nini 💋

First came the heavy denial. Of course it did—because how could your brain ever comprehend that the love of your life was gone? How do you accept that the one person who could pull down the stars for you no longer breathes? How do you face reality when your entire world has just flipped upside down?

Maybe it wasn’t even denial. Maybe it was pure, unadulterated numbness. Numb to the world, numb to yourself, numb to everything. Your mind malfunctioned, looping a single, devastating reality over and over again - Beau is no longer walking the earth.

He died on impact. He didn’t suffer.

But you, his family, and his friends are left behind to suffer the aftermath.

Now, the anger sets in. Violent, suffocating anger at the universe. Anger at fate—because you truly believed you’d marry him. You were going to be his wife. His forever.

That was the plan.

You had mapped out life after college, planning how your careers would start, how you’d manage the distance when he was traveling for games. Beau was talented enough to secure a spot in the NFL. That was Beau Maxwell - a natural born winner. And you felt like a winner, too, simply because you had the privilege to call him yours.

Had.

Because Beau isn’t here anymore.

You feel a burning rage at the loss of him, furious that he left you, immediately followed by a wave of crushing guilt because you know it wasn't his fault. You direct your anger at the world for stealing your happiness, your purpose, your future. Beau is dead, and a piece of you died in that crash right alongside him.

Everyone is falling apart.

Dean has been spiraling. He and Beau were best friends, bound by years of late night talks and shared memories. Allie has been doing everything she can to take care of him, but she’s breaking, too. Hell, everyone is breaking. Garrett, Logan, Tucker, Beau’s teammates—the loss is taking a devastating toll on them all.

You don’t even remember the memorial. You only recall Joanna intertwining her fingers with yours, squeezing until your knuckles went white. You remember the sorrowful eyes directed your way and the silent tears tracking down your cheeks, soaking into your collar because you didn't have the strength to wipe them away. You remember vague hugs, but no faces.

And you certainly don’t remember seeing Dean—only Allie.

A week later, you’re still spiraling. Your brain has switched to autopilot, dragging you through life like a ghost, attending classes and returning home to a quiet, suffocating apartment. Your tears have dried out like a desert, leaving you staring into the void, wishing for the pain to fade.

It doesn't. Everything in the apartment speaks his name.

Your wardrobe is filled with the clothes he kept there for weekends. They still smell like his cologne—that warm, comforting blend uniquely Beau. The walls are lined with photos - his stupidly handsome smile, the two of you laughing through holidays, family visits, and moments after foolish arguments. You remember sleeping on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat...

And then the tears spill over again, because you’ll never hear it beat again.

Sleep won't come because your dreams are haunted by him—his smile, his quick remarks, his laugh, his touch, his everything. 

The rage surges back. Why did this happen? Why was his time limited?

You trash the place. You shatter plates and mugs against the floor, letting the anger bleed out, but you never touch the pictures. You never touch his clothes. You physically can't. To touch them is to remember the weight of his living, muscular body beneath the soft cotton. To touch them is to breathe in the scent that used to make you feel safe, only to be reminded that you aren't anymore.

You haven’t slept in your bedroom for days. The sheets still hold his shape. 

You can’t live here anymore.

“Hi,” you greet Garrett when he opens the door to the guy's place after another gruelling week of existing silently alone. “Is Dean home?”

“Hi,” he answers softly. His gray eyes hold a heavy blend of caution and restraint. “He is,” he steps back to let you in.

You haven’t seen Dean since the news broke. It was a conscious choice - you knew seeing him would trigger a flood of memories you couldn't survive. You had to take a pill just to keep your hands from shaking on the walk over.

“Uh, how are you holding up?” Garrett asks as he leads you into the spacious living room.

“What do you think?” you reply with the faint ghost of a smile.

Logan and Tucker are hovering near the kitchen. Moments later, Dean slowly emerges from his room, looking every bit as wrecked as you feel.

“Hey,” he mutters. His green eyes are dull, but a flicker of awareness crosses his face as if realizing, for the first time, that he isn't the only one suffocating under the weight of this grief.

“I came to say goodbye,” you blurt out, needing to say it before your courage evaporates.

“What?” Dean looks at you, startled.

“I... I’ve been emailing back and forth with Harvard,” you say, your voice tight. “I’m finishing my degree there.”

Silence falls over the room, heavy and absolute.

Dean stares at you, stunned. “How did you manage a transfer this late?”

“They accepted most of my Briar credits. I just have to take a few summer courses to stay on track to graduate,” you explain softly.

“Why are you doing this?” Dean asks, his voice cracking.

“Because I can’t stay here,” your chin wobbles, the tears threatening to spill over. “Every corner reminds me of him. I can’t function. I talked to his parents, and mine—they understand.”

Dean closes his eyes for a long moment, then gives a slow, wry nod. “I do, too.”

“Us too,” Logan adds quietly from the kitchen.

“I’m moving out at the end of the week. I’ll start at Harvard after the break.”

Dean takes a step forward. A shaky breath leaves your lips as he pulls you into a tight, grounding hug.

“Thank you for everything,” he whispers into your hair.

You cling to him, burying your face in his shoulder as a fresh wave of tears breaks through, your shoulders shaking with every ragged breath.

BARGAINING 

A few months later 

Harvard smells like old money and IQ fights. To an extent, you miss Briar, where arrogance was never quite this suffocating.

Whatever. There’s no turning back now.

You spent your entire break last year packing up your life and moving back into your parents' house. It happened right after another complete breakdown—the kind that dropped you to your knees because you finally had to fold away Beau’s clothes. Clothes you could no longer bear to see. Clothes that held the phantom warmth of a lifetime of memories.

“Eat, sweetheart,” your mom says softly, setting a plate down on the dining table in front of you.

“I’m not hungry,” you whisper, staring blankly at the food.

“You’ve barely eaten a thing these past few weeks,” your dad adds, his voice thick with concern as he urges you to take just a few bites.

“I need to catch the bus,” you say, pushing yourself up from the chair, desperate to escape the suffocating weight of their worry.

They don’t push any further, but your mom quietly packs a lunch for you anyway, just like she used to when you were in middle school.

You haven’t made any friends here. To be honest, that isn't even the goal—you just want to get your degree and get the hell out of Cambridge. A few of your classmates occasionally invite you out, purely out of polite pity, but you always decline. You know they don't actually care, and you don't have the energy to fake it.

The coursework, at least, is good. It’s significantly stricter than Briar, but it’s Harvard—you can handle it. In a twisted way, you’re grateful for the mountain of homework and endless papers. The relentless workload is the only thing keeping your mind from drifting back to the dark.

You’re surviving. Barely.

Because you haven’t slept properly in weeks, your nervous system is operating on pure survival mode.

You realize you haven’t felt angry in a while. Somewhere during the break, the burning rage simply burned out, leaving behind a vast, empty void. You spent hours texting Joanna, and you called Beau’s parents to check on them.

“Sweetheart, you need to take care of yourself,” Beau’s mom had pleaded gently over the phone, her voice cracking. “It hurts me too, more than words can say. But Beau wouldn’t want you trapped in this dark place for eternity.”

Eternity is exactly what it feels like.

For a while, you punished yourself just for breathing. How could you continue living your life when Beau’s was cut short? You spent whole nights screaming into your pillow, sobbing until your ribs ached, tearing yourself apart over how unfair it all was. Your parents had slept in your room that night, wrapping their arms around you just like they did when you were five and terrified of nightmares.

Except now, your whole life is a nightmare.

Stepping through the heavy doors of the lecture hall, you make a beeline for the very back row. You want to remain invisible, tucked safely away from small talk and sympathetic glances.

It’s a solid strategy, except for Jake Connelly.

Somehow, the guy always manages to find you. In the short time you’ve been at Harvard, he has sat next to you in almost every single class. He always glides in at the very last second before the professor starts speaking, and by then, the only open seat in the packed room is the one beside you.

Today is no exception.

“Hi,” he greets you, offering a blinding, wide smile—the kind with perfectly straight teeth that looks like it belongs in a toothpaste commercial.

You offer a faint nod, same as always. You don’t have the emotional currency to socialize, let alone pretend to be friendly.

You just feel hollow.

“How was your paper?” Jake asks politely, attempting to strike up a lowkey conversation as he pulls out his notebook.

“Fine,” you shrug, your eyes fixed strictly ahead, refusing to meet his gaze.

Sensibly, he takes the hint and doesn't try again, letting the heavy silence settle back over you as the lecture begins.

—-

He tried again. And again. And again.

“Do you understand the connection between these two?”

“Can you explain this diagram?”

“When are these papers due, again?”

“Wait, do we actually have class tomorrow?”

They were questions he could easily ask the professor, or find with a two second search on the course portal. Questions a golden child student like Jake Connelly shouldn’t even need to ask, but for some reason, he kept asking you.

You replied in blunt, one worded answers, but in true Jake Connelly fashion, he refused to take the hint.

You didn’t even know who he really was. You didn’t want to know, because none of it mattered anymore, but it seemed your cold silence wasn't the deterrent you intended. To him, it was practically an invitation.

The dynamic shifted one evening when Mr. Bailey introduced a massive new semester project.

“You’ll be paired up with the person sitting right next to you,” the professor announced with a careless shrug, clearly too indifferent to devise a proper arrangement.

Your eye twitched. Out of the corner of your vision, you saw Jake smirking.

Oh boy.

—-

Nightmares didn't come in the shape of monsters. They came in the shape of baby blue eyes and dark brown hair.

They came with phantom hugs and soft kisses that used to make your knees weak, forcing you to hold onto him just to stay upright. They came with the memory of smiles and laughs that used to send a rush of butterflies fluttering through your stomach. They came in warm touches and quiet moans, feeling so ecstatic that your toes curled under the sheets.

They came with the solemn promise of a forever you would never get to live.

You woke up with dried tear tracks itching on your cheeks, your eyes swollen and red. You were so disoriented you didn't even realize you were running late to class.

You got ready on pure autopilot, your mind a thousand miles away.

What if... what if it had been you? What if you had been the one to take the impact and break your neck? What if Beau was the one left behind, forced to navigate a life without you in it? What would he do? Would he be braver than you, able to pull on a mask and carry on with his days? Or would he be completely lost, suffocating under the weight of missing you?

What about your families? Would they be drowning in the exact same depths of sorrow?

And what if Beau had never gotten into that car? What if he had been driving, and it was his dad who died instead? Could Beau have handled the crushing guilt of knowing he survived? Would he be spiraling into a dark abyss, drowning his pain drinking alcohol, snorting coke, and swallowing MDMA the way Dean did?

What if none of it had ever happened?

You’d still be yourself. Living with Beau, attending classes back at Briar, going to noisy parties, and falling asleep tangled in the arms of the love of your life. The promise of the future would still be real.

There would still be a future.

Your tears hadn’t even dried by the time you sank into your seat in class.

You didn’t care about the pitying stares or the sorrowful glances from the people around you. You didn’t care that your dad had called you three times before class, softly reminding you that it was okay to skip today and just stay home. Hell, he was even ready to call out of work—and that was huge, considering he was a complete workaholic.

You were visibly wasting away, and everyone could see it.

Jake was no exception.

Today, his usual confident, arrogant facade crumpled entirely. His deep, forest like eyes were flooded with genuine concern. He desperately wanted to help—you could see the internal debate playing out across his sharp features—but he clearly had no idea how. Asking what was wrong felt meaningless, he knew you wouldn't tell him. He understood, without you ever having to say a word, that you were carrying a weight so crushing that even you couldn't lift it.

So he did something simple. Something almost pathetic for a guy like him, but he was running out of options and desperate to help you.

Because for some unknown reason, Jake really, really wanted to help you.

He reached into his backpack, bypassing his neatly packed lunch, and pulled out a protein bar—the one meant to be his prepractice snack.

He slid it softly across the wood desk, stopping right in front of your hands.

When you slowly turned your head to look at him, a faint, puzzled expression filling the saddest—yet most striking—eyes he had ever seen, he leaned in and whispered softly.

“I don’t really do chocolate, but it’s sweet. And sweet stuff always helps.”

It was so boyish. So earnest.

Despite the endless weight in your chest, you couldn't stop it—a tiny, crooked smile flickered across your lips for the very first time since Beau died.

DEPRESSION 

A month has passed. Another month of slowly realising that Beau is never coming back, and the weight of it holds you down like it wants to choke you. 

You hadn’t returned the calls from Joanna. You haven’t called Dean once since moving away, although you both promised to catch up with each other. 

You received numerous worried messages from the parents, who later called your parents to know how you are holding up. 

They talked for hours, filling in on them about your achievements in school, but also saying that you’re clearly depressed. 

You don’t have an appetite anymore, losing so much weight your cheeks are hollow. 

Some days the depressive episode hits so hard you can’t even get up from the bed to brush your teeth, or even your hair. Your hair is so tangled, you lost half of it. 

Showering becomes another task to accomplish, which you fail consistently. 

You skipped school for a medical emergency, or at least that’s what your mom said to the dean. 

Jake’s been spiralling. His performance in hockey has declined. 

“What’s with you?” His teammate, Brooks asks him as he slides up next to him on the ice. 

“Nothing,” he tries to shrug him off. 

“Nothing seems finer than you,” Brooks snorts. 

They don’t say anything until they reach the changing room. 

“I’m worried about the new girl,” Jake admits, his voice low, because he doesn’t want the others to hear him. 

“The one who transferred from Briar?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Tough luck, bro. She was Beau Maxwell’s girlfriend.” 

Jake’s face pales. “The quarterback at Briar who died in a car crash?” 

His death was in the news. 

“Yeah. His pal, Dean Di Laurentis, was also a wreck,” says Brooks as he takes off his skates. 

“Shit,” Jake curses. 

“The girl’s clearly depressed. They were together for years and now she’s mourning someone she thought she’d spend the rest of her life with.” 

It hurts more now. 

“That’s why she transferred?” 

His friend nods. “I heard she couldn’t bear attending at a uni where Beau's memory lingers.”

“She needed a clear slate.”

“Well, she’s not doing alright, now does she?” They stand under the hot water, washing away the sweaty remains of practice. 

No, she’s clearly not doing okay. The girl’s only twenty two, considered such a young age to mourn the loss of her love. She clearly loved him deeply and now she’s ready to waste away. 

Jake’s heart’s sore. 

“I want to help her,” he blurts out. 

“Does she want help, tho?” 

“Probably not,” agrees Jake, “but she needs someone to be there for her.” 

“She probably won’t accept your help.” 

“Probably. That’s why I’m not gonna say anything. Just do it.” 

—-

You used to love taking walks across campus, crossing the little wooden bridge that led to the park just outside the school. It was a place frequented by students lounging between classes and elderly couples strolling hand in hand. You loved sitting in one of the central gazebos, the wooden steps crack beneath your weight.

You hadn’t been outside your house in so long that you’d completely lost track of time. But the chill in the air remained, so maybe you hadn't lost as much of it as you thought.

Your mom and dad had insisted on taking a walk here. Your dad walked on your right, your mom on your left. They talked about everything and nothing all at once—complimenting the park's quiet beauty, calling a passing elderly couple cute, and inventing playful backstories for strangers. They complained about work and the grueling hours spent dealing with dumb people, all in a desperate attempt to coax a small smile out of you.

None of it worked, but at least they seemed relieved that you were finally willing to step outside.

You felt a sharp pang of guilt for making them worry so much. You had tried to apologize one afternoon, but your mom just shushed you gently, telling you it was their job to worry and act a little overprotective. Still, it was as clear as day - they wanted their daughter back.

They mourned the old you.

The happy you.

The content you.

They missed hearing you talk nonsense and laughing so loudly the walls resonated. You were the main purpose of their lives, but every day they prayed for you to find your own purpose again.

Stopping on the crest of the bridge, you paused to admire the park bathed in the warm, golden light of the sunset. Caught in your thoughts, you didn't notice your parents turning their attention to someone behind you.

“Hey.”

You jumped, startled, just Jake was introducing himself to your parents. 

His eyes were the exact shade of the forest surrounding the park.

“Hi,” you greeted him, your voice cracked and weak.

“I was just taking a walk. Mind if I join you?” He looked straight at you. Your parents stood by, looking slightly dumbfounded, waiting on your cue.

You gave a soft shrug. “I guess.”

Jake then proceeded to talk all the way through the walk. He said he plays hockey, which made your heart skip a beat, because it reminded you of Dean, back in Briar.

He wants to play professionally, but first he wants to graduate and then move up to the big leagues. Your dad immediately jumps in and asks some hockey related questions, because as much as your dad loved football, he often watched hockey too. 

Jake admits he’s an only child, spoiled by his parents, but clearly doesn’t mean it, because Jake Connelly is a down to earth kinda guy. 

“Y/n’s too,” your mom adds, “she desperately wanted a little brother when she was younger.” 

“Why a brother?” Jake asks, looking at you. He wants to hear your voice. 

“Because a brother wouldn't steal my clothes,” you say quietly, not really expecting to see Jake laugh, and your parents eyes move softly between the two of you. 

Jake proceeds to talk your parents' ears off. Yours too, but you tuned him out halfway through the walk. 

Because he reminds you of Beau. He never knew when to shut up or how. You were convinced he came out talking from the womb to which he laughed and kissed you, saying that you clearly came out spitting facts and jokes left and right from the womb. 

He wasn’t wrong in the slightest. You loved joking. You joked more than Beau, which was a surprise to him and his friends, because it was a well known fact that Beau Maxwell breathed in and out jokes. 

And now Jake’s making your parents laugh. 

“I want to go home,” you say sternly than expected, making them turn around to face you with slight frowns. 

“Okay, we’re going,” your mom reassures you with an easy smile, but it’s clear that she doesn’t want to go. Neither is your dad, because you haven’t seen them smile so bright for months since you moved back home.

“You can stay. I’ll go.” 

“Nonsense. We came together, we go together.” 

“I can walk you home,” Jake interrupts, his green eyes somehow brighter in hope you’ll say yes. 

“No,” you shake your head instead. “I’ll see you in class.” 

You turn your back at them and start your walk home. 

—-

You don’t remember how you managed to wake up and get ready for class. But you clearly don’t remember packing lunch, and now your stomach growls so loud you get a couple of stares. 

After class, you stumble upon the vending machine for a sandwich, but a brick wall of muscles stops you abruptly. Looking up, you see those striking green eyes boring into yours. 

“Eat lunch with me,” Jake demands softly. 

“I’m trying to buy a sandwich,” you point a finger at the machine. 

“Don’t. Those aren’t fresh,” he grimaces. “I made you lunch.” 

“You…what?” You’re truly speechless. Why would he…? 

“It’s not too much, just grilled chicken with veggies and rice.” 

“Is that one of your boring hockey meals?” You cross your arms over your chest. 

“They’re not boring,” Jake protests, “they’re just… not that varied.” 

“It means boring.” 

Jake’s lips stretch out in a slow smirk. “It’s boring.” 

Jake can’t cook. The chicken is dry as sand and the veggies are burnt and soggy, but at least the rice is good. However, you eat it anyway, because somehow Jake managed to make your heart beat normally. 

For once, he’s quiet. He doesn’t say a word while you eat. 

“Why are you doing this?” Your voice is low and uncertain as you sheepishly look up at him. 

Today, his eyes are darker, like a forest at dawn. 

“What?” He acts dumb. 

“Talking to me. Making small talk with my parents and making them laugh. Bringing me lunch. What’s your goal?” You count on your fingers what he did to you, but somehow your voice lacks the bite you hoped you could show him.

“I don’t have a goal,” he denies.

“You clearly do.” 

“I just… I want to help,” he admits but his voice remains confident.

“I don’t want your help.” 

“I know,” he shrugs and takes a bite out of his food. 

“Then why do you bother?” You pick on the food with your fork. Suddenly your appetite evaporated like mist. 

“Because for some reason, I care.” You furrow your eyebrows at that.

“You don’t even know me.” 

“I want to know you,” he looks deeply into your eyes. 

“Don’t bother.” 

Because when someone had the time to know you, they died. 

—-

Another gruelling month has passed, but this time, it was faster due to Jake. He made sure to make a calendar for the both of you consisting of free periods where you could work on your joint project for Mr.Bailey. 

You didn’t even ask, Connelly just did it. You figured he was a calendar addicted guy. 

You didn’t want to admit it, but it was a good idea. The physical toll this past month has put on you meant that your brain was so foggy, you couldn’t even think straight. A considerable amount of sleepless nights made your limbs heavy, often falling asleep in class, and having Jake to make notes for you too. 

He did, without a word. And that proved that he wasn’t a quitter. 

You sit in silence at the library, trying to come up with ideas for the project, but to be honest, you just sit and stare emptily at the table. 

“I lost my boyfriend due to a car crash.” 

You don’t even know how the words come stumbling across your mouth, but they’re out before you realise. 

Jake freezes, whatever he was writing, he doesn’t finish it. He slowly turns to face you, his face neutral, but somehow soft and gentle. 

“He died on impact,” a tear slides aggressively down your cheek. “Do you uh.. do you know Dean? Di Laurentis? They were best friends,” you laugh, but the sound comes out empty. “I promised Dean that I’ll call him,” you turn to face Jake, tear soaked cheeks and red eyes, “but I never did.” 

“Do you want to?” Jake asks, leaning a little bit closer to you. 

“I do. But I’m so afraid, because he’ll trigger memories I desperately want to forget,” and now you cry, the broken sobs shaking your entire being. 

“Why do you want to forget?” 

“‘Cuz it’s easier, isn’t it? Then facing the fact that he’s no longer here.” 

“But he lives,” Jake reaches out a tentative hand, and slowly, he taps your heart gently, “here.” 

Jake wipes your tears away, his thumb calloused. 

