Lucky One because of my obsession with Zac Efron. Most boys would've refused to sit through a chick flick, but not you. What was it that you told me? Something about Zac might make me swoon and the movie might make me cry, but you'd be the lucky one wrapping your arms around me—"

"To comfort you," a raspy voice says, interrupting me.

Slowly, sitting up, I looked up and am met with dazzling blue eyes staring back at me. The arm that I had placed around my shoulders, slowly squeezes me.

"Asher?" I asked, afraid my eyes and ears are deceiving me.

"Hi, pretty girl," he rasps out, causing tears to explode from my eyes. His grip tightens and he pulls me closer, grazing his lips across my forehead. My blue-eyed beauty was awake.

Slowly sitting up, I turn to get a better look at him.

"Oh my god, Asher," I gasp out in between sobs, my lips finding his immediately.

My heart was broken, but at that moment, I feel it slowly start to repair.

Too bad I don't know what is to come in just thirty-six hours.

Leaving that memory, I get up and head to the bathroom. After relieving myself and brushing my teeth, I climb back under the covers, I reach over and grab the remote, flipping on my TV. Scrolling through the movie options, I find the one I'm looking for. Selecting The Lucky One, I let the memory fade away and let the mourning begin.

The movie is only fifteen minutes in, and my body is curled under my blankets when there's a soft rap on the door. Cautiously, Chloe sticks her head in.

"Hey, B," she starts, walking slowly into the room with a mug in her hand.

"Hi," I answer, making room on my side of the bed for Chloe to sit down.

Chloe places the mug of piping hot coffee on my nightstand.

"I brought you some coffee. I figured you were hiding away up here." Crawling onto my bed, Chloe slips under the covers, my head finding her shoulder. She reaches up, wiping the tear stains from my cheeks. "I know today is a hard day, but you don't have to hide away alone. I can skip classes, and we can hide under the covers together."

Reaching for her hand, I rest my empty hand on hers.

"Thanks, Chlo, but I just want to be alone."

With a deep sigh, Chloe stares at me.

"I knew you were going to say that, you do every year. But just know, B, I'm here for you. I know I don't know what you're feeling, but I love you, and I'm always here for whatever you need. Macy is too. And Quinton. And Cody and the rest of the guys. We hate seeing you hurt. We understand it, but we still hate it."

The two of us just lie there, side-by-side, heads together for a few quiet moments, watching Zac Efron on screen. There's comfort in the silence, in having her beside me, my head resting on her shoulder. With the arm that isn't holding her hand, I reach across our bodies and pull her in for an awkward hug.

"I love you, too," I finally say. "But I just need to be alone with them."

Her arm slides across mine, squeezing me back.

Before long, she gets up and walks toward the door.

"Call if you need anything," she responds.

With one last look at me, she leaves my room, shutting the door behind her.

I love my friends. I love how big their hearts are and how much they care. And while most people would want to be surrounded by others, I learned to grieve alone.

Most people would have their parents to help them grieve on the hard days, but I didn't. My parents were long gone before Bryce died, and once he was gone, they became nearly invisible. Each year, I'd wait for them to bring up this day. I remember my first year in college, waiting for a call from my mother to check on me. That call never came. So I learned to grieve alone.

Dedicating October twentieth as the day I mourn them both, I created my own tradition. I know that there will come a time when I won't be able to shut out the world and spend the day alone, in my room, doing my traditions, but, for now, this is how I'm spending the anniversary.

Each year on the night before, I pull out my box of memorabilia. I look at the picture albums I made throughout the years, and look at all of our happy memories—trips to the zoo, weekends on Lake Michigan, play dates in the Nelsons' backyard, first and last day of school pictures, and everything in between. It still hurts to see them, but I do have one picture of the three of us that I keep framed in my room, the rest of the memories stay buried in my heart and memory box. It's in this box that I keep Bryce's football sweatpants and Asher's football sweatshirt that I sleep in every year.

On the day of, I stay in bed all day, only leaving for the necessities. My day in bed consists of watching all of our favorite movies—The Sandlot, Ted, Lone Survivor, The Lucky One, and Home Alone 2. Bryce dreamed of becoming a Navy SEAL. I'm not sure where his fascination came from, but we would watch Lone Survivor over and over, and I'd watch his passion explode.

The Sandlot was the go-to movie the three of us would watch. We had it memorized, and every time we'd watch, I'd get so pissed about the whole "you play ball like a girl" line because, guess what, I could play ball, and I was damn good at it. Bryce and Asher would always challenge me in throwing competitions, and I would beat them both. It was such an ego boost for me, but they'd get so pissed.

Tedwas the movie we watched the first time we smoked pot. The boys wanted to be just like Mark Wahlberg—do you see a Marky Mark trend here?—and smoke pot with a bear. We had seen this movie before, of course, but one night during our freshman year of high school, the boys wanted the full experience. Asher found a teddy bear that looked like Ted, and the three of us sat in our movie theater room and watched Ted, while smoking pot and eating all the food, with a damn bear. And yes, I kept that bear. And yes, each year I continue the tradition.

The movie I end the day with is always Home Alone 2. We dubbed the second movie far superior to the first. I don't want to be friends with anyone who thinks otherwise. One year for Christmas, Bryce surprised me with a turtledove, just like Kevin gave the Pigeon Lady of Central Park. And just like any kid, his wish was to go to a giant toy store and meet an old man like Mr. Duncan. He said that, even though we were twins, and even though we shared a part of each other, he wanted me to have the reminder that as long as we have our doves, we will be friends forever.