“You’re the first person I’ve ever told this,” you admit with a shaky whisper. 

Jake smiles warmly. “I knew you'd warm up to me.” 

You breathe out a little laugh. 

It was the most beautiful sound Jake has ever heard. 

“Did you uhm.. regret transferring?” 

“No.” 

—-

ACCEPTANCE 

Ever since confessing to Jake, it felt like a weight has been lifted from your shoulders. The bad days still surfaced, lingered, but now, it seemed your days were headed toward another direction. 

Content. 

Neither happy nor sad. Just truly existing. 

You started to eat more. Your cheeks and thighs filled out with time, making your parents sigh in relief. 

You returned the calls from Joanna and her parents, and they were also relieved to hear the ease in your voice. You still talked only a few words, but it was more than enough. 

Your sleep schedule was still on the rocks, but you managed to sleep more than three hours a night. The purple circles lightened, but haven’t disappeared yet. 

You started to take walks again around the park. Sometimes alone, but other times Jake accompanied you, whenever his hockey schedule let him. 

When you said you wanted to talk with Dean, Jake admitted that they’re going to play against them soon. You haven’t said anything, because you haven’t found the strength within you to face them again. 

You let Jake ask questions about you. He asked about your interests, what are your plans after graduating, and what do you like to do in your free time. Such harmless questions, but somehow they still made you squirm. 

Jake was trying to be your friend. 

You really needed a friend. 

“Would you like something to eat?” This was one of his favourite things to ask. 

“I ate dinner at home,” you reply. 

Tonight, you meet at his place to finish up your coursework. You’ve been alternating between the library, your house and his. 

You’ve met his parents briefly, but you got so shy you blushed and haven’t had the courage to talk with them. They weren’t intimidating, no - Phil and Kerri were the nicest people. 

But so are Beau’s. And you couldn’t help, but compare the two, and made your brain go numb. 

Fortunately, Jake saw your face and immediately jumped in, and later you apologised for acting so strange. They assured you you were perfectly fine. 

“Can we hurry up and finish? I feel so tired,” you yawn. 

“You haven’t slept well?” Jake asks worriedly. 

“Not really. I was up until two am.” 

“Are you okay?” He asks, sliding into the seat next to you, his broad shoulders brushing against yours. 

The thing is with him - he subtly tries to touch you whenever he can. He never made you feel uneasy, rather endearing how he makes sure you’re okay with it. Like right now, as his strikingly green eyes look down where you two are touching, then gazes back at you with a little smile. 

You lean into it, and he lets out a sigh. 

“I’m okay. I just couldn’t sleep,” you shrug. 

“You’ve been looking fuller with life lately,” he rasps, his eyes raking over your face slowly, like he’s trying to memorise every single detail. 

“I feel lighter,” you admit with a little smile. 

“Good,” Jake smiles too, his whole face lighting up like he’s not even from this world. 

An hour later, you both finish the coursework, and submit it as well online. It wasn’t as hard as you imagined it would be, but it still feels good to be over with. 

“You take summer classes?” Jake asks at one point. 

“Yeah, I have to in order to graduate on time. Fortunately it won’t be too much that is required,” you explain as you pack your bag. 

“Hey uhm…,” he swallows, “would you like to go to a party tomorrow?” 

The invite catches you off guard. “I don’t know.”

“There’ll only be me and some of my teammates and their girlfriends.”

“So more like a get together?”

“Yeah,” Jake nods. Then he suddenly looks more serious, his sharp features like stone. “I really want you to come.” 

—-

You haven’t realised how much you miss socialising. The mourning and grief that swallowed you whole and that became your new reality. But sitting beside Jake right now as his long and muscular arm is thrown around your shoulders on the couch, facing a couple of his teammates and some of their girlfriends, you realise how fun it is to meet new people. 

They’re fun. They accepted your handshake with a bright smile and a warm welcome. The girls complimented you to the point your ears are now on fire. Meanwhile Jake cannot wipe the smile off of his face even if he tried.

Though, you don’t feel like drinking and you’re sure you won't stay long, but a win is a win, right? 

“How are you?” Jake taps your shoulder with his fingers, trying to get your attention. 

“I feel good,” you smile up at him. 

“I’m glad you came,” he whispers into your ear, and that causes some trouble sending a shiver down your spine. 

Because why do you suddenly react to Jake like that? No, you don’t want to think about that. 

It simply is not happening. 

Because it’s Beau who you should think about. Not Jake. 

Noticing the sheer change about you, he sits up straighter. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“I uh.. is it okay if I go?” You bit your lip, embarrassed that suddenly you need an out. 

Jake is not happy - his eyes fell to the ground. 

“I’m sorry,” you murmur and slowly stand up, making your way to the others and apologise for the early departing. 

—-

“Mom?” You shout into the quiet house, desperately hoping they’re not fast asleep downstairs. 

“Sweetie? What is it?” She comes barrelling out, tying her robe around your waist, then rushes over after seeing the panicked expression on your face. 

“I…,” you’re lost for words for a minute, “I’m freaking out.” 

“Clearly,” she brushes your hair away from your face, “tell me.” 

So you tell her. About the way Jake has been slowly creeping into your orb these last couple of months, and how he never gave up on you. They way he slowly, but surely made sure you can open up to him safely, that you can trust him. And you do, which also scares you shitless. 

And the way he makes you physically feel - the comforting touches, a brush of fingers here and there, how he leans closer to hear you, to make sure you’re close and never hurt. 

“I think I like him,” you admit out loud, and that’s somehow even scarier, because now it feels real. 

“And you want to fight it,” you lay in your mom’s lap, a habit you convinced you’ll never grow out of. She brushes her delicate fingers over your cheekbone, up to your hairline and back. 

“Yeah.” 

“Because of Beau.” 

“Mhm,” your chin wobbles. 

“Honey, you’re not doing anything wrong,” she reassures you. 

“But it feels like a sin,” you cry out now, tears soaking your mom’s robe. 

“You know what is a sin? Denying yourself some fun,” she makes you sit up, facing her.

“Fun feels wrong without him,” you wipe your tears away. 

“I know, baby,” your mom nods, “but believe me when I say this - Beau wants you to have fun,” she holds your face in her hands, keeping you steady and firm. “And certainly, he doesn’t want you to live your life in constant pain.” 

“Okay,” you nod after a few minutes of silence. 

“I think you should call Jake and apologise,” she advises, and truly, she’s right. 

—-

Upstairs, you dial his number. You don’t even expect him to pick up, but he does. 

“Hey,” he says. His voice sounds gruff. 

“Can I see you?” 

He doesn’t say anything, 

“Please?” 

“Do you want me to come over?” He asks after a while. 

“Yes,” you nod frantically even though he can’t see you. 

Thirty minutes later Jake sits down on your bed. 

“I’m so sorry,” you say as soon as you close the door behind you. “I freaked out.” 

Jake furrows his eyebrows. “Why?” 

“Because I like you,” you say so fast his eyebrows flew to his hairline. “I like you,” you repeat it again slowly. 

Jake’s eyes brighten up. They’re like grass green when the sun shines on them. 

“I like spending time with you and how you managed to get me where I am today. Without you, I'm pretty sure I’d still be depressed and mad at life,” you laugh sadly. Jake’s lips also press into a sad line. 

“I freaked out because I felt as if I’m being unfair to Beau.” 

“C’mere,” Jake takes your hand and sits you down next to him. “I like you too,” he says earnestly, “but I don’t expect you to forget about him. I don’t want to replace him. You went through a very traumatic experience in which you lost someone you deeply loved. But that doesn’t make me entitled to erase him from your memory. We discussed that he lives here, remember?” He presses a hand to your heart, which beats violently. 

“Yeah,” you nod. 

“What I’m asking, though, is that if you find any courage to make me some place in your heart, please do. Because you do have a place in mine,” he takes the hand he holds and brings it to his own heart, which also beats just as rapidly as yours. 

“I'm not going anywhere,” he continues, “take your time. I’ll help however I can.” 

—-

May 

Jake plays against Briar tonight. 

It resulted in countless sleepless nights, but you made the decision to go. And maybe afterwards, try to catch Dean. 

It makes you physically sick, the adrenaline and stress, but you need it. You need to see him and make sure he’s okay. 

Because for the first time in months, you feel easier than ever. After that night with Jake, you both go step by step dictated by you. Jake understands that you need to trust and fall in love with life again, which is the hardest part of it all. 

But now it seems promising, because you’re sitting at the stands, watching with a bunch of people the hockey match. It’s a home game, so the anticipation is there and bigger. 

Your eyes immediately found Jake, as well Dean’s. They’re almost the same height and built, but even from the stands you see Dean’s striking blonde hair. 

They play well into the night, finishing when the sun just disappeared from the horizon. Harvard won, so everyone is happy except Briar. You feel your heart slightly break at that. 

You wait for Jake at the parking lot, next to his car. Bunch of people are already outside talking and waiting, but the one you’re the most eager to see is not here. 

Disappointment flows through your veins. 

Someone brushes your hair away from your face. 

You see Jake and those beautiful forest like eyes. 

“Did you know that your eyes change the depth of colour of them?” 

Jake laughs at that. “No one ever said that. But thank you for noticing.” 

“You won,” you smile slowly. You’re familiar with the feeling - Beau was always ecstatic. He demanded parties and drinks and you. 

“We won,” Jake nods and opens the trunk of the car to put his bag inside. “It feels good.” 

“I know.” 

And then you notice the little group a couple of meters away from you. You immediately notice Dean, then Logan, Garrett and Tucker, and their girls. They’re there - talking, smiling and laughing. 

Dean laughs. 

Jake follows the line of your sight. “Go on.” 

“Will you come with me?” You ask hurriedly. 

“Yeah, but I’ll stay behind.” 

That couple of steps felt like running in water. 

And then Hannah turns her head slightly and makes eye contact with you, gasping. You haven’t seen them for four months. Four long months without any updates. You felt like shit. 

“Dean?” You slowly reach out and touch his arm, but he goes rigid. 

Allie, his girlfriend gasps just like Hannah did, her eyes immediately glistening with tears. Logan, Grace, Tuck and Sabrina - all of them look surprised and somehow relieved at the same time. 

“Y/n,” Dean turns around, his green eyes wide with bewilderment. He notices the weight you lost, and how little you look with this much of a loss. He envelopes into a bear hug, keeping you close for a couple of moments. 

“I’m so sorry I didn’t call you,” you murmur your apology into his shoulder. 

“I didn’t call you either,” he says sadly. 

“Hi guys,” you greet the others with quick hugs, everyone wishing you well. 

“How are you?” You ask Dean. 

“I’ve been better,” he admits, “I made some mistakes, but I’m… I’m getting there,” he quickly glances over his shoulder at Allie, who smiles warmly at him. 

Dean then glances over your shoulder and notices Jake. His eyes bounce from him to you and again. 

“He uh..,” you point at him with your thumb over your shoulder, “helped me. A lot.” 

Dean waves Jake closer. “Hey, man.” 

“Hey. Nice game out there,” Jake says, not an ounce of sarcasm in his voice. 

“Thanks. But now I really understand your nickname lightning,” Logan adds in, “you’re a fast motherfucker.” 

Jake chuckles. 

“You’re taking care of her?” Dean asks Jake in a serious note. 

“Of course.” 

“Good, because I promised Beau I’ll look after her whenever he can’t.” 

Your breath catches. You feel Jake's hand taking yours. “I’m there to make her days more bearable.” 

“If a single hair curls wrong on her head -“ 

“Then you can beat me,” Jake finishes Dean’s threat. 

“Y/n, let’s keep in touch!” Sabrina approaches you, taking her phone out. “Give me your number.” 

“Me too!” Adds Grace, Hannah and Allie too. 

You change phone numbers with everyone, then turn back to Dean. “Update me.” 

“I will,” he promises and hugs you strongly. “We gotta go. Take care of yourself, will ya?”

“Yeah, I’m on it.” 

—-

July

Summer courses are straight from hell. Even the weather took inspiration from hell, making July the hottest month ever in America. 

You’re sweating from the moment you wake up until you fall asleep. 

It’s torture. 

Today is the Fourth of July, and Jake mentioned going to the Charles River to celebrate. 

Spending so much time with him doesn’t scare you anymore. Sure, the grief is still heavy in your heart, but you took your mom’s advice - to have fun. 

So that’s what you do. You have weekly calls and texts with the girls, as well Dean tries to call whenever his tight schedule lets him. You haven’t met personally since May, but you guys plan a big trip to Lake Tahoe at the end of July until the end of August. 

You can’t wait. 

A couple of hours later you start to get ready, softly humming the song you play from your phone. 

“Honey, Jake’s here!” Your mom shouts from downstairs. 

“Already?” You shout back, genuinely confused. Were you that late to begin with getting ready? 

“It’s okay, you still have time,” Jake invites himself inside your room. 

“What are you doing here? I thought we’re meeting at the River.” 

“Yeah, but I wanted to see you sooner,” he shrugs, trying to act nonchalant. 

“That’s sweet,” you grin at him, but a slow pink hue is creeping up your neck. 

Jake makes himself comfortable on your bed, while you continue to get ready. You opted for a white tank top and short ripped jeans, paired with sneakers. You were never one to dress up, you always prioritised being comfortable. Only to your make you added bright red lips, to which upon seeing Jake’s mesmerising green eyes instantly darkened. 

He looked good in his white shirt and black pants, but Jake looks good in anything. He’s very attractive. And smart, confident and kind. Cocky, but not too cocky. 

Funny. 

You liked funny. 

“I’m ready,” you say to break the suffocating silence. 

“You look so beautiful,” he compliments you, and presses a soft kiss to your cheek. His lips are soft and plush, a tingle spreads down your spine.

And the feeling continues when the fireworks start. Jake plants himself behind you, his strong arms hugging you from behind, his chest resting against your back, as well his chin on the top of your head. His thumb lazily strokes your side, creating goosebumps on your arms. 

Jake notices the way your breath catches, his chest rumbles with quiet laughter. 

He plants a kiss on the top of your head. “Is this okay?” 

“Yes.” 

“How are you feeling tonight?” 

“I feel… safe.” 

“Safe?” Jake asks back, because this feeling of yours is new.

You nod in agreement. “I feel safe with you.” 

Jake doesn’t say anything, but the way his arms tighten around you, hugging you firmly says a lot more. 

August 

It’s been three weeks since everyone arrived at Lake Tahoe. Garrett found a huge villa that was available for rent, and we all agreed that this is the one. 

Three weeks have passed by with constant laughter, drinking and dancing and singing, swimming in the water and taking out boats to look around. 

However, now you’re panicking, because you fell asleep beside Jake and you slept through the whole night. 

Ever since Beau passed away, you haven’t been able to sleep through the night. You were constantly woken up by nightmares, or the sheer panic of accidentally falling asleep and seeing his face kept you awake. In the last couple of months, though, the insomnia became bearable, but it was a far cry from perfect. 

And last night, after a long and boring day down the lake and sunbathing, you fell asleep next to Jake in his room. Slept through dinner. 

Jake and you both decided for separate rooms for numerous reasons, but now it seemed silly. 

Because you had the best sleep since Beau’s passing. 

You peel off Jake's heavy hand from your waist, to which he groans slightly, but doesn’t wake up. You grab your phone and slowly creep out of the room, closing the door behind you. 

Downstairs, people are having breakfast. Upon your arrival and seeing that you’re still in your bathing suit and a cover up short from yesterday, they’re shocked. 

“Did you…,” Grace starts, but doesn’t know how to finish. 

“I fell asleep yesterday,” you quickly check your phone, “around five.” 

“You slept for fifteen hours?” Logan’s eyes bulge, a piece of omelette falling from his mouth. 

“I haven’t slept through the night since…you know,” you avert your gaze, biting your lips. 

“Where’s Jake?” Garrett asks. 

“He’s… sleeping.” 

“You slept with him?” Allie asks with a hint of skepticism. 

“Not like that!” You shake your head right away. 

Dean doesn’t say anything for a while, just looks at you. Really looks. 

“You’re healing,” he murmurs softly. 

“What?” Your heart pounds violently. 

Dean gently smiles at you. “You’re healing,” he repeats himself. “You slept comfortably for the first time since last September. You found your comfort in Jake. Jake helped you heal.” 

Oh god. 

You call Joanna. You somehow caught her just before her rehearsal, so you rapidly got to the point - that you feel something for Jake, but you’re scared to act on it, because it feels like a betrayal to Beau. 

“Life unfortunately didn’t stop because Beau died. But I've been laughing so much again, and yes, I felt bad because why would I laugh when Beau can’t anymore? Why do I have the privilege to do anything? Listen to me. Jake's been there for you since the beginning. He saw the impact Beau’s loss put on your life. But you came out with the strength Jake gave you. I firmly believe Jake was sent by Beau,” you can feel her smile through the phone. ”You shouldn’t feel bad for moving on. This is your life. You decide what breaks you or makes you, but we both know Beau wants the absolute best for you. He wants you to keep going. Keep being the girl he fell in love with. Keep being funny and laugh as much as you want, because I know Beau is smiling from up there. You never lost him, because he lives inside of you. As he does live inside of us. We carry his legacy, but we fulfill his wish - to carry on. To live as loudly as you can. Fall in love again. Jake is your angel. Let him in.” 

Jake finds you later that night behind the boat house. The sun is setting, but it’s still warm outside, and the lake is still loud with the whirring sounds of the boats. 

“You’ve been very quiet the whole day,” he grunts as he sits down, his knee touching yours. 

“I had a phone call with Joanna.” 

“Is something wrong?” He asked with a worried tone. 

“No,” you turn to face him, those beautiful green eyes that shine like stars, “everything is fine.” 

“Okay,” he smiles softly. 

“She said that you were sent by Beau.” 

“Oh?” 

“And I believe that.” 

“How come?” 

“Because I believe in faith,” your chin quivers. “And I believe that your place is in my heart.” 

Jake’s breath catches, his shoulders going rigid, but drops a second later. “Look at me,” he takes your chin by his thumb and index finger, elevating your head to meet his eyes. 

“Will you let me love you?” Jake asks sincerely, his gaze moving slowly across your face, taking in, like he wants to memorise every single micro expression on your face. 

“I’m scared to love you,” you admit and a tear glides down your cheek. 

He knows why. 

He wipes your tears away. 

“I’ll love you for the both of us.” 

A blue butterfly lands on your arm. 

————————————————————————

First came the heavy denial. Of course it did—because how could your brain ever comprehend that the love of your life was gone? How do you accept that the one person who could pull down the stars for you no longer breathes? How do you face reality when your entire world has just flipped upside down?

Maybe it wasn’t even denial. Maybe it was pure, unadulterated numbness. Numb to the world, numb to yourself, numb to everything. Your mind malfunctioned, looping a single, devastating reality over and over again - Beau is no longer walking the earth.

He died on impact. He didn’t suffer.

But you, his family, and his friends are left behind to suffer the aftermath.

Now, the anger sets in. Violent, suffocating anger at the universe. Anger at fate—because you truly believed you’d marry him. You were going to be his wife. His forever.

That was the plan.

You had mapped out life after college, planning how your careers would start, how you’d manage the distance when he was traveling for games. Beau was talented enough to secure a spot in the NFL. That was Beau Maxwell - a natural born winner. And you felt like a winner, too, simply because you had the privilege to call him yours.

Had.

Because Beau isn’t here anymore.

You feel a burning rage at the loss of him, furious that he left you, immediately followed by a wave of crushing guilt because you know it wasn't his fault. You direct your anger at the world for stealing your happiness, your purpose, your future. Beau is dead, and a piece of you died in that crash right alongside him.

Everyone is falling apart.

Dean has been spiraling. He and Beau were best friends, bound by years of late night talks and shared memories. Allie has been doing everything she can to take care of him, but she’s breaking, too. Hell, everyone is breaking. Garrett, Logan, Tucker, Beau’s teammates—the loss is taking a devastating toll on them all.

You don’t even remember the memorial. You only recall Joanna intertwining her fingers with yours, squeezing until your knuckles went white. You remember the sorrowful eyes directed your way and the silent tears tracking down your cheeks, soaking into your collar because you didn't have the strength to wipe them away. You remember vague hugs, but no faces.

And you certainly don’t remember seeing Dean—only Allie.

A week later, you’re still spiraling. Your brain has switched to autopilot, dragging you through life like a ghost, attending classes and returning home to a quiet, suffocating apartment. Your tears have dried out like a desert, leaving you staring into the void, wishing for the pain to fade.

It doesn't. Everything in the apartment speaks his name.

Your wardrobe is filled with the clothes he kept there for weekends. They still smell like his cologne—that warm, comforting blend uniquely Beau. The walls are lined with photos - his stupidly handsome smile, the two of you laughing through holidays, family visits, and moments after foolish arguments. You remember sleeping on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat...

And then the tears spill over again, because you’ll never hear it beat again.

Sleep won't come because your dreams are haunted by him—his smile, his quick remarks, his laugh, his touch, his everything. 

The rage surges back. Why did this happen? Why was his time limited?

You trash the place. You shatter plates and mugs against the floor, letting the anger bleed out, but you never touch the pictures. You never touch his clothes. You physically can't. To touch them is to remember the weight of his living, muscular body beneath the soft cotton. To touch them is to breathe in the scent that used to make you feel safe, only to be reminded that you aren't anymore.

You haven’t slept in your bedroom for days. The sheets still hold his shape. 

You can’t live here anymore.

“Hi,” you greet Garrett when he opens the door to the guy's place after another gruelling week of existing silently alone. “Is Dean home?”

“Hi,” he answers softly. His gray eyes hold a heavy blend of caution and restraint. “He is,” he steps back to let you in.

You haven’t seen Dean since the news broke. It was a conscious choice - you knew seeing him would trigger a flood of memories you couldn't survive. You had to take a pill just to keep your hands from shaking on the walk over.

“Uh, how are you holding up?” Garrett asks as he leads you into the spacious living room.

“What do you think?” you reply with the faint ghost of a smile.

Logan and Tucker are hovering near the kitchen. Moments later, Dean slowly emerges from his room, looking every bit as wrecked as you feel.

“Hey,” he mutters. His green eyes are dull, but a flicker of awareness crosses his face as if realizing, for the first time, that he isn't the only one suffocating under the weight of this grief.

“I came to say goodbye,” you blurt out, needing to say it before your courage evaporates.

“What?” Dean looks at you, startled.

“I... I’ve been emailing back and forth with Harvard,” you say, your voice tight. “I’m finishing my degree there.”

Silence falls over the room, heavy and absolute.

Dean stares at you, stunned. “How did you manage a transfer this late?”

“They accepted most of my Briar credits. I just have to take a few summer courses to stay on track to graduate,” you explain softly.

“Why are you doing this?” Dean asks, his voice cracking.

“Because I can’t stay here,” your chin wobbles, the tears threatening to spill over. “Every corner reminds me of him. I can’t function. I talked to his parents, and mine—they understand.”

Dean closes his eyes for a long moment, then gives a slow, wry nod. “I do, too.”

“Us too,” Logan adds quietly from the kitchen.

“I’m moving out at the end of the week. I’ll start at Harvard after the break.”

Dean takes a step forward. A shaky breath leaves your lips as he pulls you into a tight, grounding hug.

“Thank you for everything,” he whispers into your hair.

You cling to him, burying your face in his shoulder as a fresh wave of tears breaks through, your shoulders shaking with every ragged breath.

BARGAINING 

A few months later 

Harvard smells like old money and IQ fights. To an extent, you miss Briar, where arrogance was never quite this suffocating.

Whatever. There’s no turning back now.

You spent your entire break last year packing up your life and moving back into your parents' house. It happened right after another complete breakdown—the kind that dropped you to your knees because you finally had to fold away Beau’s clothes. Clothes you could no longer bear to see. Clothes that held the phantom warmth of a lifetime of memories.

“Eat, sweetheart,” your mom says softly, setting a plate down on the dining table in front of you.

“I’m not hungry,” you whisper, staring blankly at the food.

“You’ve barely eaten a thing these past few weeks,” your dad adds, his voice thick with concern as he urges you to take just a few bites.

“I need to catch the bus,” you say, pushing yourself up from the chair, desperate to escape the suffocating weight of their worry.

They don’t push any further, but your mom quietly packs a lunch for you anyway, just like she used to when you were in middle school.

You haven’t made any friends here. To be honest, that isn't even the goal—you just want to get your degree and get the hell out of Cambridge. A few of your classmates occasionally invite you out, purely out of polite pity, but you always decline. You know they don't actually care, and you don't have the energy to fake it.

The coursework, at least, is good. It’s significantly stricter than Briar, but it’s Harvard—you can handle it. In a twisted way, you’re grateful for the mountain of homework and endless papers. The relentless workload is the only thing keeping your mind from drifting back to the dark.

You’re surviving. Barely.

Because you haven’t slept properly in weeks, your nervous system is operating on pure survival mode.

You realize you haven’t felt angry in a while. Somewhere during the break, the burning rage simply burned out, leaving behind a vast, empty void. You spent hours texting Joanna, and you called Beau’s parents to check on them.

“Sweetheart, you need to take care of yourself,” Beau’s mom had pleaded gently over the phone, her voice cracking. “It hurts me too, more than words can say. But Beau wouldn’t want you trapped in this dark place for eternity.”

Eternity is exactly what it feels like.

For a while, you punished yourself just for breathing. How could you continue living your life when Beau’s was cut short? You spent whole nights screaming into your pillow, sobbing until your ribs ached, tearing yourself apart over how unfair it all was. Your parents had slept in your room that night, wrapping their arms around you just like they did when you were five and terrified of nightmares.

Except now, your whole life is a nightmare.

Stepping through the heavy doors of the lecture hall, you make a beeline for the very back row. You want to remain invisible, tucked safely away from small talk and sympathetic glances.

It’s a solid strategy, except for Jake Connelly.

Somehow, the guy always manages to find you. In the short time you’ve been at Harvard, he has sat next to you in almost every single class. He always glides in at the very last second before the professor starts speaking, and by then, the only open seat in the packed room is the one beside you.

Today is no exception.

“Hi,” he greets you, offering a blinding, wide smile—the kind with perfectly straight teeth that looks like it belongs in a toothpaste commercial.

You offer a faint nod, same as always. You don’t have the emotional currency to socialize, let alone pretend to be friendly.

You just feel hollow.

“How was your paper?” Jake asks politely, attempting to strike up a lowkey conversation as he pulls out his notebook.

“Fine,” you shrug, your eyes fixed strictly ahead, refusing to meet his gaze.

Sensibly, he takes the hint and doesn't try again, letting the heavy silence settle back over you as the lecture begins.

—-

He tried again. And again. And again.

“Do you understand the connection between these two?”

“Can you explain this diagram?”

“When are these papers due, again?”

“Wait, do we actually have class tomorrow?”

They were questions he could easily ask the professor, or find with a two second search on the course portal. Questions a golden child student like Jake Connelly shouldn’t even need to ask, but for some reason, he kept asking you.

You replied in blunt, one worded answers, but in true Jake Connelly fashion, he refused to take the hint.

You didn’t even know who he really was. You didn’t want to know, because none of it mattered anymore, but it seemed your cold silence wasn't the deterrent you intended. To him, it was practically an invitation.

The dynamic shifted one evening when Mr. Bailey introduced a massive new semester project.

“You’ll be paired up with the person sitting right next to you,” the professor announced with a careless shrug, clearly too indifferent to devise a proper arrangement.

Your eye twitched. Out of the corner of your vision, you saw Jake smirking.

Oh boy.

—-

Nightmares didn't come in the shape of monsters. They came in the shape of baby blue eyes and dark brown hair.

They came with phantom hugs and soft kisses that used to make your knees weak, forcing you to hold onto him just to stay upright. They came with the memory of smiles and laughs that used to send a rush of butterflies fluttering through your stomach. They came in warm touches and quiet moans, feeling so ecstatic that your toes curled under the sheets.

They came with the solemn promise of a forever you would never get to live.

You woke up with dried tear tracks itching on your cheeks, your eyes swollen and red. You were so disoriented you didn't even realize you were running late to class.

You got ready on pure autopilot, your mind a thousand miles away.

What if... what if it had been you? What if you had been the one to take the impact and break your neck? What if Beau was the one left behind, forced to navigate a life without you in it? What would he do? Would he be braver than you, able to pull on a mask and carry on with his days? Or would he be completely lost, suffocating under the weight of missing you?

What about your families? Would they be drowning in the exact same depths of sorrow?

And what if Beau had never gotten into that car? What if he had been driving, and it was his dad who died instead? Could Beau have handled the crushing guilt of knowing he survived? Would he be spiraling into a dark abyss, drowning his pain drinking alcohol, snorting coke, and swallowing MDMA the way Dean did?

What if none of it had ever happened?

You’d still be yourself. Living with Beau, attending classes back at Briar, going to noisy parties, and falling asleep tangled in the arms of the love of your life. The promise of the future would still be real.

There would still be a future.

Your tears hadn’t even dried by the time you sank into your seat in class.

You didn’t care about the pitying stares or the sorrowful glances from the people around you. You didn’t care that your dad had called you three times before class, softly reminding you that it was okay to skip today and just stay home. Hell, he was even ready to call out of work—and that was huge, considering he was a complete workaholic.

You were visibly wasting away, and everyone could see it.

Jake was no exception.

Today, his usual confident, arrogant facade crumpled entirely. His deep, forest like eyes were flooded with genuine concern. He desperately wanted to help—you could see the internal debate playing out across his sharp features—but he clearly had no idea how. Asking what was wrong felt meaningless, he knew you wouldn't tell him. He understood, without you ever having to say a word, that you were carrying a weight so crushing that even you couldn't lift it.

So he did something simple. Something almost pathetic for a guy like him, but he was running out of options and desperate to help you.

Because for some unknown reason, Jake really, really wanted to help you.

He reached into his backpack, bypassing his neatly packed lunch, and pulled out a protein bar—the one meant to be his prepractice snack.

He slid it softly across the wood desk, stopping right in front of your hands.

When you slowly turned your head to look at him, a faint, puzzled expression filling the saddest—yet most striking—eyes he had ever seen, he leaned in and whispered softly.

“I don’t really do chocolate, but it’s sweet. And sweet stuff always helps.”

It was so boyish. So earnest.

Despite the endless weight in your chest, you couldn't stop it—a tiny, crooked smile flickered across your lips for the very first time since Beau died.

DEPRESSION 

A month has passed. Another month of slowly realising that Beau is never coming back, and the weight of it holds you down like it wants to choke you. 

You hadn’t returned the calls from Joanna. You haven’t called Dean once since moving away, although you both promised to catch up with each other. 

You received numerous worried messages from the parents, who later called your parents to know how you are holding up. 

They talked for hours, filling in on them about your achievements in school, but also saying that you’re clearly depressed. 

You don’t have an appetite anymore, losing so much weight your cheeks are hollow. 

Some days the depressive episode hits so hard you can’t even get up from the bed to brush your teeth, or even your hair. Your hair is so tangled, you lost half of it. 

Showering becomes another task to accomplish, which you fail consistently. 

You skipped school for a medical emergency, or at least that’s what your mom said to the dean. 

Jake’s been spiralling. His performance in hockey has declined. 

“What’s with you?” His teammate, Brooks asks him as he slides up next to him on the ice. 

“Nothing,” he tries to shrug him off. 

“Nothing seems finer than you,” Brooks snorts. 

They don’t say anything until they reach the changing room. 

“I’m worried about the new girl,” Jake admits, his voice low, because he doesn’t want the others to hear him. 

“The one who transferred from Briar?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Tough luck, bro. She was Beau Maxwell’s girlfriend.” 

Jake’s face pales. “The quarterback at Briar who died in a car crash?” 

His death was in the news. 

“Yeah. His pal, Dean Di Laurentis, was also a wreck,” says Brooks as he takes off his skates. 

“Shit,” Jake curses. 

“The girl’s clearly depressed. They were together for years and now she’s mourning someone she thought she’d spend the rest of her life with.” 

It hurts more now. 

“That’s why she transferred?” 

His friend nods. “I heard she couldn’t bear attending at a uni where Beau's memory lingers.”

“She needed a clear slate.”

“Well, she’s not doing alright, now does she?” They stand under the hot water, washing away the sweaty remains of practice. 

No, she’s clearly not doing okay. The girl’s only twenty two, considered such a young age to mourn the loss of her love. She clearly loved him deeply and now she’s ready to waste away. 

Jake’s heart’s sore. 

“I want to help her,” he blurts out. 

“Does she want help, tho?” 

“Probably not,” agrees Jake, “but she needs someone to be there for her.” 

“She probably won’t accept your help.” 

“Probably. That’s why I’m not gonna say anything. Just do it.” 

—-

You used to love taking walks across campus, crossing the little wooden bridge that led to the park just outside the school. It was a place frequented by students lounging between classes and elderly couples strolling hand in hand. You loved sitting in one of the central gazebos, the wooden steps crack beneath your weight.

You hadn’t been outside your house in so long that you’d completely lost track of time. But the chill in the air remained, so maybe you hadn't lost as much of it as you thought.

Your mom and dad had insisted on taking a walk here. Your dad walked on your right, your mom on your left. They talked about everything and nothing all at once—complimenting the park's quiet beauty, calling a passing elderly couple cute, and inventing playful backstories for strangers. They complained about work and the grueling hours spent dealing with dumb people, all in a desperate attempt to coax a small smile out of you.

None of it worked, but at least they seemed relieved that you were finally willing to step outside.

You felt a sharp pang of guilt for making them worry so much. You had tried to apologize one afternoon, but your mom just shushed you gently, telling you it was their job to worry and act a little overprotective. Still, it was as clear as day - they wanted their daughter back.

They mourned the old you.

The happy you.

The content you.

They missed hearing you talk nonsense and laughing so loudly the walls resonated. You were the main purpose of their lives, but every day they prayed for you to find your own purpose again.

Stopping on the crest of the bridge, you paused to admire the park bathed in the warm, golden light of the sunset. Caught in your thoughts, you didn't notice your parents turning their attention to someone behind you.

“Hey.”

You jumped, startled, just Jake was introducing himself to your parents. 

His eyes were the exact shade of the forest surrounding the park.

“Hi,” you greeted him, your voice cracked and weak.

“I was just taking a walk. Mind if I join you?” He looked straight at you. Your parents stood by, looking slightly dumbfounded, waiting on your cue.

You gave a soft shrug. “I guess.”

Jake then proceeded to talk all the way through the walk. He said he plays hockey, which made your heart skip a beat, because it reminded you of Dean, back in Briar.

He wants to play professionally, but first he wants to graduate and then move up to the big leagues. Your dad immediately jumps in and asks some hockey related questions, because as much as your dad loved football, he often watched hockey too. 

Jake admits he’s an only child, spoiled by his parents, but clearly doesn’t mean it, because Jake Connelly is a down to earth kinda guy. 

“Y/n’s too,” your mom adds, “she desperately wanted a little brother when she was younger.” 

“Why a brother?” Jake asks, looking at you. He wants to hear your voice. 

“Because a brother wouldn't steal my clothes,” you say quietly, not really expecting to see Jake laugh, and your parents eyes move softly between the two of you. 

Jake proceeds to talk your parents' ears off. Yours too, but you tuned him out halfway through the walk. 

Because he reminds you of Beau. He never knew when to shut up or how. You were convinced he came out talking from the womb to which he laughed and kissed you, saying that you clearly came out spitting facts and jokes left and right from the womb. 

He wasn’t wrong in the slightest. You loved joking. You joked more than Beau, which was a surprise to him and his friends, because it was a well known fact that Beau Maxwell breathed in and out jokes. 

And now Jake’s making your parents laugh. 

“I want to go home,” you say sternly than expected, making them turn around to face you with slight frowns. 

“Okay, we’re going,” your mom reassures you with an easy smile, but it’s clear that she doesn’t want to go. Neither is your dad, because you haven’t seen them smile so bright for months since you moved back home.

“You can stay. I’ll go.” 

“Nonsense. We came together, we go together.” 

“I can walk you home,” Jake interrupts, his green eyes somehow brighter in hope you’ll say yes. 

“No,” you shake your head instead. “I’ll see you in class.” 

You turn your back at them and start your walk home. 

—-

You don’t remember how you managed to wake up and get ready for class. But you clearly don’t remember packing lunch, and now your stomach growls so loud you get a couple of stares. 

After class, you stumble upon the vending machine for a sandwich, but a brick wall of muscles stops you abruptly. Looking up, you see those striking green eyes boring into yours. 

“Eat lunch with me,” Jake demands softly. 

“I’m trying to buy a sandwich,” you point a finger at the machine. 

“Don’t. Those aren’t fresh,” he grimaces. “I made you lunch.” 

“You…what?” You’re truly speechless. Why would he…? 

“It’s not too much, just grilled chicken with veggies and rice.” 

“Is that one of your boring hockey meals?” You cross your arms over your chest. 

“They’re not boring,” Jake protests, “they’re just… not that varied.” 

“It means boring.” 

Jake’s lips stretch out in a slow smirk. “It’s boring.” 

Jake can’t cook. The chicken is dry as sand and the veggies are burnt and soggy, but at least the rice is good. However, you eat it anyway, because somehow Jake managed to make your heart beat normally. 

For once, he’s quiet. He doesn’t say a word while you eat. 

“Why are you doing this?” Your voice is low and uncertain as you sheepishly look up at him. 

Today, his eyes are darker, like a forest at dawn. 

“What?” He acts dumb. 

“Talking to me. Making small talk with my parents and making them laugh. Bringing me lunch. What’s your goal?” You count on your fingers what he did to you, but somehow your voice lacks the bite you hoped you could show him.

“I don’t have a goal,” he denies.

“You clearly do.” 

“I just… I want to help,” he admits but his voice remains confident.

“I don’t want your help.” 

“I know,” he shrugs and takes a bite out of his food. 

“Then why do you bother?” You pick on the food with your fork. Suddenly your appetite evaporated like mist. 

“Because for some reason, I care.” You furrow your eyebrows at that.

“You don’t even know me.” 

“I want to know you,” he looks deeply into your eyes. 

“Don’t bother.” 

Because when someone had the time to know you, they died. 

—-

Another gruelling month has passed, but this time, it was faster due to Jake. He made sure to make a calendar for the both of you consisting of free periods where you could work on your joint project for Mr.Bailey. 

You didn’t even ask, Connelly just did it. You figured he was a calendar addicted guy. 

You didn’t want to admit it, but it was a good idea. The physical toll this past month has put on you meant that your brain was so foggy, you couldn’t even think straight. A considerable amount of sleepless nights made your limbs heavy, often falling asleep in class, and having Jake to make notes for you too. 

He did, without a word. And that proved that he wasn’t a quitter. 

You sit in silence at the library, trying to come up with ideas for the project, but to be honest, you just sit and stare emptily at the table. 

“I lost my boyfriend due to a car crash.” 

You don’t even know how the words come stumbling across your mouth, but they’re out before you realise. 

Jake freezes, whatever he was writing, he doesn’t finish it. He slowly turns to face you, his face neutral, but somehow soft and gentle. 

“He died on impact,” a tear slides aggressively down your cheek. “Do you uh.. do you know Dean? Di Laurentis? They were best friends,” you laugh, but the sound comes out empty. “I promised Dean that I’ll call him,” you turn to face Jake, tear soaked cheeks and red eyes, “but I never did.” 

“Do you want to?” Jake asks, leaning a little bit closer to you. 

“I do. But I’m so afraid, because he’ll trigger memories I desperately want to forget,” and now you cry, the broken sobs shaking your entire being. 

“Why do you want to forget?” 

“‘Cuz it’s easier, isn’t it? Then facing the fact that he’s no longer here.” 

“But he lives,” Jake reaches out a tentative hand, and slowly, he taps your heart gently, “here.” 

Jake wipes your tears away, his thumb calloused. 

“You’re the first person I’ve ever told this,” you admit with a shaky whisper. 

Jake smiles warmly. “I knew you'd warm up to me.” 

You breathe out a little laugh. 

It was the most beautiful sound Jake has ever heard. 

“Did you uhm.. regret transferring?” 

“No.” 

—-

ACCEPTANCE 

Ever since confessing to Jake, it felt like a weight has been lifted from your shoulders. The bad days still surfaced, lingered, but now, it seemed your days were headed toward another direction. 

Content. 

Neither happy nor sad. Just truly existing. 

You started to eat more. Your cheeks and thighs filled out with time, making your parents sigh in relief. 

You returned the calls from Joanna and her parents, and they were also relieved to hear the ease in your voice. You still talked only a few words, but it was more than enough. 

Your sleep schedule was still on the rocks, but you managed to sleep more than three hours a night. The purple circles lightened, but haven’t disappeared yet. 

You started to take walks again around the park. Sometimes alone, but other times Jake accompanied you, whenever his hockey schedule let him. 

When you said you wanted to talk with Dean, Jake admitted that they’re going to play against them soon. You haven’t said anything, because you haven’t found the strength within you to face them again. 

You let Jake ask questions about you. He asked about your interests, what are your plans after graduating, and what do you like to do in your free time. Such harmless questions, but somehow they still made you squirm. 

Jake was trying to be your friend. 

You really needed a friend. 

“Would you like something to eat?” This was one of his favourite things to ask. 

“I ate dinner at home,” you reply. 

Tonight, you meet at his place to finish up your coursework. You’ve been alternating between the library, your house and his. 

You’ve met his parents briefly, but you got so shy you blushed and haven’t had the courage to talk with them. They weren’t intimidating, no - Phil and Kerri were the nicest people. 

But so are Beau’s. And you couldn’t help, but compare the two, and made your brain go numb. 

Fortunately, Jake saw your face and immediately jumped in, and later you apologised for acting so strange. They assured you you were perfectly fine. 

“Can we hurry up and finish? I feel so tired,” you yawn. 

“You haven’t slept well?” Jake asks worriedly. 

“Not really. I was up until two am.” 

“Are you okay?” He asks, sliding into the seat next to you, his broad shoulders brushing against yours. 

The thing is with him - he subtly tries to touch you whenever he can. He never made you feel uneasy, rather endearing how he makes sure you’re okay with it. Like right now, as his strikingly green eyes look down where you two are touching, then gazes back at you with a little smile. 

You lean into it, and he lets out a sigh. 

“I’m okay. I just couldn’t sleep,” you shrug. 

“You’ve been looking fuller with life lately,” he rasps, his eyes raking over your face slowly, like he’s trying to memorise every single detail. 

“I feel lighter,” you admit with a little smile. 

“Good,” Jake smiles too, his whole face lighting up like he’s not even from this world. 

An hour later, you both finish the coursework, and submit it as well online. It wasn’t as hard as you imagined it would be, but it still feels good to be over with. 

“You take summer classes?” Jake asks at one point. 

“Yeah, I have to in order to graduate on time. Fortunately it won’t be too much that is required,” you explain as you pack your bag. 

“Hey uhm…,” he swallows, “would you like to go to a party tomorrow?” 

The invite catches you off guard. “I don’t know.”

“There’ll only be me and some of my teammates and their girlfriends.”

“So more like a get together?”