Before we buried him, I put his turtledove in his hand. Even in death, we'll still be best friends. And the day I turned eighteen, I went to the tattoo parlor to have a turtledove tattooed on the back of my neck. It's a constant reminder that, even though Bryce is gone, he's with me, friends forever.

The afternoon rolls around, and I've finished The Lucky One and The Sandlot. My stomach begins to rumble telling me it's time for sustenance. Reaching for my phone on my nightstand, I finally check my notifications for the first time. Before I check all of the text message notifications—all ten of them—I click on the Instagram app.

Clicking on the plus sign in the top corner, I scroll to my memories album on my phone and select a few photos of Asher, Bryce, and myself. Quickly, I throw a vintage filter on the picture and post the image with the caption, Hope you both are giving Heaven some Hell. Up there on the gold streets crushing cans running routes. There's not a day that goes by that I don't miss you both. Love always, B. Hitting the share button, my first tribute photo of the three of us is out there. Yeah, I know they can't see it, but a part of me hopes God has a screen so those we lost can see all of the birthday wishes and memorial pictures we share. I just want them to know that they're never far from my mind.

The like notifications start rolling in, but I close the app out. Getting up from my bed, I make my way downstairs, pulling up my text messages once I get into the kitchen. Reaching into the fridge, I glance up and check the time on the microwave. Twelve thirty. Whatever, it's late enough, I pull out a bottle of beer. Twisting the cap off, I take a long pull before grabbing a leftover sub sandwich. I take my lunch over to the bar and climb up on a barstool. Now that I've got sustenance, I begin reading the messages and responding.

Closing out my roomies group chat, I go to the next unread message.

His reply comes instantly.

Ignoring Quinton's missed phone call, I pull up his messages instead.

There are a couple of other messages from people I went to high school with. We might not talk anymore, but they always send a text today. I quickly love their messages. The next name I see surprises me, even though it shouldn't. She reaches out every year.

Attached to Grace"s message is a picture of me and Asher from homecoming freshman year. We"re posed on the grand staircase in my family home. My dress—a tight, one-shoulder, bubblegum-pink dress with rhinestone details—made me feel so beautiful, and Asher looked so good in his black tapered dress pants, white button up shirt, and matching bubblegum-pink tie. It"s a picture I haven"t seen before, and it instantly brings tears to my eyes.

Reading that message shakes me to my core. The tears I've been working hard to suppress since my meltdown this morning come crashing down. Hot tears stream down my face. I can't believe we are having this conversation. Not only are we having it over text messages, but we are having it on the day we lost her son. It just doesn't seem right to be talking about me loving someone else. And honestly, I don't know what the hell is going on between Quinton and me. There's no way she saw anything during the few encounters we had last weekend. Right?

My head is spinning and it's not from the alcohol. I can't have this conversation with her. Not today. Not ever. Typing out a response, I hit send and take another pull of my beer. I'm going to need another one soon.

I don't bother to see if she responds. Instead, I turn the "Do Not Disturb" setting on, and toss my phone away from me. My mind is reeling, the sobs racking through my body. Sliding down the cabinet, I don't stop until I'm fully seated on the floor. Bringing my knees to my chest, I wrap my arms around them as my head collapses.

I'm in such deep thought that I don't even hear the front door open and close or the footsteps alerting me that I'm not alone. Strong, tan arms wrap around me, causing me to jump out of my skin. Body jerking, I spin around to see who the attacker is, and scream.

"Jesus, Brynn, it's just me," Cody says, rubbing soothing circles on my back. "I said your name like five times. Didn't you hear me?"

"Clearly freaking not," I retort. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Running his hand through his hair, he looks me over. He must see how miserable I'm doing because his shoulders physically drop.

"Brynn," he says, pulling me back into his warm embrace. The two of us sit on the kitchen floor. "I don't want you to be alone."

"I'm fine," I answer, allowing my body to relax into his hold. "I'm good at being alone."

"But you don't have to be, B," he says, running his hands up and down my back. "Let us in. Let us be there for you."

I give in. I give in to his touch. I give in to his words. He pushes himself up from the floor, reaching his hand out to me. Taking his hand, I allow him to lead me upstairs to my room.

It's then that I notice that he has a bag in his other hand.

"What's in the bag?"

He sets the bag down on my bed, pulling out a six-pack of Shiner Bock and a baggie with two joints.

"Cody," I gasp.

"You told me one time you always watch Ted on this day. I thought I'd join this year," he says with a shrug. He slips off his shoes, pulling the white comforter back. "Now get your ass in bed and tell me why Ted."

Smiling, I do what he says. Cody hands me a joint and a bottle of beer before setting the same thing next to his side of the bed. His tall, trim body crawls in next to mine as he wraps his arm around my shoulders and pulls me in closer. His long arms allow him to open the window that's next to my bed before he pulls out a lighter. Once we are settled in, I tell him the story of Ted.

We stay like that for the duration of the movie. Smoking, drinking, laughing our asses off, and munching on the snacks he brought. At some point, I drift off in his arms.

Maybe he is right.

Maybe it is okay to let them in.