“Yeah,” Jake nods. Then he suddenly looks more serious, his sharp features like stone. “I really want you to come.” 

—-

You haven’t realised how much you miss socialising. The mourning and grief that swallowed you whole and that became your new reality. But sitting beside Jake right now as his long and muscular arm is thrown around your shoulders on the couch, facing a couple of his teammates and some of their girlfriends, you realise how fun it is to meet new people. 

They’re fun. They accepted your handshake with a bright smile and a warm welcome. The girls complimented you to the point your ears are now on fire. Meanwhile Jake cannot wipe the smile off of his face even if he tried.

Though, you don’t feel like drinking and you’re sure you won't stay long, but a win is a win, right? 

“How are you?” Jake taps your shoulder with his fingers, trying to get your attention. 

“I feel good,” you smile up at him. 

“I’m glad you came,” he whispers into your ear, and that causes some trouble sending a shiver down your spine. 

Because why do you suddenly react to Jake like that? No, you don’t want to think about that. 

It simply is not happening. 

Because it’s Beau who you should think about. Not Jake. 

Noticing the sheer change about you, he sits up straighter. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“I uh.. is it okay if I go?” You bit your lip, embarrassed that suddenly you need an out. 

Jake is not happy - his eyes fell to the ground. 

“I’m sorry,” you murmur and slowly stand up, making your way to the others and apologise for the early departing. 

—-

“Mom?” You shout into the quiet house, desperately hoping they’re not fast asleep downstairs. 

“Sweetie? What is it?” She comes barrelling out, tying her robe around your waist, then rushes over after seeing the panicked expression on your face. 

“I…,” you’re lost for words for a minute, “I’m freaking out.” 

“Clearly,” she brushes your hair away from your face, “tell me.” 

So you tell her. About the way Jake has been slowly creeping into your orb these last couple of months, and how he never gave up on you. They way he slowly, but surely made sure you can open up to him safely, that you can trust him. And you do, which also scares you shitless. 

And the way he makes you physically feel - the comforting touches, a brush of fingers here and there, how he leans closer to hear you, to make sure you’re close and never hurt. 

“I think I like him,” you admit out loud, and that’s somehow even scarier, because now it feels real. 

“And you want to fight it,” you lay in your mom’s lap, a habit you convinced you’ll never grow out of. She brushes her delicate fingers over your cheekbone, up to your hairline and back. 

“Yeah.” 

“Because of Beau.” 

“Mhm,” your chin wobbles. 

“Honey, you’re not doing anything wrong,” she reassures you. 

“But it feels like a sin,” you cry out now, tears soaking your mom’s robe. 

“You know what is a sin? Denying yourself some fun,” she makes you sit up, facing her.

“Fun feels wrong without him,” you wipe your tears away. 

“I know, baby,” your mom nods, “but believe me when I say this - Beau wants you to have fun,” she holds your face in her hands, keeping you steady and firm. “And certainly, he doesn’t want you to live your life in constant pain.” 

“Okay,” you nod after a few minutes of silence. 

“I think you should call Jake and apologise,” she advises, and truly, she’s right. 

—-

Upstairs, you dial his number. You don’t even expect him to pick up, but he does. 

“Hey,” he says. His voice sounds gruff. 

“Can I see you?” 

He doesn’t say anything, 

“Please?” 

“Do you want me to come over?” He asks after a while. 

“Yes,” you nod frantically even though he can’t see you. 

Thirty minutes later Jake sits down on your bed. 

“I’m so sorry,” you say as soon as you close the door behind you. “I freaked out.” 

Jake furrows his eyebrows. “Why?” 

“Because I like you,” you say so fast his eyebrows flew to his hairline. “I like you,” you repeat it again slowly. 

Jake’s eyes brighten up. They’re like grass green when the sun shines on them. 

“I like spending time with you and how you managed to get me where I am today. Without you, I'm pretty sure I’d still be depressed and mad at life,” you laugh sadly. Jake’s lips also press into a sad line. 

“I freaked out because I felt as if I’m being unfair to Beau.” 

“C’mere,” Jake takes your hand and sits you down next to him. “I like you too,” he says earnestly, “but I don’t expect you to forget about him. I don’t want to replace him. You went through a very traumatic experience in which you lost someone you deeply loved. But that doesn’t make me entitled to erase him from your memory. We discussed that he lives here, remember?” He presses a hand to your heart, which beats violently. 

“Yeah,” you nod. 

“What I’m asking, though, is that if you find any courage to make me some place in your heart, please do. Because you do have a place in mine,” he takes the hand he holds and brings it to his own heart, which also beats just as rapidly as yours. 

“I'm not going anywhere,” he continues, “take your time. I’ll help however I can.” 

—-

May 

Jake plays against Briar tonight. 

It resulted in countless sleepless nights, but you made the decision to go. And maybe afterwards, try to catch Dean. 

It makes you physically sick, the adrenaline and stress, but you need it. You need to see him and make sure he’s okay. 

Because for the first time in months, you feel easier than ever. After that night with Jake, you both go step by step dictated by you. Jake understands that you need to trust and fall in love with life again, which is the hardest part of it all. 

But now it seems promising, because you’re sitting at the stands, watching with a bunch of people the hockey match. It’s a home game, so the anticipation is there and bigger. 

Your eyes immediately found Jake, as well Dean’s. They’re almost the same height and built, but even from the stands you see Dean’s striking blonde hair. 

They play well into the night, finishing when the sun just disappeared from the horizon. Harvard won, so everyone is happy except Briar. You feel your heart slightly break at that. 

You wait for Jake at the parking lot, next to his car. Bunch of people are already outside talking and waiting, but the one you’re the most eager to see is not here. 

Disappointment flows through your veins. 

Someone brushes your hair away from your face. 

You see Jake and those beautiful forest like eyes. 

“Did you know that your eyes change the depth of colour of them?” 

Jake laughs at that. “No one ever said that. But thank you for noticing.” 

“You won,” you smile slowly. You’re familiar with the feeling - Beau was always ecstatic. He demanded parties and drinks and you. 

“We won,” Jake nods and opens the trunk of the car to put his bag inside. “It feels good.” 

“I know.” 

And then you notice the little group a couple of meters away from you. You immediately notice Dean, then Logan, Garrett and Tucker, and their girls. They’re there - talking, smiling and laughing. 

Dean laughs. 

Jake follows the line of your sight. “Go on.” 

“Will you come with me?” You ask hurriedly. 

“Yeah, but I’ll stay behind.” 

That couple of steps felt like running in water. 

And then Hannah turns her head slightly and makes eye contact with you, gasping. You haven’t seen them for four months. Four long months without any updates. You felt like shit. 

“Dean?” You slowly reach out and touch his arm, but he goes rigid. 

Allie, his girlfriend gasps just like Hannah did, her eyes immediately glistening with tears. Logan, Grace, Tuck and Sabrina - all of them look surprised and somehow relieved at the same time. 

“Y/n,” Dean turns around, his green eyes wide with bewilderment. He notices the weight you lost, and how little you look with this much of a loss. He envelopes into a bear hug, keeping you close for a couple of moments. 

“I’m so sorry I didn’t call you,” you murmur your apology into his shoulder. 

“I didn’t call you either,” he says sadly. 

“Hi guys,” you greet the others with quick hugs, everyone wishing you well. 

“How are you?” You ask Dean. 

“I’ve been better,” he admits, “I made some mistakes, but I’m… I’m getting there,” he quickly glances over his shoulder at Allie, who smiles warmly at him. 

Dean then glances over your shoulder and notices Jake. His eyes bounce from him to you and again. 

“He uh..,” you point at him with your thumb over your shoulder, “helped me. A lot.” 

Dean waves Jake closer. “Hey, man.” 

“Hey. Nice game out there,” Jake says, not an ounce of sarcasm in his voice. 

“Thanks. But now I really understand your nickname lightning,” Logan adds in, “you’re a fast motherfucker.” 

Jake chuckles. 

“You’re taking care of her?” Dean asks Jake in a serious note. 

“Of course.” 

“Good, because I promised Beau I’ll look after her whenever he can’t.” 

Your breath catches. You feel Jake's hand taking yours. “I’m there to make her days more bearable.” 

“If a single hair curls wrong on her head -“ 

“Then you can beat me,” Jake finishes Dean’s threat. 

“Y/n, let’s keep in touch!” Sabrina approaches you, taking her phone out. “Give me your number.” 

“Me too!” Adds Grace, Hannah and Allie too. 

You change phone numbers with everyone, then turn back to Dean. “Update me.” 

“I will,” he promises and hugs you strongly. “We gotta go. Take care of yourself, will ya?”

“Yeah, I’m on it.” 

—-

July

Summer courses are straight from hell. Even the weather took inspiration from hell, making July the hottest month ever in America. 

You’re sweating from the moment you wake up until you fall asleep. 

It’s torture. 

Today is the Fourth of July, and Jake mentioned going to the Charles River to celebrate. 

Spending so much time with him doesn’t scare you anymore. Sure, the grief is still heavy in your heart, but you took your mom’s advice - to have fun. 

So that’s what you do. You have weekly calls and texts with the girls, as well Dean tries to call whenever his tight schedule lets him. You haven’t met personally since May, but you guys plan a big trip to Lake Tahoe at the end of July until the end of August. 

You can’t wait. 

A couple of hours later you start to get ready, softly humming the song you play from your phone. 

“Honey, Jake’s here!” Your mom shouts from downstairs. 

“Already?” You shout back, genuinely confused. Were you that late to begin with getting ready? 

“It’s okay, you still have time,” Jake invites himself inside your room. 

“What are you doing here? I thought we’re meeting at the River.” 

“Yeah, but I wanted to see you sooner,” he shrugs, trying to act nonchalant. 

“That’s sweet,” you grin at him, but a slow pink hue is creeping up your neck. 

Jake makes himself comfortable on your bed, while you continue to get ready. You opted for a white tank top and short ripped jeans, paired with sneakers. You were never one to dress up, you always prioritised being comfortable. Only to your make you added bright red lips, to which upon seeing Jake’s mesmerising green eyes instantly darkened. 

He looked good in his white shirt and black pants, but Jake looks good in anything. He’s very attractive. And smart, confident and kind. Cocky, but not too cocky. 

Funny. 

You liked funny. 

“I’m ready,” you say to break the suffocating silence. 

“You look so beautiful,” he compliments you, and presses a soft kiss to your cheek. His lips are soft and plush, a tingle spreads down your spine.

And the feeling continues when the fireworks start. Jake plants himself behind you, his strong arms hugging you from behind, his chest resting against your back, as well his chin on the top of your head. His thumb lazily strokes your side, creating goosebumps on your arms. 

Jake notices the way your breath catches, his chest rumbles with quiet laughter. 

He plants a kiss on the top of your head. “Is this okay?” 

“Yes.” 

“How are you feeling tonight?” 

“I feel… safe.” 

“Safe?” Jake asks back, because this feeling of yours is new.

You nod in agreement. “I feel safe with you.” 

Jake doesn’t say anything, but the way his arms tighten around you, hugging you firmly says a lot more. 

August 

It’s been three weeks since everyone arrived at Lake Tahoe. Garrett found a huge villa that was available for rent, and we all agreed that this is the one. 

Three weeks have passed by with constant laughter, drinking and dancing and singing, swimming in the water and taking out boats to look around. 

However, now you’re panicking, because you fell asleep beside Jake and you slept through the whole night. 

Ever since Beau passed away, you haven’t been able to sleep through the night. You were constantly woken up by nightmares, or the sheer panic of accidentally falling asleep and seeing his face kept you awake. In the last couple of months, though, the insomnia became bearable, but it was a far cry from perfect. 

And last night, after a long and boring day down the lake and sunbathing, you fell asleep next to Jake in his room. Slept through dinner. 

Jake and you both decided for separate rooms for numerous reasons, but now it seemed silly. 

Because you had the best sleep since Beau’s passing. 

You peel off Jake's heavy hand from your waist, to which he groans slightly, but doesn’t wake up. You grab your phone and slowly creep out of the room, closing the door behind you. 

Downstairs, people are having breakfast. Upon your arrival and seeing that you’re still in your bathing suit and a cover up short from yesterday, they’re shocked. 

“Did you…,” Grace starts, but doesn’t know how to finish. 

“I fell asleep yesterday,” you quickly check your phone, “around five.” 

“You slept for fifteen hours?” Logan’s eyes bulge, a piece of omelette falling from his mouth. 

“I haven’t slept through the night since…you know,” you avert your gaze, biting your lips. 

“Where’s Jake?” Garrett asks. 

“He’s… sleeping.” 

“You slept with him?” Allie asks with a hint of skepticism. 

“Not like that!” You shake your head right away. 

Dean doesn’t say anything for a while, just looks at you. Really looks. 

“You’re healing,” he murmurs softly. 

“What?” Your heart pounds violently. 

Dean gently smiles at you. “You’re healing,” he repeats himself. “You slept comfortably for the first time since last September. You found your comfort in Jake. Jake helped you heal.” 

Oh god. 

You call Joanna. You somehow caught her just before her rehearsal, so you rapidly got to the point - that you feel something for Jake, but you’re scared to act on it, because it feels like a betrayal to Beau. 

“Life unfortunately didn’t stop because Beau died. But I've been laughing so much again, and yes, I felt bad because why would I laugh when Beau can’t anymore? Why do I have the privilege to do anything? Listen to me. Jake's been there for you since the beginning. He saw the impact Beau’s loss put on your life. But you came out with the strength Jake gave you. I firmly believe Jake was sent by Beau,” you can feel her smile through the phone. ”You shouldn’t feel bad for moving on. This is your life. You decide what breaks you or makes you, but we both know Beau wants the absolute best for you. He wants you to keep going. Keep being the girl he fell in love with. Keep being funny and laugh as much as you want, because I know Beau is smiling from up there. You never lost him, because he lives inside of you. As he does live inside of us. We carry his legacy, but we fulfill his wish - to carry on. To live as loudly as you can. Fall in love again. Jake is your angel. Let him in.” 

Jake finds you later that night behind the boat house. The sun is setting, but it’s still warm outside, and the lake is still loud with the whirring sounds of the boats. 

“You’ve been very quiet the whole day,” he grunts as he sits down, his knee touching yours. 

“I had a phone call with Joanna.” 

“Is something wrong?” He asked with a worried tone. 

“No,” you turn to face him, those beautiful green eyes that shine like stars, “everything is fine.” 

“Okay,” he smiles softly. 

“She said that you were sent by Beau.” 

“Oh?” 

“And I believe that.” 

“How come?” 

“Because I believe in faith,” your chin quivers. “And I believe that your place is in my heart.” 

Jake’s breath catches, his shoulders going rigid, but drops a second later. “Look at me,” he takes your chin by his thumb and index finger, elevating your head to meet his eyes. 

“Will you let me love you?” Jake asks sincerely, his gaze moving slowly across your face, taking in, like he wants to memorise every single micro expression on your face. 

“I’m scared to love you,” you admit and a tear glides down your cheek. 

He knows why. 

He wipes your tears away. 

“I’ll love you for the both of us.” 

A blue butterfly lands on your arm. 

————————————————————————

First came the heavy denial. Of course it did—because how could your brain ever comprehend that the love of your life was gone? How do you accept that the one person who could pull down the stars for you no longer breathes? How do you face reality when your entire world has just flipped upside down?

Maybe it wasn’t even denial. Maybe it was pure, unadulterated numbness. Numb to the world, numb to yourself, numb to everything. Your mind malfunctioned, looping a single, devastating reality over and over again - Beau is no longer walking the earth.

He died on impact. He didn’t suffer.

But you, his family, and his friends are left behind to suffer the aftermath.

Now, the anger sets in. Violent, suffocating anger at the universe. Anger at fate—because you truly believed you’d marry him. You were going to be his wife. His forever.

That was the plan.

You had mapped out life after college, planning how your careers would start, how you’d manage the distance when he was traveling for games. Beau was talented enough to secure a spot in the NFL. That was Beau Maxwell - a natural born winner. And you felt like a winner, too, simply because you had the privilege to call him yours.

Had.

Because Beau isn’t here anymore.

You feel a burning rage at the loss of him, furious that he left you, immediately followed by a wave of crushing guilt because you know it wasn't his fault. You direct your anger at the world for stealing your happiness, your purpose, your future. Beau is dead, and a piece of you died in that crash right alongside him.

Everyone is falling apart.

Dean has been spiraling. He and Beau were best friends, bound by years of late night talks and shared memories. Allie has been doing everything she can to take care of him, but she’s breaking, too. Hell, everyone is breaking. Garrett, Logan, Tucker, Beau’s teammates—the loss is taking a devastating toll on them all.

You don’t even remember the memorial. You only recall Joanna intertwining her fingers with yours, squeezing until your knuckles went white. You remember the sorrowful eyes directed your way and the silent tears tracking down your cheeks, soaking into your collar because you didn't have the strength to wipe them away. You remember vague hugs, but no faces.

And you certainly don’t remember seeing Dean—only Allie.

A week later, you’re still spiraling. Your brain has switched to autopilot, dragging you through life like a ghost, attending classes and returning home to a quiet, suffocating apartment. Your tears have dried out like a desert, leaving you staring into the void, wishing for the pain to fade.

It doesn't. Everything in the apartment speaks his name.

Your wardrobe is filled with the clothes he kept there for weekends. They still smell like his cologne—that warm, comforting blend uniquely Beau. The walls are lined with photos - his stupidly handsome smile, the two of you laughing through holidays, family visits, and moments after foolish arguments. You remember sleeping on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat...

And then the tears spill over again, because you’ll never hear it beat again.

Sleep won't come because your dreams are haunted by him—his smile, his quick remarks, his laugh, his touch, his everything. 

The rage surges back. Why did this happen? Why was his time limited?

You trash the place. You shatter plates and mugs against the floor, letting the anger bleed out, but you never touch the pictures. You never touch his clothes. You physically can't. To touch them is to remember the weight of his living, muscular body beneath the soft cotton. To touch them is to breathe in the scent that used to make you feel safe, only to be reminded that you aren't anymore.

You haven’t slept in your bedroom for days. The sheets still hold his shape. 

You can’t live here anymore.

“Hi,” you greet Garrett when he opens the door to the guy's place after another gruelling week of existing silently alone. “Is Dean home?”

“Hi,” he answers softly. His gray eyes hold a heavy blend of caution and restraint. “He is,” he steps back to let you in.

You haven’t seen Dean since the news broke. It was a conscious choice - you knew seeing him would trigger a flood of memories you couldn't survive. You had to take a pill just to keep your hands from shaking on the walk over.

“Uh, how are you holding up?” Garrett asks as he leads you into the spacious living room.

“What do you think?” you reply with the faint ghost of a smile.

Logan and Tucker are hovering near the kitchen. Moments later, Dean slowly emerges from his room, looking every bit as wrecked as you feel.

“Hey,” he mutters. His green eyes are dull, but a flicker of awareness crosses his face as if realizing, for the first time, that he isn't the only one suffocating under the weight of this grief.

“I came to say goodbye,” you blurt out, needing to say it before your courage evaporates.

“What?” Dean looks at you, startled.

“I... I’ve been emailing back and forth with Harvard,” you say, your voice tight. “I’m finishing my degree there.”

Silence falls over the room, heavy and absolute.

Dean stares at you, stunned. “How did you manage a transfer this late?”

“They accepted most of my Briar credits. I just have to take a few summer courses to stay on track to graduate,” you explain softly.

“Why are you doing this?” Dean asks, his voice cracking.

“Because I can’t stay here,” your chin wobbles, the tears threatening to spill over. “Every corner reminds me of him. I can’t function. I talked to his parents, and mine—they understand.”

Dean closes his eyes for a long moment, then gives a slow, wry nod. “I do, too.”

“Us too,” Logan adds quietly from the kitchen.

“I’m moving out at the end of the week. I’ll start at Harvard after the break.”

Dean takes a step forward. A shaky breath leaves your lips as he pulls you into a tight, grounding hug.

“Thank you for everything,” he whispers into your hair.

You cling to him, burying your face in his shoulder as a fresh wave of tears breaks through, your shoulders shaking with every ragged breath.

BARGAINING 

A few months later 

Harvard smells like old money and IQ fights. To an extent, you miss Briar, where arrogance was never quite this suffocating.

Whatever. There’s no turning back now.

You spent your entire break last year packing up your life and moving back into your parents' house. It happened right after another complete breakdown—the kind that dropped you to your knees because you finally had to fold away Beau’s clothes. Clothes you could no longer bear to see. Clothes that held the phantom warmth of a lifetime of memories.

“Eat, sweetheart,” your mom says softly, setting a plate down on the dining table in front of you.

“I’m not hungry,” you whisper, staring blankly at the food.

“You’ve barely eaten a thing these past few weeks,” your dad adds, his voice thick with concern as he urges you to take just a few bites.

“I need to catch the bus,” you say, pushing yourself up from the chair, desperate to escape the suffocating weight of their worry.

They don’t push any further, but your mom quietly packs a lunch for you anyway, just like she used to when you were in middle school.

You haven’t made any friends here. To be honest, that isn't even the goal—you just want to get your degree and get the hell out of Cambridge. A few of your classmates occasionally invite you out, purely out of polite pity, but you always decline. You know they don't actually care, and you don't have the energy to fake it.

The coursework, at least, is good. It’s significantly stricter than Briar, but it’s Harvard—you can handle it. In a twisted way, you’re grateful for the mountain of homework and endless papers. The relentless workload is the only thing keeping your mind from drifting back to the dark.

You’re surviving. Barely.

Because you haven’t slept properly in weeks, your nervous system is operating on pure survival mode.

You realize you haven’t felt angry in a while. Somewhere during the break, the burning rage simply burned out, leaving behind a vast, empty void. You spent hours texting Joanna, and you called Beau’s parents to check on them.

“Sweetheart, you need to take care of yourself,” Beau’s mom had pleaded gently over the phone, her voice cracking. “It hurts me too, more than words can say. But Beau wouldn’t want you trapped in this dark place for eternity.”

Eternity is exactly what it feels like.

For a while, you punished yourself just for breathing. How could you continue living your life when Beau’s was cut short? You spent whole nights screaming into your pillow, sobbing until your ribs ached, tearing yourself apart over how unfair it all was. Your parents had slept in your room that night, wrapping their arms around you just like they did when you were five and terrified of nightmares.

Except now, your whole life is a nightmare.

Stepping through the heavy doors of the lecture hall, you make a beeline for the very back row. You want to remain invisible, tucked safely away from small talk and sympathetic glances.

It’s a solid strategy, except for Jake Connelly.

Somehow, the guy always manages to find you. In the short time you’ve been at Harvard, he has sat next to you in almost every single class. He always glides in at the very last second before the professor starts speaking, and by then, the only open seat in the packed room is the one beside you.

Today is no exception.

“Hi,” he greets you, offering a blinding, wide smile—the kind with perfectly straight teeth that looks like it belongs in a toothpaste commercial.

You offer a faint nod, same as always. You don’t have the emotional currency to socialize, let alone pretend to be friendly.

You just feel hollow.

“How was your paper?” Jake asks politely, attempting to strike up a lowkey conversation as he pulls out his notebook.

“Fine,” you shrug, your eyes fixed strictly ahead, refusing to meet his gaze.

Sensibly, he takes the hint and doesn't try again, letting the heavy silence settle back over you as the lecture begins.

—-

He tried again. And again. And again.

“Do you understand the connection between these two?”

“Can you explain this diagram?”

“When are these papers due, again?”

“Wait, do we actually have class tomorrow?”

They were questions he could easily ask the professor, or find with a two second search on the course portal. Questions a golden child student like Jake Connelly shouldn’t even need to ask, but for some reason, he kept asking you.

You replied in blunt, one worded answers, but in true Jake Connelly fashion, he refused to take the hint.

You didn’t even know who he really was. You didn’t want to know, because none of it mattered anymore, but it seemed your cold silence wasn't the deterrent you intended. To him, it was practically an invitation.

The dynamic shifted one evening when Mr. Bailey introduced a massive new semester project.

“You’ll be paired up with the person sitting right next to you,” the professor announced with a careless shrug, clearly too indifferent to devise a proper arrangement.

Your eye twitched. Out of the corner of your vision, you saw Jake smirking.

Oh boy.

—-

Nightmares didn't come in the shape of monsters. They came in the shape of baby blue eyes and dark brown hair.

They came with phantom hugs and soft kisses that used to make your knees weak, forcing you to hold onto him just to stay upright. They came with the memory of smiles and laughs that used to send a rush of butterflies fluttering through your stomach. They came in warm touches and quiet moans, feeling so ecstatic that your toes curled under the sheets.

They came with the solemn promise of a forever you would never get to live.

You woke up with dried tear tracks itching on your cheeks, your eyes swollen and red. You were so disoriented you didn't even realize you were running late to class.

You got ready on pure autopilot, your mind a thousand miles away.

What if... what if it had been you? What if you had been the one to take the impact and break your neck? What if Beau was the one left behind, forced to navigate a life without you in it? What would he do? Would he be braver than you, able to pull on a mask and carry on with his days? Or would he be completely lost, suffocating under the weight of missing you?

What about your families? Would they be drowning in the exact same depths of sorrow?

And what if Beau had never gotten into that car? What if he had been driving, and it was his dad who died instead? Could Beau have handled the crushing guilt of knowing he survived? Would he be spiraling into a dark abyss, drowning his pain drinking alcohol, snorting coke, and swallowing MDMA the way Dean did?

What if none of it had ever happened?

You’d still be yourself. Living with Beau, attending classes back at Briar, going to noisy parties, and falling asleep tangled in the arms of the love of your life. The promise of the future would still be real.

There would still be a future.

Your tears hadn’t even dried by the time you sank into your seat in class.

You didn’t care about the pitying stares or the sorrowful glances from the people around you. You didn’t care that your dad had called you three times before class, softly reminding you that it was okay to skip today and just stay home. Hell, he was even ready to call out of work—and that was huge, considering he was a complete workaholic.

You were visibly wasting away, and everyone could see it.

Jake was no exception.

Today, his usual confident, arrogant facade crumpled entirely. His deep, forest like eyes were flooded with genuine concern. He desperately wanted to help—you could see the internal debate playing out across his sharp features—but he clearly had no idea how. Asking what was wrong felt meaningless, he knew you wouldn't tell him. He understood, without you ever having to say a word, that you were carrying a weight so crushing that even you couldn't lift it.

So he did something simple. Something almost pathetic for a guy like him, but he was running out of options and desperate to help you.

Because for some unknown reason, Jake really, really wanted to help you.

He reached into his backpack, bypassing his neatly packed lunch, and pulled out a protein bar—the one meant to be his prepractice snack.

He slid it softly across the wood desk, stopping right in front of your hands.

When you slowly turned your head to look at him, a faint, puzzled expression filling the saddest—yet most striking—eyes he had ever seen, he leaned in and whispered softly.

“I don’t really do chocolate, but it’s sweet. And sweet stuff always helps.”

It was so boyish. So earnest.

Despite the endless weight in your chest, you couldn't stop it—a tiny, crooked smile flickered across your lips for the very first time since Beau died.

DEPRESSION 

A month has passed. Another month of slowly realising that Beau is never coming back, and the weight of it holds you down like it wants to choke you. 

You hadn’t returned the calls from Joanna. You haven’t called Dean once since moving away, although you both promised to catch up with each other. 

You received numerous worried messages from the parents, who later called your parents to know how you are holding up. 

They talked for hours, filling in on them about your achievements in school, but also saying that you’re clearly depressed. 

You don’t have an appetite anymore, losing so much weight your cheeks are hollow. 

Some days the depressive episode hits so hard you can’t even get up from the bed to brush your teeth, or even your hair. Your hair is so tangled, you lost half of it. 

Showering becomes another task to accomplish, which you fail consistently. 

You skipped school for a medical emergency, or at least that’s what your mom said to the dean. 

Jake’s been spiralling. His performance in hockey has declined. 

“What’s with you?” His teammate, Brooks asks him as he slides up next to him on the ice. 

“Nothing,” he tries to shrug him off. 

“Nothing seems finer than you,” Brooks snorts. 

They don’t say anything until they reach the changing room. 

“I’m worried about the new girl,” Jake admits, his voice low, because he doesn’t want the others to hear him. 

“The one who transferred from Briar?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Tough luck, bro. She was Beau Maxwell’s girlfriend.” 

Jake’s face pales. “The quarterback at Briar who died in a car crash?” 

His death was in the news. 

“Yeah. His pal, Dean Di Laurentis, was also a wreck,” says Brooks as he takes off his skates. 

“Shit,” Jake curses. 

“The girl’s clearly depressed. They were together for years and now she’s mourning someone she thought she’d spend the rest of her life with.” 

It hurts more now. 

“That’s why she transferred?” 

His friend nods. “I heard she couldn’t bear attending at a uni where Beau's memory lingers.”

“She needed a clear slate.”

“Well, she’s not doing alright, now does she?” They stand under the hot water, washing away the sweaty remains of practice. 

No, she’s clearly not doing okay. The girl’s only twenty two, considered such a young age to mourn the loss of her love. She clearly loved him deeply and now she’s ready to waste away. 

Jake’s heart’s sore. 

“I want to help her,” he blurts out. 

“Does she want help, tho?” 

“Probably not,” agrees Jake, “but she needs someone to be there for her.” 

“She probably won’t accept your help.” 

“Probably. That’s why I’m not gonna say anything. Just do it.” 

—-

You used to love taking walks across campus, crossing the little wooden bridge that led to the park just outside the school. It was a place frequented by students lounging between classes and elderly couples strolling hand in hand. You loved sitting in one of the central gazebos, the wooden steps crack beneath your weight.

You hadn’t been outside your house in so long that you’d completely lost track of time. But the chill in the air remained, so maybe you hadn't lost as much of it as you thought.

Your mom and dad had insisted on taking a walk here. Your dad walked on your right, your mom on your left. They talked about everything and nothing all at once—complimenting the park's quiet beauty, calling a passing elderly couple cute, and inventing playful backstories for strangers. They complained about work and the grueling hours spent dealing with dumb people, all in a desperate attempt to coax a small smile out of you.

None of it worked, but at least they seemed relieved that you were finally willing to step outside.

You felt a sharp pang of guilt for making them worry so much. You had tried to apologize one afternoon, but your mom just shushed you gently, telling you it was their job to worry and act a little overprotective. Still, it was as clear as day - they wanted their daughter back.

They mourned the old you.

The happy you.

The content you.

They missed hearing you talk nonsense and laughing so loudly the walls resonated. You were the main purpose of their lives, but every day they prayed for you to find your own purpose again.

Stopping on the crest of the bridge, you paused to admire the park bathed in the warm, golden light of the sunset. Caught in your thoughts, you didn't notice your parents turning their attention to someone behind you.

“Hey.”

You jumped, startled, just Jake was introducing himself to your parents. 

His eyes were the exact shade of the forest surrounding the park.

“Hi,” you greeted him, your voice cracked and weak.

“I was just taking a walk. Mind if I join you?” He looked straight at you. Your parents stood by, looking slightly dumbfounded, waiting on your cue.

You gave a soft shrug. “I guess.”

Jake then proceeded to talk all the way through the walk. He said he plays hockey, which made your heart skip a beat, because it reminded you of Dean, back in Briar.

He wants to play professionally, but first he wants to graduate and then move up to the big leagues. Your dad immediately jumps in and asks some hockey related questions, because as much as your dad loved football, he often watched hockey too. 

Jake admits he’s an only child, spoiled by his parents, but clearly doesn’t mean it, because Jake Connelly is a down to earth kinda guy. 

“Y/n’s too,” your mom adds, “she desperately wanted a little brother when she was younger.” 

“Why a brother?” Jake asks, looking at you. He wants to hear your voice. 

“Because a brother wouldn't steal my clothes,” you say quietly, not really expecting to see Jake laugh, and your parents eyes move softly between the two of you. 

Jake proceeds to talk your parents' ears off. Yours too, but you tuned him out halfway through the walk. 

Because he reminds you of Beau. He never knew when to shut up or how. You were convinced he came out talking from the womb to which he laughed and kissed you, saying that you clearly came out spitting facts and jokes left and right from the womb. 

He wasn’t wrong in the slightest. You loved joking. You joked more than Beau, which was a surprise to him and his friends, because it was a well known fact that Beau Maxwell breathed in and out jokes. 

And now Jake’s making your parents laugh. 

“I want to go home,” you say sternly than expected, making them turn around to face you with slight frowns. 

“Okay, we’re going,” your mom reassures you with an easy smile, but it’s clear that she doesn’t want to go. Neither is your dad, because you haven’t seen them smile so bright for months since you moved back home.

“You can stay. I’ll go.” 

“Nonsense. We came together, we go together.” 

“I can walk you home,” Jake interrupts, his green eyes somehow brighter in hope you’ll say yes. 

“No,” you shake your head instead. “I’ll see you in class.” 

You turn your back at them and start your walk home. 

—-

You don’t remember how you managed to wake up and get ready for class. But you clearly don’t remember packing lunch, and now your stomach growls so loud you get a couple of stares. 

After class, you stumble upon the vending machine for a sandwich, but a brick wall of muscles stops you abruptly. Looking up, you see those striking green eyes boring into yours. 

“Eat lunch with me,” Jake demands softly. 

“I’m trying to buy a sandwich,” you point a finger at the machine. 

“Don’t. Those aren’t fresh,” he grimaces. “I made you lunch.” 

“You…what?” You’re truly speechless. Why would he…? 

“It’s not too much, just grilled chicken with veggies and rice.” 

“Is that one of your boring hockey meals?” You cross your arms over your chest. 

“They’re not boring,” Jake protests, “they’re just… not that varied.” 

“It means boring.” 

Jake’s lips stretch out in a slow smirk. “It’s boring.” 

Jake can’t cook. The chicken is dry as sand and the veggies are burnt and soggy, but at least the rice is good. However, you eat it anyway, because somehow Jake managed to make your heart beat normally. 

For once, he’s quiet. He doesn’t say a word while you eat. 

“Why are you doing this?” Your voice is low and uncertain as you sheepishly look up at him. 

Today, his eyes are darker, like a forest at dawn. 

“What?” He acts dumb. 

“Talking to me. Making small talk with my parents and making them laugh. Bringing me lunch. What’s your goal?” You count on your fingers what he did to you, but somehow your voice lacks the bite you hoped you could show him.

“I don’t have a goal,” he denies.

“You clearly do.” 

“I just… I want to help,” he admits but his voice remains confident.

“I don’t want your help.” 

“I know,” he shrugs and takes a bite out of his food. 

“Then why do you bother?” You pick on the food with your fork. Suddenly your appetite evaporated like mist. 

“Because for some reason, I care.” You furrow your eyebrows at that.

“You don’t even know me.” 

“I want to know you,” he looks deeply into your eyes. 

“Don’t bother.” 

Because when someone had the time to know you, they died. 

—-

Another gruelling month has passed, but this time, it was faster due to Jake. He made sure to make a calendar for the both of you consisting of free periods where you could work on your joint project for Mr.Bailey. 

You didn’t even ask, Connelly just did it. You figured he was a calendar addicted guy. 

You didn’t want to admit it, but it was a good idea. The physical toll this past month has put on you meant that your brain was so foggy, you couldn’t even think straight. A considerable amount of sleepless nights made your limbs heavy, often falling asleep in class, and having Jake to make notes for you too. 

He did, without a word. And that proved that he wasn’t a quitter. 

You sit in silence at the library, trying to come up with ideas for the project, but to be honest, you just sit and stare emptily at the table. 

“I lost my boyfriend due to a car crash.” 

You don’t even know how the words come stumbling across your mouth, but they’re out before you realise. 

Jake freezes, whatever he was writing, he doesn’t finish it. He slowly turns to face you, his face neutral, but somehow soft and gentle. 

“He died on impact,” a tear slides aggressively down your cheek. “Do you uh.. do you know Dean? Di Laurentis? They were best friends,” you laugh, but the sound comes out empty. “I promised Dean that I’ll call him,” you turn to face Jake, tear soaked cheeks and red eyes, “but I never did.” 

“Do you want to?” Jake asks, leaning a little bit closer to you. 

“I do. But I’m so afraid, because he’ll trigger memories I desperately want to forget,” and now you cry, the broken sobs shaking your entire being. 

“Why do you want to forget?” 

“‘Cuz it’s easier, isn’t it? Then facing the fact that he’s no longer here.” 

“But he lives,” Jake reaches out a tentative hand, and slowly, he taps your heart gently, “here.” 

Jake wipes your tears away, his thumb calloused. 

“You’re the first person I’ve ever told this,” you admit with a shaky whisper. 

Jake smiles warmly. “I knew you'd warm up to me.” 

You breathe out a little laugh. 

It was the most beautiful sound Jake has ever heard. 

“Did you uhm.. regret transferring?” 

“No.” 

—-

ACCEPTANCE 

Ever since confessing to Jake, it felt like a weight has been lifted from your shoulders. The bad days still surfaced, lingered, but now, it seemed your days were headed toward another direction. 

Content. 

Neither happy nor sad. Just truly existing. 

You started to eat more. Your cheeks and thighs filled out with time, making your parents sigh in relief. 

You returned the calls from Joanna and her parents, and they were also relieved to hear the ease in your voice. You still talked only a few words, but it was more than enough. 

Your sleep schedule was still on the rocks, but you managed to sleep more than three hours a night. The purple circles lightened, but haven’t disappeared yet. 

You started to take walks again around the park. Sometimes alone, but other times Jake accompanied you, whenever his hockey schedule let him. 

When you said you wanted to talk with Dean, Jake admitted that they’re going to play against them soon. You haven’t said anything, because you haven’t found the strength within you to face them again. 

You let Jake ask questions about you. He asked about your interests, what are your plans after graduating, and what do you like to do in your free time. Such harmless questions, but somehow they still made you squirm. 

Jake was trying to be your friend. 

You really needed a friend. 

“Would you like something to eat?” This was one of his favourite things to ask. 

“I ate dinner at home,” you reply. 

Tonight, you meet at his place to finish up your coursework. You’ve been alternating between the library, your house and his. 

You’ve met his parents briefly, but you got so shy you blushed and haven’t had the courage to talk with them. They weren’t intimidating, no - Phil and Kerri were the nicest people. 

But so are Beau’s. And you couldn’t help, but compare the two, and made your brain go numb. 

Fortunately, Jake saw your face and immediately jumped in, and later you apologised for acting so strange. They assured you you were perfectly fine. 

“Can we hurry up and finish? I feel so tired,” you yawn. 

“You haven’t slept well?” Jake asks worriedly. 

“Not really. I was up until two am.” 

“Are you okay?” He asks, sliding into the seat next to you, his broad shoulders brushing against yours. 

The thing is with him - he subtly tries to touch you whenever he can. He never made you feel uneasy, rather endearing how he makes sure you’re okay with it. Like right now, as his strikingly green eyes look down where you two are touching, then gazes back at you with a little smile. 

You lean into it, and he lets out a sigh. 

“I’m okay. I just couldn’t sleep,” you shrug. 

“You’ve been looking fuller with life lately,” he rasps, his eyes raking over your face slowly, like he’s trying to memorise every single detail. 

“I feel lighter,” you admit with a little smile. 

“Good,” Jake smiles too, his whole face lighting up like he’s not even from this world. 

An hour later, you both finish the coursework, and submit it as well online. It wasn’t as hard as you imagined it would be, but it still feels good to be over with. 

“You take summer classes?” Jake asks at one point. 

“Yeah, I have to in order to graduate on time. Fortunately it won’t be too much that is required,” you explain as you pack your bag. 

“Hey uhm…,” he swallows, “would you like to go to a party tomorrow?” 

The invite catches you off guard. “I don’t know.”

“There’ll only be me and some of my teammates and their girlfriends.”

“So more like a get together?”

“Yeah,” Jake nods. Then he suddenly looks more serious, his sharp features like stone. “I really want you to come.” 

—-

You haven’t realised how much you miss socialising. The mourning and grief that swallowed you whole and that became your new reality. But sitting beside Jake right now as his long and muscular arm is thrown around your shoulders on the couch, facing a couple of his teammates and some of their girlfriends, you realise how fun it is to meet new people. 

They’re fun. They accepted your handshake with a bright smile and a warm welcome. The girls complimented you to the point your ears are now on fire. Meanwhile Jake cannot wipe the smile off of his face even if he tried.

Though, you don’t feel like drinking and you’re sure you won't stay long, but a win is a win, right? 

“How are you?” Jake taps your shoulder with his fingers, trying to get your attention. 

“I feel good,” you smile up at him. 

“I’m glad you came,” he whispers into your ear, and that causes some trouble sending a shiver down your spine. 

Because why do you suddenly react to Jake like that? No, you don’t want to think about that. 

It simply is not happening. 

Because it’s Beau who you should think about. Not Jake. 

Noticing the sheer change about you, he sits up straighter. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“I uh.. is it okay if I go?” You bit your lip, embarrassed that suddenly you need an out. 

Jake is not happy - his eyes fell to the ground. 

“I’m sorry,” you murmur and slowly stand up, making your way to the others and apologise for the early departing. 

—-

“Mom?” You shout into the quiet house, desperately hoping they’re not fast asleep downstairs. 

“Sweetie? What is it?” She comes barrelling out, tying her robe around your waist, then rushes over after seeing the panicked expression on your face. 

“I…,” you’re lost for words for a minute, “I’m freaking out.” 

“Clearly,” she brushes your hair away from your face, “tell me.” 

So you tell her. About the way Jake has been slowly creeping into your orb these last couple of months, and how he never gave up on you. They way he slowly, but surely made sure you can open up to him safely, that you can trust him. And you do, which also scares you shitless. 

And the way he makes you physically feel - the comforting touches, a brush of fingers here and there, how he leans closer to hear you, to make sure you’re close and never hurt. 

“I think I like him,” you admit out loud, and that’s somehow even scarier, because now it feels real. 

“And you want to fight it,” you lay in your mom’s lap, a habit you convinced you’ll never grow out of. She brushes her delicate fingers over your cheekbone, up to your hairline and back. 

“Yeah.” 

“Because of Beau.” 

“Mhm,” your chin wobbles. 

“Honey, you’re not doing anything wrong,” she reassures you. 

“But it feels like a sin,” you cry out now, tears soaking your mom’s robe. 

“You know what is a sin? Denying yourself some fun,” she makes you sit up, facing her.

“Fun feels wrong without him,” you wipe your tears away. 

“I know, baby,” your mom nods, “but believe me when I say this - Beau wants you to have fun,” she holds your face in her hands, keeping you steady and firm. “And certainly, he doesn’t want you to live your life in constant pain.” 

“Okay,” you nod after a few minutes of silence. 

“I think you should call Jake and apologise,” she advises, and truly, she’s right. 

—-

Upstairs, you dial his number. You don’t even expect him to pick up, but he does. 

“Hey,” he says. His voice sounds gruff. 

“Can I see you?” 

He doesn’t say anything, 

“Please?” 

“Do you want me to come over?” He asks after a while. 

“Yes,” you nod frantically even though he can’t see you. 

Thirty minutes later Jake sits down on your bed. 

“I’m so sorry,” you say as soon as you close the door behind you. “I freaked out.” 

Jake furrows his eyebrows. “Why?” 

“Because I like you,” you say so fast his eyebrows flew to his hairline. “I like you,” you repeat it again slowly. 

Jake’s eyes brighten up. They’re like grass green when the sun shines on them. 

“I like spending time with you and how you managed to get me where I am today. Without you, I'm pretty sure I’d still be depressed and mad at life,” you laugh sadly. Jake’s lips also press into a sad line. 

“I freaked out because I felt as if I’m being unfair to Beau.” 

“C’mere,” Jake takes your hand and sits you down next to him. “I like you too,” he says earnestly, “but I don’t expect you to forget about him. I don’t want to replace him. You went through a very traumatic experience in which you lost someone you deeply loved. But that doesn’t make me entitled to erase him from your memory. We discussed that he lives here, remember?” He presses a hand to your heart, which beats violently. 

“Yeah,” you nod. 

“What I’m asking, though, is that if you find any courage to make me some place in your heart, please do. Because you do have a place in mine,” he takes the hand he holds and brings it to his own heart, which also beats just as rapidly as yours. 

“I'm not going anywhere,” he continues, “take your time. I’ll help however I can.” 

—-

May 

Jake plays against Briar tonight. 

It resulted in countless sleepless nights, but you made the decision to go. And maybe afterwards, try to catch Dean. 

It makes you physically sick, the adrenaline and stress, but you need it. You need to see him and make sure he’s okay. 

Because for the first time in months, you feel easier than ever. After that night with Jake, you both go step by step dictated by you. Jake understands that you need to trust and fall in love with life again, which is the hardest part of it all. 

But now it seems promising, because you’re sitting at the stands, watching with a bunch of people the hockey match. It’s a home game, so the anticipation is there and bigger. 

Your eyes immediately found Jake, as well Dean’s. They’re almost the same height and built, but even from the stands you see Dean’s striking blonde hair. 

They play well into the night, finishing when the sun just disappeared from the horizon. Harvard won, so everyone is happy except Briar. You feel your heart slightly break at that. 

You wait for Jake at the parking lot, next to his car. Bunch of people are already outside talking and waiting, but the one you’re the most eager to see is not here. 

Disappointment flows through your veins. 

Someone brushes your hair away from your face. 

You see Jake and those beautiful forest like eyes. 

“Did you know that your eyes change the depth of colour of them?” 

Jake laughs at that. “No one ever said that. But thank you for noticing.” 

“You won,” you smile slowly. You’re familiar with the feeling - Beau was always ecstatic. He demanded parties and drinks and you. 

“We won,” Jake nods and opens the trunk of the car to put his bag inside. “It feels good.” 

“I know.” 

And then you notice the little group a couple of meters away from you. You immediately notice Dean, then Logan, Garrett and Tucker, and their girls. They’re there - talking, smiling and laughing. 

Dean laughs. 

Jake follows the line of your sight. “Go on.” 

“Will you come with me?” You ask hurriedly. 

“Yeah, but I’ll stay behind.” 

That couple of steps felt like running in water. 

And then Hannah turns her head slightly and makes eye contact with you, gasping. You haven’t seen them for four months. Four long months without any updates. You felt like shit. 

“Dean?” You slowly reach out and touch his arm, but he goes rigid. 

Allie, his girlfriend gasps just like Hannah did, her eyes immediately glistening with tears. Logan, Grace, Tuck and Sabrina - all of them look surprised and somehow relieved at the same time. 

“Y/n,” Dean turns around, his green eyes wide with bewilderment. He notices the weight you lost, and how little you look with this much of a loss. He envelopes into a bear hug, keeping you close for a couple of moments. 

“I’m so sorry I didn’t call you,” you murmur your apology into his shoulder. 

“I didn’t call you either,” he says sadly. 

“Hi guys,” you greet the others with quick hugs, everyone wishing you well. 

“How are you?” You ask Dean. 

“I’ve been better,” he admits, “I made some mistakes, but I’m… I’m getting there,” he quickly glances over his shoulder at Allie, who smiles warmly at him. 

Dean then glances over your shoulder and notices Jake. His eyes bounce from him to you and again. 

“He uh..,” you point at him with your thumb over your shoulder, “helped me. A lot.” 

Dean waves Jake closer. “Hey, man.” 

“Hey. Nice game out there,” Jake says, not an ounce of sarcasm in his voice. 

“Thanks. But now I really understand your nickname lightning,” Logan adds in, “you’re a fast motherfucker.” 

Jake chuckles. 

“You’re taking care of her?” Dean asks Jake in a serious note. 

“Of course.” 

“Good, because I promised Beau I’ll look after her whenever he can’t.” 

Your breath catches. You feel Jake's hand taking yours. “I’m there to make her days more bearable.” 

“If a single hair curls wrong on her head -“ 

“Then you can beat me,” Jake finishes Dean’s threat. 

“Y/n, let’s keep in touch!” Sabrina approaches you, taking her phone out. “Give me your number.” 

“Me too!” Adds Grace, Hannah and Allie too. 

You change phone numbers with everyone, then turn back to Dean. “Update me.” 

“I will,” he promises and hugs you strongly. “We gotta go. Take care of yourself, will ya?”

“Yeah, I’m on it.” 

—-

July

Summer courses are straight from hell. Even the weather took inspiration from hell, making July the hottest month ever in America. 

You’re sweating from the moment you wake up until you fall asleep. 

It’s torture. 

Today is the Fourth of July, and Jake mentioned going to the Charles River to celebrate. 

Spending so much time with him doesn’t scare you anymore. Sure, the grief is still heavy in your heart, but you took your mom’s advice - to have fun. 

So that’s what you do. You have weekly calls and texts with the girls, as well Dean tries to call whenever his tight schedule lets him. You haven’t met personally since May, but you guys plan a big trip to Lake Tahoe at the end of July until the end of August. 

You can’t wait. 

A couple of hours later you start to get ready, softly humming the song you play from your phone. 

“Honey, Jake’s here!” Your mom shouts from downstairs. 

“Already?” You shout back, genuinely confused. Were you that late to begin with getting ready? 

“It’s okay, you still have time,” Jake invites himself inside your room. 

“What are you doing here? I thought we’re meeting at the River.” 

“Yeah, but I wanted to see you sooner,” he shrugs, trying to act nonchalant. 

“That’s sweet,” you grin at him, but a slow pink hue is creeping up your neck. 

Jake makes himself comfortable on your bed, while you continue to get ready. You opted for a white tank top and short ripped jeans, paired with sneakers. You were never one to dress up, you always prioritised being comfortable. Only to your make you added bright red lips, to which upon seeing Jake’s mesmerising green eyes instantly darkened. 

He looked good in his white shirt and black pants, but Jake looks good in anything. He’s very attractive. And smart, confident and kind. Cocky, but not too cocky. 

Funny. 

You liked funny. 

“I’m ready,” you say to break the suffocating silence. 

“You look so beautiful,” he compliments you, and presses a soft kiss to your cheek. His lips are soft and plush, a tingle spreads down your spine.

And the feeling continues when the fireworks start. Jake plants himself behind you, his strong arms hugging you from behind, his chest resting against your back, as well his chin on the top of your head. His thumb lazily strokes your side, creating goosebumps on your arms. 

Jake notices the way your breath catches, his chest rumbles with quiet laughter. 

He plants a kiss on the top of your head. “Is this okay?” 

“Yes.” 

“How are you feeling tonight?” 

“I feel… safe.” 

“Safe?” Jake asks back, because this feeling of yours is new.

You nod in agreement. “I feel safe with you.” 

Jake doesn’t say anything, but the way his arms tighten around you, hugging you firmly says a lot more. 

August 

It’s been three weeks since everyone arrived at Lake Tahoe. Garrett found a huge villa that was available for rent, and we all agreed that this is the one. 

Three weeks have passed by with constant laughter, drinking and dancing and singing, swimming in the water and taking out boats to look around. 

However, now you’re panicking, because you fell asleep beside Jake and you slept through the whole night. 

Ever since Beau passed away, you haven’t been able to sleep through the night. You were constantly woken up by nightmares, or the sheer panic of accidentally falling asleep and seeing his face kept you awake. In the last couple of months, though, the insomnia became bearable, but it was a far cry from perfect. 

And last night, after a long and boring day down the lake and sunbathing, you fell asleep next to Jake in his room. Slept through dinner. 

Jake and you both decided for separate rooms for numerous reasons, but now it seemed silly. 

Because you had the best sleep since Beau’s passing. 

You peel off Jake's heavy hand from your waist, to which he groans slightly, but doesn’t wake up. You grab your phone and slowly creep out of the room, closing the door behind you. 

Downstairs, people are having breakfast. Upon your arrival and seeing that you’re still in your bathing suit and a cover up short from yesterday, they’re shocked. 

“Did you…,” Grace starts, but doesn’t know how to finish. 

“I fell asleep yesterday,” you quickly check your phone, “around five.” 

“You slept for fifteen hours?” Logan’s eyes bulge, a piece of omelette falling from his mouth. 

“I haven’t slept through the night since…you know,” you avert your gaze, biting your lips. 

“Where’s Jake?” Garrett asks. 

“He’s… sleeping.” 

“You slept with him?” Allie asks with a hint of skepticism. 

“Not like that!” You shake your head right away. 

Dean doesn’t say anything for a while, just looks at you. Really looks. 

“You’re healing,” he murmurs softly. 

“What?” Your heart pounds violently. 

Dean gently smiles at you. “You’re healing,” he repeats himself. “You slept comfortably for the first time since last September. You found your comfort in Jake. Jake helped you heal.” 

Oh god. 

You call Joanna. You somehow caught her just before her rehearsal, so you rapidly got to the point - that you feel something for Jake, but you’re scared to act on it, because it feels like a betrayal to Beau. 

“Life unfortunately didn’t stop because Beau died. But I've been laughing so much again, and yes, I felt bad because why would I laugh when Beau can’t anymore? Why do I have the privilege to do anything? Listen to me. Jake's been there for you since the beginning. He saw the impact Beau’s loss put on your life. But you came out with the strength Jake gave you. I firmly believe Jake was sent by Beau,” you can feel her smile through the phone. ”You shouldn’t feel bad for moving on. This is your life. You decide what breaks you or makes you, but we both know Beau wants the absolute best for you. He wants you to keep going. Keep being the girl he fell in love with. Keep being funny and laugh as much as you want, because I know Beau is smiling from up there. You never lost him, because he lives inside of you. As he does live inside of us. We carry his legacy, but we fulfill his wish - to carry on. To live as loudly as you can. Fall in love again. Jake is your angel. Let him in.” 

Jake finds you later that night behind the boat house. The sun is setting, but it’s still warm outside, and the lake is still loud with the whirring sounds of the boats. 

“You’ve been very quiet the whole day,” he grunts as he sits down, his knee touching yours. 

“I had a phone call with Joanna.” 

“Is something wrong?” He asked with a worried tone. 

“No,” you turn to face him, those beautiful green eyes that shine like stars, “everything is fine.” 

“Okay,” he smiles softly. 

“She said that you were sent by Beau.” 

“Oh?” 

“And I believe that.” 

“How come?” 

“Because I believe in faith,” your chin quivers. “And I believe that your place is in my heart.” 

Jake’s breath catches, his shoulders going rigid, but drops a second later. “Look at me,” he takes your chin by his thumb and index finger, elevating your head to meet his eyes. 

“Will you let me love you?” Jake asks sincerely, his gaze moving slowly across your face, taking in, like he wants to memorise every single micro expression on your face. 

“I’m scared to love you,” you admit and a tear glides down your cheek. 

He knows why. 

He wipes your tears away. 

“I’ll love you for the both of us.” 

A blue butterfly lands on your arm. 

————————————————————————

First came the heavy denial. Of course it did—because how could your brain ever comprehend that the love of your life was gone? How do you accept that the one person who could pull down the stars for you no longer breathes? How do you face reality when your entire world has just flipped upside down?

Maybe it wasn’t even denial. Maybe it was pure, unadulterated numbness. Numb to the world, numb to yourself, numb to everything. Your mind malfunctioned, looping a single, devastating reality over and over again - Beau is no longer walking the earth.

He died on impact. He didn’t suffer.

But you, his family, and his friends are left behind to suffer the aftermath.

Now, the anger sets in. Violent, suffocating anger at the universe. Anger at fate—because you truly believed you’d marry him. You were going to be his wife. His forever.

That was the plan.

You had mapped out life after college, planning how your careers would start, how you’d manage the distance when he was traveling for games. Beau was talented enough to secure a spot in the NFL. That was Beau Maxwell - a natural born winner. And you felt like a winner, too, simply because you had the privilege to call him yours.

Had.

Because Beau isn’t here anymore.

You feel a burning rage at the loss of him, furious that he left you, immediately followed by a wave of crushing guilt because you know it wasn't his fault. You direct your anger at the world for stealing your happiness, your purpose, your future. Beau is dead, and a piece of you died in that crash right alongside him.

Everyone is falling apart.

Dean has been spiraling. He and Beau were best friends, bound by years of late night talks and shared memories. Allie has been doing everything she can to take care of him, but she’s breaking, too. Hell, everyone is breaking. Garrett, Logan, Tucker, Beau’s teammates—the loss is taking a devastating toll on them all.

You don’t even remember the memorial. You only recall Joanna intertwining her fingers with yours, squeezing until your knuckles went white. You remember the sorrowful eyes directed your way and the silent tears tracking down your cheeks, soaking into your collar because you didn't have the strength to wipe them away. You remember vague hugs, but no faces.

And you certainly don’t remember seeing Dean—only Allie.

A week later, you’re still spiraling. Your brain has switched to autopilot, dragging you through life like a ghost, attending classes and returning home to a quiet, suffocating apartment. Your tears have dried out like a desert, leaving you staring into the void, wishing for the pain to fade.

It doesn't. Everything in the apartment speaks his name.

Your wardrobe is filled with the clothes he kept there for weekends. They still smell like his cologne—that warm, comforting blend uniquely Beau. The walls are lined with photos - his stupidly handsome smile, the two of you laughing through holidays, family visits, and moments after foolish arguments. You remember sleeping on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat...

And then the tears spill over again, because you’ll never hear it beat again.

Sleep won't come because your dreams are haunted by him—his smile, his quick remarks, his laugh, his touch, his everything. 

The rage surges back. Why did this happen? Why was his time limited?

You trash the place. You shatter plates and mugs against the floor, letting the anger bleed out, but you never touch the pictures. You never touch his clothes. You physically can't. To touch them is to remember the weight of his living, muscular body beneath the soft cotton. To touch them is to breathe in the scent that used to make you feel safe, only to be reminded that you aren't anymore.

You haven’t slept in your bedroom for days. The sheets still hold his shape. 

You can’t live here anymore.

“Hi,” you greet Garrett when he opens the door to the guy's place after another gruelling week of existing silently alone. “Is Dean home?”

“Hi,” he answers softly. His gray eyes hold a heavy blend of caution and restraint. “He is,” he steps back to let you in.

You haven’t seen Dean since the news broke. It was a conscious choice - you knew seeing him would trigger a flood of memories you couldn't survive. You had to take a pill just to keep your hands from shaking on the walk over.

“Uh, how are you holding up?” Garrett asks as he leads you into the spacious living room.

“What do you think?” you reply with the faint ghost of a smile.

Logan and Tucker are hovering near the kitchen. Moments later, Dean slowly emerges from his room, looking every bit as wrecked as you feel.

“Hey,” he mutters. His green eyes are dull, but a flicker of awareness crosses his face as if realizing, for the first time, that he isn't the only one suffocating under the weight of this grief.

“I came to say goodbye,” you blurt out, needing to say it before your courage evaporates.

“What?” Dean looks at you, startled.

“I... I’ve been emailing back and forth with Harvard,” you say, your voice tight. “I’m finishing my degree there.”

Silence falls over the room, heavy and absolute.

Dean stares at you, stunned. “How did you manage a transfer this late?”

“They accepted most of my Briar credits. I just have to take a few summer courses to stay on track to graduate,” you explain softly.

“Why are you doing this?” Dean asks, his voice cracking.

“Because I can’t stay here,” your chin wobbles, the tears threatening to spill over. “Every corner reminds me of him. I can’t function. I talked to his parents, and mine—they understand.”

Dean closes his eyes for a long moment, then gives a slow, wry nod. “I do, too.”

“Us too,” Logan adds quietly from the kitchen.

“I’m moving out at the end of the week. I’ll start at Harvard after the break.”

Dean takes a step forward. A shaky breath leaves your lips as he pulls you into a tight, grounding hug.

“Thank you for everything,” he whispers into your hair.

You cling to him, burying your face in his shoulder as a fresh wave of tears breaks through, your shoulders shaking with every ragged breath.

BARGAINING 

A few months later 

Harvard smells like old money and IQ fights. To an extent, you miss Briar, where arrogance was never quite this suffocating.

Whatever. There’s no turning back now.

You spent your entire break last year packing up your life and moving back into your parents' house. It happened right after another complete breakdown—the kind that dropped you to your knees because you finally had to fold away Beau’s clothes. Clothes you could no longer bear to see. Clothes that held the phantom warmth of a lifetime of memories.

“Eat, sweetheart,” your mom says softly, setting a plate down on the dining table in front of you.

“I’m not hungry,” you whisper, staring blankly at the food.

“You’ve barely eaten a thing these past few weeks,” your dad adds, his voice thick with concern as he urges you to take just a few bites.

“I need to catch the bus,” you say, pushing yourself up from the chair, desperate to escape the suffocating weight of their worry.

They don’t push any further, but your mom quietly packs a lunch for you anyway, just like she used to when you were in middle school.

You haven’t made any friends here. To be honest, that isn't even the goal—you just want to get your degree and get the hell out of Cambridge. A few of your classmates occasionally invite you out, purely out of polite pity, but you always decline. You know they don't actually care, and you don't have the energy to fake it.

The coursework, at least, is good. It’s significantly stricter than Briar, but it’s Harvard—you can handle it. In a twisted way, you’re grateful for the mountain of homework and endless papers. The relentless workload is the only thing keeping your mind from drifting back to the dark.

You’re surviving. Barely.

Because you haven’t slept properly in weeks, your nervous system is operating on pure survival mode.

You realize you haven’t felt angry in a while. Somewhere during the break, the burning rage simply burned out, leaving behind a vast, empty void. You spent hours texting Joanna, and you called Beau’s parents to check on them.

“Sweetheart, you need to take care of yourself,” Beau’s mom had pleaded gently over the phone, her voice cracking. “It hurts me too, more than words can say. But Beau wouldn’t want you trapped in this dark place for eternity.”

Eternity is exactly what it feels like.

For a while, you punished yourself just for breathing. How could you continue living your life when Beau’s was cut short? You spent whole nights screaming into your pillow, sobbing until your ribs ached, tearing yourself apart over how unfair it all was. Your parents had slept in your room that night, wrapping their arms around you just like they did when you were five and terrified of nightmares.

Except now, your whole life is a nightmare.

Stepping through the heavy doors of the lecture hall, you make a beeline for the very back row. You want to remain invisible, tucked safely away from small talk and sympathetic glances.

It’s a solid strategy, except for Jake Connelly.

Somehow, the guy always manages to find you. In the short time you’ve been at Harvard, he has sat next to you in almost every single class. He always glides in at the very last second before the professor starts speaking, and by then, the only open seat in the packed room is the one beside you.

Today is no exception.

“Hi,” he greets you, offering a blinding, wide smile—the kind with perfectly straight teeth that looks like it belongs in a toothpaste commercial.

You offer a faint nod, same as always. You don’t have the emotional currency to socialize, let alone pretend to be friendly.

You just feel hollow.

“How was your paper?” Jake asks politely, attempting to strike up a lowkey conversation as he pulls out his notebook.

“Fine,” you shrug, your eyes fixed strictly ahead, refusing to meet his gaze.

Sensibly, he takes the hint and doesn't try again, letting the heavy silence settle back over you as the lecture begins.

—-

He tried again. And again. And again.

“Do you understand the connection between these two?”

“Can you explain this diagram?”

“When are these papers due, again?”

“Wait, do we actually have class tomorrow?”

They were questions he could easily ask the professor, or find with a two second search on the course portal. Questions a golden child student like Jake Connelly shouldn’t even need to ask, but for some reason, he kept asking you.

You replied in blunt, one worded answers, but in true Jake Connelly fashion, he refused to take the hint.

You didn’t even know who he really was. You didn’t want to know, because none of it mattered anymore, but it seemed your cold silence wasn't the deterrent you intended. To him, it was practically an invitation.

The dynamic shifted one evening when Mr. Bailey introduced a massive new semester project.

“You’ll be paired up with the person sitting right next to you,” the professor announced with a careless shrug, clearly too indifferent to devise a proper arrangement.

Your eye twitched. Out of the corner of your vision, you saw Jake smirking.

Oh boy.

—-

Nightmares didn't come in the shape of monsters. They came in the shape of baby blue eyes and dark brown hair.

They came with phantom hugs and soft kisses that used to make your knees weak, forcing you to hold onto him just to stay upright. They came with the memory of smiles and laughs that used to send a rush of butterflies fluttering through your stomach. They came in warm touches and quiet moans, feeling so ecstatic that your toes curled under the sheets.

They came with the solemn promise of a forever you would never get to live.

You woke up with dried tear tracks itching on your cheeks, your eyes swollen and red. You were so disoriented you didn't even realize you were running late to class.

You got ready on pure autopilot, your mind a thousand miles away.

What if... what if it had been you? What if you had been the one to take the impact and break your neck? What if Beau was the one left behind, forced to navigate a life without you in it? What would he do? Would he be braver than you, able to pull on a mask and carry on with his days? Or would he be completely lost, suffocating under the weight of missing you?

What about your families? Would they be drowning in the exact same depths of sorrow?

And what if Beau had never gotten into that car? What if he had been driving, and it was his dad who died instead? Could Beau have handled the crushing guilt of knowing he survived? Would he be spiraling into a dark abyss, drowning his pain drinking alcohol, snorting coke, and swallowing MDMA the way Dean did?

What if none of it had ever happened?

You’d still be yourself. Living with Beau, attending classes back at Briar, going to noisy parties, and falling asleep tangled in the arms of the love of your life. The promise of the future would still be real.

There would still be a future.

Your tears hadn’t even dried by the time you sank into your seat in class.

You didn’t care about the pitying stares or the sorrowful glances from the people around you. You didn’t care that your dad had called you three times before class, softly reminding you that it was okay to skip today and just stay home. Hell, he was even ready to call out of work—and that was huge, considering he was a complete workaholic.

You were visibly wasting away, and everyone could see it.

Jake was no exception.

Today, his usual confident, arrogant facade crumpled entirely. His deep, forest like eyes were flooded with genuine concern. He desperately wanted to help—you could see the internal debate playing out across his sharp features—but he clearly had no idea how. Asking what was wrong felt meaningless, he knew you wouldn't tell him. He understood, without you ever having to say a word, that you were carrying a weight so crushing that even you couldn't lift it.

So he did something simple. Something almost pathetic for a guy like him, but he was running out of options and desperate to help you.

Because for some unknown reason, Jake really, really wanted to help you.

He reached into his backpack, bypassing his neatly packed lunch, and pulled out a protein bar—the one meant to be his prepractice snack.

He slid it softly across the wood desk, stopping right in front of your hands.

When you slowly turned your head to look at him, a faint, puzzled expression filling the saddest—yet most striking—eyes he had ever seen, he leaned in and whispered softly.

“I don’t really do chocolate, but it’s sweet. And sweet stuff always helps.”

It was so boyish. So earnest.

Despite the endless weight in your chest, you couldn't stop it—a tiny, crooked smile flickered across your lips for the very first time since Beau died.

DEPRESSION 

A month has passed. Another month of slowly realising that Beau is never coming back, and the weight of it holds you down like it wants to choke you. 

You hadn’t returned the calls from Joanna. You haven’t called Dean once since moving away, although you both promised to catch up with each other. 

You received numerous worried messages from the parents, who later called your parents to know how you are holding up. 

They talked for hours, filling in on them about your achievements in school, but also saying that you’re clearly depressed. 

You don’t have an appetite anymore, losing so much weight your cheeks are hollow. 

Some days the depressive episode hits so hard you can’t even get up from the bed to brush your teeth, or even your hair. Your hair is so tangled, you lost half of it. 

Showering becomes another task to accomplish, which you fail consistently. 

You skipped school for a medical emergency, or at least that’s what your mom said to the dean. 

Jake’s been spiralling. His performance in hockey has declined. 

“What’s with you?” His teammate, Brooks asks him as he slides up next to him on the ice. 

“Nothing,” he tries to shrug him off. 

“Nothing seems finer than you,” Brooks snorts. 

They don’t say anything until they reach the changing room. 

“I’m worried about the new girl,” Jake admits, his voice low, because he doesn’t want the others to hear him. 

“The one who transferred from Briar?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Tough luck, bro. She was Beau Maxwell’s girlfriend.” 

Jake’s face pales. “The quarterback at Briar who died in a car crash?” 

His death was in the news. 

“Yeah. His pal, Dean Di Laurentis, was also a wreck,” says Brooks as he takes off his skates. 

“Shit,” Jake curses. 

“The girl’s clearly depressed. They were together for years and now she’s mourning someone she thought she’d spend the rest of her life with.” 

It hurts more now. 

“That’s why she transferred?” 

His friend nods. “I heard she couldn’t bear attending at a uni where Beau's memory lingers.”

“She needed a clear slate.”

“Well, she’s not doing alright, now does she?” They stand under the hot water, washing away the sweaty remains of practice. 

No, she’s clearly not doing okay. The girl’s only twenty two, considered such a young age to mourn the loss of her love. She clearly loved him deeply and now she’s ready to waste away. 

Jake’s heart’s sore. 

“I want to help her,” he blurts out. 

“Does she want help, tho?” 

“Probably not,” agrees Jake, “but she needs someone to be there for her.” 

“She probably won’t accept your help.” 

“Probably. That’s why I’m not gonna say anything. Just do it.” 

—-

You used to love taking walks across campus, crossing the little wooden bridge that led to the park just outside the school. It was a place frequented by students lounging between classes and elderly couples strolling hand in hand. You loved sitting in one of the central gazebos, the wooden steps crack beneath your weight.

You hadn’t been outside your house in so long that you’d completely lost track of time. But the chill in the air remained, so maybe you hadn't lost as much of it as you thought.

Your mom and dad had insisted on taking a walk here. Your dad walked on your right, your mom on your left. They talked about everything and nothing all at once—complimenting the park's quiet beauty, calling a passing elderly couple cute, and inventing playful backstories for strangers. They complained about work and the grueling hours spent dealing with dumb people, all in a desperate attempt to coax a small smile out of you.

None of it worked, but at least they seemed relieved that you were finally willing to step outside.

You felt a sharp pang of guilt for making them worry so much. You had tried to apologize one afternoon, but your mom just shushed you gently, telling you it was their job to worry and act a little overprotective. Still, it was as clear as day - they wanted their daughter back.

They mourned the old you.

The happy you.

The content you.

They missed hearing you talk nonsense and laughing so loudly the walls resonated. You were the main purpose of their lives, but every day they prayed for you to find your own purpose again.

Stopping on the crest of the bridge, you paused to admire the park bathed in the warm, golden light of the sunset. Caught in your thoughts, you didn't notice your parents turning their attention to someone behind you.

“Hey.”

You jumped, startled, just Jake was introducing himself to your parents. 

His eyes were the exact shade of the forest surrounding the park.

“Hi,” you greeted him, your voice cracked and weak.

“I was just taking a walk. Mind if I join you?” He looked straight at you. Your parents stood by, looking slightly dumbfounded, waiting on your cue.

You gave a soft shrug. “I guess.”

Jake then proceeded to talk all the way through the walk. He said he plays hockey, which made your heart skip a beat, because it reminded you of Dean, back in Briar.

He wants to play professionally, but first he wants to graduate and then move up to the big leagues. Your dad immediately jumps in and asks some hockey related questions, because as much as your dad loved football, he often watched hockey too. 

Jake admits he’s an only child, spoiled by his parents, but clearly doesn’t mean it, because Jake Connelly is a down to earth kinda guy. 

“Y/n’s too,” your mom adds, “she desperately wanted a little brother when she was younger.” 

“Why a brother?” Jake asks, looking at you. He wants to hear your voice. 

“Because a brother wouldn't steal my clothes,” you say quietly, not really expecting to see Jake laugh, and your parents eyes move softly between the two of you. 

Jake proceeds to talk your parents' ears off. Yours too, but you tuned him out halfway through the walk. 

Because he reminds you of Beau. He never knew when to shut up or how. You were convinced he came out talking from the womb to which he laughed and kissed you, saying that you clearly came out spitting facts and jokes left and right from the womb. 

He wasn’t wrong in the slightest. You loved joking. You joked more than Beau, which was a surprise to him and his friends, because it was a well known fact that Beau Maxwell breathed in and out jokes. 

And now Jake’s making your parents laugh. 

“I want to go home,” you say sternly than expected, making them turn around to face you with slight frowns. 

“Okay, we’re going,” your mom reassures you with an easy smile, but it’s clear that she doesn’t want to go. Neither is your dad, because you haven’t seen them smile so bright for months since you moved back home.

“You can stay. I’ll go.” 

“Nonsense. We came together, we go together.” 

“I can walk you home,” Jake interrupts, his green eyes somehow brighter in hope you’ll say yes. 

“No,” you shake your head instead. “I’ll see you in class.” 

You turn your back at them and start your walk home. 

—-

You don’t remember how you managed to wake up and get ready for class. But you clearly don’t remember packing lunch, and now your stomach growls so loud you get a couple of stares. 

After class, you stumble upon the vending machine for a sandwich, but a brick wall of muscles stops you abruptly. Looking up, you see those striking green eyes boring into yours. 

“Eat lunch with me,” Jake demands softly. 

“I’m trying to buy a sandwich,” you point a finger at the machine. 

“Don’t. Those aren’t fresh,” he grimaces. “I made you lunch.” 

“You…what?” You’re truly speechless. Why would he…? 

“It’s not too much, just grilled chicken with veggies and rice.” 

“Is that one of your boring hockey meals?” You cross your arms over your chest. 

“They’re not boring,” Jake protests, “they’re just… not that varied.” 

“It means boring.” 

Jake’s lips stretch out in a slow smirk. “It’s boring.” 

Jake can’t cook. The chicken is dry as sand and the veggies are burnt and soggy, but at least the rice is good. However, you eat it anyway, because somehow Jake managed to make your heart beat normally. 

For once, he’s quiet. He doesn’t say a word while you eat. 

“Why are you doing this?” Your voice is low and uncertain as you sheepishly look up at him. 

Today, his eyes are darker, like a forest at dawn. 

“What?” He acts dumb. 

“Talking to me. Making small talk with my parents and making them laugh. Bringing me lunch. What’s your goal?” You count on your fingers what he did to you, but somehow your voice lacks the bite you hoped you could show him.

“I don’t have a goal,” he denies.

“You clearly do.” 

“I just… I want to help,” he admits but his voice remains confident.

“I don’t want your help.” 

“I know,” he shrugs and takes a bite out of his food. 

“Then why do you bother?” You pick on the food with your fork. Suddenly your appetite evaporated like mist. 

“Because for some reason, I care.” You furrow your eyebrows at that.

“You don’t even know me.” 

“I want to know you,” he looks deeply into your eyes. 

“Don’t bother.” 

Because when someone had the time to know you, they died. 

—-

Another gruelling month has passed, but this time, it was faster due to Jake. He made sure to make a calendar for the both of you consisting of free periods where you could work on your joint project for Mr.Bailey. 

You didn’t even ask, Connelly just did it. You figured he was a calendar addicted guy. 

You didn’t want to admit it, but it was a good idea. The physical toll this past month has put on you meant that your brain was so foggy, you couldn’t even think straight. A considerable amount of sleepless nights made your limbs heavy, often falling asleep in class, and having Jake to make notes for you too. 

He did, without a word. And that proved that he wasn’t a quitter. 

You sit in silence at the library, trying to come up with ideas for the project, but to be honest, you just sit and stare emptily at the table. 

“I lost my boyfriend due to a car crash.” 

You don’t even know how the words come stumbling across your mouth, but they’re out before you realise. 

Jake freezes, whatever he was writing, he doesn’t finish it. He slowly turns to face you, his face neutral, but somehow soft and gentle. 

“He died on impact,” a tear slides aggressively down your cheek. “Do you uh.. do you know Dean? Di Laurentis? They were best friends,” you laugh, but the sound comes out empty. “I promised Dean that I’ll call him,” you turn to face Jake, tear soaked cheeks and red eyes, “but I never did.” 

“Do you want to?” Jake asks, leaning a little bit closer to you. 

“I do. But I’m so afraid, because he’ll trigger memories I desperately want to forget,” and now you cry, the broken sobs shaking your entire being. 

“Why do you want to forget?” 

“‘Cuz it’s easier, isn’t it? Then facing the fact that he’s no longer here.” 

“But he lives,” Jake reaches out a tentative hand, and slowly, he taps your heart gently, “here.” 

Jake wipes your tears away, his thumb calloused. 

“You’re the first person I’ve ever told this,” you admit with a shaky whisper. 

Jake smiles warmly. “I knew you'd warm up to me.” 

You breathe out a little laugh. 

It was the most beautiful sound Jake has ever heard. 

“Did you uhm.. regret transferring?” 

“No.” 

—-

ACCEPTANCE 

Ever since confessing to Jake, it felt like a weight has been lifted from your shoulders. The bad days still surfaced, lingered, but now, it seemed your days were headed toward another direction. 

Content. 

Neither happy nor sad. Just truly existing. 

You started to eat more. Your cheeks and thighs filled out with time, making your parents sigh in relief. 

You returned the calls from Joanna and her parents, and they were also relieved to hear the ease in your voice. You still talked only a few words, but it was more than enough. 

Your sleep schedule was still on the rocks, but you managed to sleep more than three hours a night. The purple circles lightened, but haven’t disappeared yet. 

You started to take walks again around the park. Sometimes alone, but other times Jake accompanied you, whenever his hockey schedule let him. 

When you said you wanted to talk with Dean, Jake admitted that they’re going to play against them soon. You haven’t said anything, because you haven’t found the strength within you to face them again. 

You let Jake ask questions about you. He asked about your interests, what are your plans after graduating, and what do you like to do in your free time. Such harmless questions, but somehow they still made you squirm. 

Jake was trying to be your friend. 

You really needed a friend. 

“Would you like something to eat?” This was one of his favourite things to ask. 

“I ate dinner at home,” you reply. 

Tonight, you meet at his place to finish up your coursework. You’ve been alternating between the library, your house and his. 

You’ve met his parents briefly, but you got so shy you blushed and haven’t had the courage to talk with them. They weren’t intimidating, no - Phil and Kerri were the nicest people. 

But so are Beau’s. And you couldn’t help, but compare the two, and made your brain go numb. 

Fortunately, Jake saw your face and immediately jumped in, and later you apologised for acting so strange. They assured you you were perfectly fine. 

“Can we hurry up and finish? I feel so tired,” you yawn. 

“You haven’t slept well?” Jake asks worriedly. 

“Not really. I was up until two am.” 

“Are you okay?” He asks, sliding into the seat next to you, his broad shoulders brushing against yours. 

The thing is with him - he subtly tries to touch you whenever he can. He never made you feel uneasy, rather endearing how he makes sure you’re okay with it. Like right now, as his strikingly green eyes look down where you two are touching, then gazes back at you with a little smile. 

You lean into it, and he lets out a sigh. 

“I’m okay. I just couldn’t sleep,” you shrug. 

“You’ve been looking fuller with life lately,” he rasps, his eyes raking over your face slowly, like he’s trying to memorise every single detail. 

“I feel lighter,” you admit with a little smile. 

“Good,” Jake smiles too, his whole face lighting up like he’s not even from this world. 

An hour later, you both finish the coursework, and submit it as well online. It wasn’t as hard as you imagined it would be, but it still feels good to be over with. 

“You take summer classes?” Jake asks at one point. 

“Yeah, I have to in order to graduate on time. Fortunately it won’t be too much that is required,” you explain as you pack your bag. 

“Hey uhm…,” he swallows, “would you like to go to a party tomorrow?” 

The invite catches you off guard. “I don’t know.”

“There’ll only be me and some of my teammates and their girlfriends.”

“So more like a get together?”

“Yeah,” Jake nods. Then he suddenly looks more serious, his sharp features like stone. “I really want you to come.” 

—-

You haven’t realised how much you miss socialising. The mourning and grief that swallowed you whole and that became your new reality. But sitting beside Jake right now as his long and muscular arm is thrown around your shoulders on the couch, facing a couple of his teammates and some of their girlfriends, you realise how fun it is to meet new people. 

They’re fun. They accepted your handshake with a bright smile and a warm welcome. The girls complimented you to the point your ears are now on fire. Meanwhile Jake cannot wipe the smile off of his face even if he tried.

Though, you don’t feel like drinking and you’re sure you won't stay long, but a win is a win, right? 

“How are you?” Jake taps your shoulder with his fingers, trying to get your attention. 

“I feel good,” you smile up at him. 

“I’m glad you came,” he whispers into your ear, and that causes some trouble sending a shiver down your spine. 

Because why do you suddenly react to Jake like that? No, you don’t want to think about that. 

It simply is not happening. 

Because it’s Beau who you should think about. Not Jake. 

Noticing the sheer change about you, he sits up straighter. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“I uh.. is it okay if I go?” You bit your lip, embarrassed that suddenly you need an out. 

Jake is not happy - his eyes fell to the ground. 

“I’m sorry,” you murmur and slowly stand up, making your way to the others and apologise for the early departing. 

—-

“Mom?” You shout into the quiet house, desperately hoping they’re not fast asleep downstairs. 

“Sweetie? What is it?” She comes barrelling out, tying her robe around your waist, then rushes over after seeing the panicked expression on your face. 

“I…,” you’re lost for words for a minute, “I’m freaking out.” 

“Clearly,” she brushes your hair away from your face, “tell me.” 

So you tell her. About the way Jake has been slowly creeping into your orb these last couple of months, and how he never gave up on you. They way he slowly, but surely made sure you can open up to him safely, that you can trust him. And you do, which also scares you shitless. 

And the way he makes you physically feel - the comforting touches, a brush of fingers here and there, how he leans closer to hear you, to make sure you’re close and never hurt. 

“I think I like him,” you admit out loud, and that’s somehow even scarier, because now it feels real. 

“And you want to fight it,” you lay in your mom’s lap, a habit you convinced you’ll never grow out of. She brushes her delicate fingers over your cheekbone, up to your hairline and back. 

“Yeah.” 

“Because of Beau.” 

“Mhm,” your chin wobbles. 

“Honey, you’re not doing anything wrong,” she reassures you. 

“But it feels like a sin,” you cry out now, tears soaking your mom’s robe. 

“You know what is a sin? Denying yourself some fun,” she makes you sit up, facing her.

“Fun feels wrong without him,” you wipe your tears away. 

“I know, baby,” your mom nods, “but believe me when I say this - Beau wants you to have fun,” she holds your face in her hands, keeping you steady and firm. “And certainly, he doesn’t want you to live your life in constant pain.” 

“Okay,” you nod after a few minutes of silence. 

“I think you should call Jake and apologise,” she advises, and truly, she’s right. 

—-

Upstairs, you dial his number. You don’t even expect him to pick up, but he does. 

“Hey,” he says. His voice sounds gruff. 

“Can I see you?” 

He doesn’t say anything, 

“Please?” 

“Do you want me to come over?” He asks after a while. 

“Yes,” you nod frantically even though he can’t see you. 

Thirty minutes later Jake sits down on your bed. 

“I’m so sorry,” you say as soon as you close the door behind you. “I freaked out.” 

Jake furrows his eyebrows. “Why?” 

“Because I like you,” you say so fast his eyebrows flew to his hairline. “I like you,” you repeat it again slowly. 

Jake’s eyes brighten up. They’re like grass green when the sun shines on them. 

“I like spending time with you and how you managed to get me where I am today. Without you, I'm pretty sure I’d still be depressed and mad at life,” you laugh sadly. Jake’s lips also press into a sad line. 

“I freaked out because I felt as if I’m being unfair to Beau.” 

“C’mere,” Jake takes your hand and sits you down next to him. “I like you too,” he says earnestly, “but I don’t expect you to forget about him. I don’t want to replace him. You went through a very traumatic experience in which you lost someone you deeply loved. But that doesn’t make me entitled to erase him from your memory. We discussed that he lives here, remember?” He presses a hand to your heart, which beats violently. 

“Yeah,” you nod. 

“What I’m asking, though, is that if you find any courage to make me some place in your heart, please do. Because you do have a place in mine,” he takes the hand he holds and brings it to his own heart, which also beats just as rapidly as yours. 

“I'm not going anywhere,” he continues, “take your time. I’ll help however I can.” 

—-

May 

Jake plays against Briar tonight. 

It resulted in countless sleepless nights, but you made the decision to go. And maybe afterwards, try to catch Dean. 

It makes you physically sick, the adrenaline and stress, but you need it. You need to see him and make sure he’s okay. 

Because for the first time in months, you feel easier than ever. After that night with Jake, you both go step by step dictated by you. Jake understands that you need to trust and fall in love with life again, which is the hardest part of it all. 

But now it seems promising, because you’re sitting at the stands, watching with a bunch of people the hockey match. It’s a home game, so the anticipation is there and bigger. 

Your eyes immediately found Jake, as well Dean’s. They’re almost the same height and built, but even from the stands you see Dean’s striking blonde hair. 

They play well into the night, finishing when the sun just disappeared from the horizon. Harvard won, so everyone is happy except Briar. You feel your heart slightly break at that. 

You wait for Jake at the parking lot, next to his car. Bunch of people are already outside talking and waiting, but the one you’re the most eager to see is not here. 

Disappointment flows through your veins. 

Someone brushes your hair away from your face. 

You see Jake and those beautiful forest like eyes. 

“Did you know that your eyes change the depth of colour of them?” 

Jake laughs at that. “No one ever said that. But thank you for noticing.” 

“You won,” you smile slowly. You’re familiar with the feeling - Beau was always ecstatic. He demanded parties and drinks and you. 

“We won,” Jake nods and opens the trunk of the car to put his bag inside. “It feels good.” 

“I know.” 

And then you notice the little group a couple of meters away from you. You immediately notice Dean, then Logan, Garrett and Tucker, and their girls. They’re there - talking, smiling and laughing. 

Dean laughs. 

Jake follows the line of your sight. “Go on.” 

“Will you come with me?” You ask hurriedly. 

“Yeah, but I’ll stay behind.” 

That couple of steps felt like running in water. 

And then Hannah turns her head slightly and makes eye contact with you, gasping. You haven’t seen them for four months. Four long months without any updates. You felt like shit. 

“Dean?” You slowly reach out and touch his arm, but he goes rigid. 

Allie, his girlfriend gasps just like Hannah did, her eyes immediately glistening with tears. Logan, Grace, Tuck and Sabrina - all of them look surprised and somehow relieved at the same time. 

“Y/n,” Dean turns around, his green eyes wide with bewilderment. He notices the weight you lost, and how little you look with this much of a loss. He envelopes into a bear hug, keeping you close for a couple of moments. 

“I’m so sorry I didn’t call you,” you murmur your apology into his shoulder. 

“I didn’t call you either,” he says sadly. 

“Hi guys,” you greet the others with quick hugs, everyone wishing you well. 

“How are you?” You ask Dean. 

“I’ve been better,” he admits, “I made some mistakes, but I’m… I’m getting there,” he quickly glances over his shoulder at Allie, who smiles warmly at him. 

Dean then glances over your shoulder and notices Jake. His eyes bounce from him to you and again. 

“He uh..,” you point at him with your thumb over your shoulder, “helped me. A lot.” 

Dean waves Jake closer. “Hey, man.” 

“Hey. Nice game out there,” Jake says, not an ounce of sarcasm in his voice. 

“Thanks. But now I really understand your nickname lightning,” Logan adds in, “you’re a fast motherfucker.” 

Jake chuckles. 

“You’re taking care of her?” Dean asks Jake in a serious note. 

“Of course.” 

“Good, because I promised Beau I’ll look after her whenever he can’t.” 

Your breath catches. You feel Jake's hand taking yours. “I’m there to make her days more bearable.” 

“If a single hair curls wrong on her head -“ 

“Then you can beat me,” Jake finishes Dean’s threat. 

“Y/n, let’s keep in touch!” Sabrina approaches you, taking her phone out. “Give me your number.” 

“Me too!” Adds Grace, Hannah and Allie too. 

You change phone numbers with everyone, then turn back to Dean. “Update me.” 

“I will,” he promises and hugs you strongly. “We gotta go. Take care of yourself, will ya?”

“Yeah, I’m on it.” 

—-

July

Summer courses are straight from hell. Even the weather took inspiration from hell, making July the hottest month ever in America. 

You’re sweating from the moment you wake up until you fall asleep. 

It’s torture. 

Today is the Fourth of July, and Jake mentioned going to the Charles River to celebrate. 

Spending so much time with him doesn’t scare you anymore. Sure, the grief is still heavy in your heart, but you took your mom’s advice - to have fun. 

So that’s what you do. You have weekly calls and texts with the girls, as well Dean tries to call whenever his tight schedule lets him. You haven’t met personally since May, but you guys plan a big trip to Lake Tahoe at the end of July until the end of August. 

You can’t wait. 

A couple of hours later you start to get ready, softly humming the song you play from your phone. 

“Honey, Jake’s here!” Your mom shouts from downstairs. 

“Already?” You shout back, genuinely confused. Were you that late to begin with getting ready? 

“It’s okay, you still have time,” Jake invites himself inside your room. 

“What are you doing here? I thought we’re meeting at the River.” 

“Yeah, but I wanted to see you sooner,” he shrugs, trying to act nonchalant. 

“That’s sweet,” you grin at him, but a slow pink hue is creeping up your neck. 

Jake makes himself comfortable on your bed, while you continue to get ready. You opted for a white tank top and short ripped jeans, paired with sneakers. You were never one to dress up, you always prioritised being comfortable. Only to your make you added bright red lips, to which upon seeing Jake’s mesmerising green eyes instantly darkened. 

He looked good in his white shirt and black pants, but Jake looks good in anything. He’s very attractive. And smart, confident and kind. Cocky, but not too cocky. 

Funny. 

You liked funny. 

“I’m ready,” you say to break the suffocating silence. 

“You look so beautiful,” he compliments you, and presses a soft kiss to your cheek. His lips are soft and plush, a tingle spreads down your spine.

And the feeling continues when the fireworks start. Jake plants himself behind you, his strong arms hugging you from behind, his chest resting against your back, as well his chin on the top of your head. His thumb lazily strokes your side, creating goosebumps on your arms. 

Jake notices the way your breath catches, his chest rumbles with quiet laughter. 

He plants a kiss on the top of your head. “Is this okay?” 

“Yes.” 

“How are you feeling tonight?” 

“I feel… safe.” 

“Safe?” Jake asks back, because this feeling of yours is new.

You nod in agreement. “I feel safe with you.” 

Jake doesn’t say anything, but the way his arms tighten around you, hugging you firmly says a lot more. 

August 

It’s been three weeks since everyone arrived at Lake Tahoe. Garrett found a huge villa that was available for rent, and we all agreed that this is the one. 

Three weeks have passed by with constant laughter, drinking and dancing and singing, swimming in the water and taking out boats to look around. 

However, now you’re panicking, because you fell asleep beside Jake and you slept through the whole night. 

Ever since Beau passed away, you haven’t been able to sleep through the night. You were constantly woken up by nightmares, or the sheer panic of accidentally falling asleep and seeing his face kept you awake. In the last couple of months, though, the insomnia became bearable, but it was a far cry from perfect. 

And last night, after a long and boring day down the lake and sunbathing, you fell asleep next to Jake in his room. Slept through dinner. 

Jake and you both decided for separate rooms for numerous reasons, but now it seemed silly. 

Because you had the best sleep since Beau’s passing. 

You peel off Jake's heavy hand from your waist, to which he groans slightly, but doesn’t wake up. You grab your phone and slowly creep out of the room, closing the door behind you. 

Downstairs, people are having breakfast. Upon your arrival and seeing that you’re still in your bathing suit and a cover up short from yesterday, they’re shocked. 

“Did you…,” Grace starts, but doesn’t know how to finish. 

“I fell asleep yesterday,” you quickly check your phone, “around five.” 

“You slept for fifteen hours?” Logan’s eyes bulge, a piece of omelette falling from his mouth. 

“I haven’t slept through the night since…you know,” you avert your gaze, biting your lips. 

“Where’s Jake?” Garrett asks. 

“He’s… sleeping.” 

“You slept with him?” Allie asks with a hint of skepticism. 

“Not like that!” You shake your head right away. 

Dean doesn’t say anything for a while, just looks at you. Really looks. 

“You’re healing,” he murmurs softly. 

“What?” Your heart pounds violently. 

Dean gently smiles at you. “You’re healing,” he repeats himself. “You slept comfortably for the first time since last September. You found your comfort in Jake. Jake helped you heal.” 

Oh god. 

You call Joanna. You somehow caught her just before her rehearsal, so you rapidly got to the point - that you feel something for Jake, but you’re scared to act on it, because it feels like a betrayal to Beau. 

“Life unfortunately didn’t stop because Beau died. But I've been laughing so much again, and yes, I felt bad because why would I laugh when Beau can’t anymore? Why do I have the privilege to do anything? Listen to me. Jake's been there for you since the beginning. He saw the impact Beau’s loss put on your life. But you came out with the strength Jake gave you. I firmly believe Jake was sent by Beau,” you can feel her smile through the phone. ”You shouldn’t feel bad for moving on. This is your life. You decide what breaks you or makes you, but we both know Beau wants the absolute best for you. He wants you to keep going. Keep being the girl he fell in love with. Keep being funny and laugh as much as you want, because I know Beau is smiling from up there. You never lost him, because he lives inside of you. As he does live inside of us. We carry his legacy, but we fulfill his wish - to carry on. To live as loudly as you can. Fall in love again. Jake is your angel. Let him in.” 

Jake finds you later that night behind the boat house. The sun is setting, but it’s still warm outside, and the lake is still loud with the whirring sounds of the boats. 

“You’ve been very quiet the whole day,” he grunts as he sits down, his knee touching yours. 

“I had a phone call with Joanna.” 

“Is something wrong?” He asked with a worried tone. 

“No,” you turn to face him, those beautiful green eyes that shine like stars, “everything is fine.” 

“Okay,” he smiles softly. 

“She said that you were sent by Beau.” 

“Oh?” 

“And I believe that.” 

“How come?” 

“Because I believe in faith,” your chin quivers. “And I believe that your place is in my heart.” 

Jake’s breath catches, his shoulders going rigid, but drops a second later. “Look at me,” he takes your chin by his thumb and index finger, elevating your head to meet his eyes. 

“Will you let me love you?” Jake asks sincerely, his gaze moving slowly across your face, taking in, like he wants to memorise every single micro expression on your face. 

“I’m scared to love you,” you admit and a tear glides down your cheek. 

He knows why. 

He wipes your tears away. 

“I’ll love you for the both of us.” 

A blue butterfly lands on your arm. 

————————————————————————

You, on the other hand, had made the conscious choice to stay in.

Because you’re boring. At least, that’s what they all call you: the boring, shy one who somehow managed to catch the eye of Briar University’s famous quarterback, Beau Maxwell.

Honestly, even you have to ask yourself: What does he see in you? Why is he with you? Why does he insist on spending time with you, studying with you, and listening to your silences?

It simply isn’t in your nature to spout absolute nonsense just to keep the spotlight on yourself. Yet, somehow, Beau's attention remains entirely fixated on you.

And now, a wave of guilt washes over you for not even considering giving him a reply.

Beau <3: Where are you? Are you coming, baby?

Your heart squeezes painfully.

You know you should tell him that, despite his wishes, you aren't going to show up. You never do. It’s truly isn't your cup of tea.

You couldn't be more different from Beau if you tried; where he is a total social butterfly and the football team’s star quarterback, born to shine, you prefer the quiet.

So, really, why does he bother? Does he truly want something from you that he can't find in anyone else? Is it just because you're "not like the others"? Does your boring personality somehow balance out his popular self?

It could be a good thing, but not when your insecurities scream a hundred times louder than your confidence or your faith in him.

It sucks, leaving a dull, physical ache in your chest. Deep down, you feel like he deserves so much more than you're capable of giving.

So, you choose to leave him hanging. You ignore the next three texts that make your phone buzz, going as far as to flip your phone onto Do Not Disturb.

You close your eyes, wishing only to sleep away the pain.

—-

"Dean was so wasted he took a nap right on the beer pong table while the guys kept playing over him," Hannah laughed, finishing her recap of Friday night's events.

You offer a smile, but it doesn't reach your eyes.

"Seriously, Beau really missed you," she continued, making your heart skip a beat. "He got completely wasted and kept fake crying because you weren't there. Though honestly, I'm pretty sure the tears were real. You've got that man totally whipped, girl," Hannah teased.

"You're bluffing," you reply awkwardly.

"Nah, if Dean hadn't been so wasted, he would've teased him off. Garrett saw the whole thing and ended up having to do it for him. He even took a picture of him hugging a bottle of whiskey while crying. Look," Hannah said, pulling out her phone to show you the screen.

Sure enough, Beau looks completely gone.

The sight should make you laugh, but instead, it sends a wave of crushing guilt through your chest.

"Is that me?" a smooth, male voice calls out, making you jump slightly.

Before you can turn around, Beau places a warm hand on your waist, pulling you back against his chest. "Hi, gorgeous," he whispers into your ear, a sudden blush creeping up your cheeks.

Hannah smirks, entirely unbothered. "Hi, Beau! I was just showing Y/N this picture of exactly how pussy whipped you are."

“Damn straight,” he says as he plants a kiss on your cheek.

"Okay, lovebirds, I've gotta go. See you later, alligator!" Hannah waved as she turned and headed toward the main building, leaving you and Beau behind.

He stepped directly in front of you, his hands settling firmly on your hips.

God, he was beautiful.

He had dark eyes the exact color of dark chocolate. You had told him that once, and he'd just laughed. He fully believed your love for dark chocolate had multiplied solely because of him, which gave him the perfect excuse to act like a smug motherfucker whenever he bought you some. He’d hand over the bar with a cocky grin, saying, "Your favorite, from your favorite."

The memory made your heart clench with a painful ache. You really didn't deserve someone like him.

"I missed you over the weekend," Beau said, offering an easy smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. He reached up to brush a stray lock of hair away from your face, his fingertips delicately tracing the line of your ear, cheek, and jaw.

You kept your mouth shut. If you spoke, you’d only admit that you missed him too—and how could you miss someone you felt you never truly had? It was completely irrational.

"Let's get to class," you murmured instead.

Beau looked down at you for a long moment, searching your face for something. What exactly, you couldn't tell. But after a beat, he simply nodded, intertwined his fingers with yours, and walked you to class.

—-

Avoiding Beau was becoming harder by the day.

At first, it was easy to blame your absence on upcoming exams. You genuinely needed to study, since they contributed heavily to your final grade. When that excuse ran out, you used girls' nights with Hannah and Allie, or faked a massive migraine that felt like it was threatening to tear your head apart.

But maintaining the distance was getting difficult, mostly because Beau was just so damn understanding.

He knew your studies were important to you, and that you hadn't come to college just to fuck around and find out. He knew how much you loved spending time with the girls, and how much you looked forward to any rare free night the three of you could manage to pull together.

To make yourself feel better, you tried to convince yourself that he was just as busy as you were. And he was—busy with football and giving interviews where the press constantly praised him to the nines. Busy getting into shenanigans with the boys, especially Dean. He was consumed by grueling training sessions, meal prepping according to his strict diet, and still somehow finding the time to sit down and study.

He’s smart.

But his intelligence was exactly what made your plan unsustainable. Sooner or later, he was going to pick up on your behavior. You just didn't know how much time you had left before he did.

—-

Beau: Can I see you?

Beau: I miss you.

Beau: I haven't seen you all week, and your responses dry as hell.

Beau: What's going on?

Beau: Please, talk to me.

—-

"What's going on with Beau?" Allie asked, her eyes narrowing as she confronted you.

"What do you mean?" you deflected, avoiding her gaze.

"You've been completely avoiding him, and he looks like a lost puppy."

"No, he doesn't."

"Yes, he does, Y/N/N," Allie countered firmly. "He even went around asking everyone for help because you won't say a single word to him. He's scared shitless that he did something wrong. He asked Dean, Garrett, the whole football team, us, and honestly, I think he even asked his coach. Maybe Jensen, too. So, what is really going on?"

"Nothing."

"Cut the bullshit," Allie sighed, softening her tone slightly but refusing to let you off the hook. "Something obviously happened, and right now, you're leading him on. He feels completely lost, Y/N."

You kept your mouth shut, staring down at your hands.

"Look, I don't know what goes on behind closed doors," Allie said gently, placing a hand on your shoulder. "I don't know if your relationship is going to make it or not. But considering how sad and confused Beau looks, I don’t think he wants to let you go. And the worst part? You look just as miserable as he does. So do yourself a favor, stop running, and just talk to him."

That’s how you found yourself at the front door where Beau lives with the football guys.

But even Allie’s words weren’t enough to give you the strength you needed.

Sure, you just stood there, staring at the heavy wooden door as if it had personally wronged you. When in reality, you were the one who had wronged Beau.

He truly didn't deserve you. He didn't deserve the heartache you were about to cause him—or the heartache you had already inflicted over the past week. You knew you deserved his anger and his disappointment, and you couldn't blame anyone for this mess but yourself. You knew you had to step back and let him go; otherwise, the guilt would eat you alive, that you hold him back from his true potential.

Just a few days ago, you had overheard one of the popular girls talking about him as if he were a prize to win.

In a sense, he was. But knowing that didn't soothe the ache in your chest. It only made it worse, because you knew deep down that you weren't the one who had won him. It would never be you.

"Are you going to stand out there all night, or do you want to come in?"

The sudden voice called down from above, right outside Beau’s bedroom window. You snapped your gaze upward, and Beau was indeed looking down at you, but there was no warm smile waiting for you, no familiar crinkles around the corners of his eyes. There was nothing but neutral, distant lines carved into his handsome face.

You swallowed hard, a lump forming in your throat. "Can I come in?"

"Sure," he replied flatly. He ducked back inside his room, not even bothering to come downstairs to unlock the front door for you.

With a heavy sigh, you reached out and turned the knob. The door swung open without restraint. It was a terrible, unsafe habit of his—one you had scolded him for countless times in the past.

Guess old habits die hard.

You made your way upstairs, offering a tight nod to the few boys lingering in the living room. They returned the greeting with heavy, unreadable looks that made you want to shrink into yourself. You approached Beau's room. His door was cracked open, and you pushed it back carefully, stepping inside.

The space was a disaster—clothes were strewn everywhere, and textbooks lay haphazardly open with crumpled pages. Strangely, his bed was neatly made, as if it had been smoothed over just seconds before you walked in.

But it was Beau himself who drew your eyes. He was dressed in a pair of sweats you rarely saw him wear and an old, faded shirt riddled with holes—one he stubbornly refused to throw away because it had history.

"Hi," you murmured, your voice small and fragile. Your fingers tightly gripped the hem of your shirt.

"You done hiding?" Beau asked. He didn't move from his spot, his arms crossed tightly over his broad chest in a closed-off posture.

"I…" You started, but the words immediately caught in your throat.

He looked devastatingly lost. Though a flicker of his usual warmth remained deep within his dark eyes, he was watching you like a puzzle he was desperate to solve.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, looking down at your shoes to avoid his piercing gaze.

He let out a bitter snort.

"For what, exactly?" he asked, his voice cracking slightly. He took a step toward you, his jaw tight. "For giving me zero heads-up when you decided to avoid me? For making me completely lose my mind over you? For leaving me entirely in the dark because you thought it was a good idea to just leave me hanging? For making a fool out of myself while I sat around convinced you'd come around? For making me believe you actually still want me?"

He kept asking and asking, his words hitting you like physical blows until your vision blurred with tears. You blinked rapidly, trying to swallow down the sob rising in your throat.

"I do want you, Beau! That's the whole problem!" you confessed, the outburst tearing from your chest as you finally looked up, your shoulders trembling.

His expression instantly soured, his brows furrowing deep. "You're making it really hard to believe you right now."

"And you make it hard to believe you!" you shot back, wrapping your arms around your own middle as if trying to shield yourself from the pain.

"What are you talking about?"

"Why do you want me, Beau?" your voice cracked, a tear finally escaping and tracing down your cheek. You gestured vaguely between the two of you with a trembling hand. "Why do you want to be with me when you could get anyone else? Why is it me you want to spend all your time with, when I can't even give you what you need?"

Beau froze, his arms dropping to his sides. "What?"

"I can't give you what you need," you repeated, your voice dropping to a broken whisper as you looked away, unable to hold his gaze. You shifted your weight uncomfortably, feeling entirely exposed. "I can't give you fun, because I'm not fun. I can't give you what you're looking for."

"And what exactly am I looking for?" Beau demanded, stepping directly into your personal space, his chest heaving as he waited for your response.

You pressed your lips into a thin line, staring at his chest, completely silent.

"You don't know what I want," Beau said, his voice dropping into a fierce, frustrated register. He closed the remaining distance between you, his shadow completely engulfing yours. "You don't know because you won't even let me show you."

You flinched, taking a step back. You shook your head wildly, your hands bunching into tight fists at your sides as you tried to hold your ground. "You don't have to show me anything when I already know exactly what I lack!"

"Goddamn it! Please, just listen to me, alright?!" Beau exploded, the raw emotion in his voice making you jump. He threw his hands up in utter exasperation before running them hard through his hair, gripping the strands as he stared at you with a mix of fierce love and absolute desperation.

"I’ve loved you since the exact moment you put Dean in his place," Beau said, his voice dropping to a rough, vulnerable whisper. He reached out, his fingers hovering just inches from your arms, desperately wanting to touch you but holding back.

"I love the way you don't fake who you are just to get me to like you back. I love the way you hold yourself, how ambitious you are, and how you're so full of plans for your future. You let me see the real you, and you never apologize for it."

Your breath hitched in your throat.

"You make me calm," Beau continued, taking that final step to close the distance, his eyes burning into yours. "You let me be just me—not some hotshot quarterback. You never cared about any of that hype, and you always just saw me as Beau. I am truly, irrevocably in love with you. There isn't anything that I wouldn’t do for you.”

"But your life is so much brighter than mine," you cried out, your voice cracking as you pressed the heels of your hands against your eyes, trying to block out the sheer intensity of his gaze. "The fame, the girls, the money, the parties, the awards—"

"None of it compares to you," Beau interrupted fiercely. He caught your wrists, gently but firmly pulling your hands away from your face so you were forced to look at him. "It doesn’t mean a damn thing if I don’t have you by my side."

You shook your head, a bitter sob escaping your lips as you tried to pull out of his grip. "You don’t mean that."

"Hell, I’d propose to you right now if I had a ring," he vowed, his thumbs soothing over the racing pulse in your wrists.

"Shut up," you whispered, your heart hammering violently against your ribs as your chest heaved.

"No. I’ll never shut up about you."

"We’re too different from each other, Beau," you pleaded, your voice dropping to a broken, desperate whisper. You let your forehead drop against his chest, completely exhausted from fighting your own mind.

"But that’s the beauty of it, isn’t it?" he murmured.

Silence stretched through the room, heavy and thick, broken only by the sound of your quiet, trembling breaths against his chest. Beau wrapped his arms securely around your waist, pulling you flush against him, anchoring you to him completely.

"Believe me," he whispered into your hair, his voice thick with a sudden rush of raw emotion. "You’re all I want. You’re all I need. I’ve never felt this way about anyone before, and I don’t ever want it to stop. I love you.”

"Please don’t shut me out," Beau pleaded quietly, his voice cracking as he cradled your face in his large, warm hands. His thumbs gently wiped away the tear tracks on your cheeks, forcing you to look up into his deeply sincere eyes. "Let me know what's going on in that pretty head of yours, baby. Let me know if you have doubts, insecurities, anything. I wanna help. I wanna make you feel good. I wanna be there for you."

You let out a shaky breath, leaning into his touch as the last of your defenses completely crumbled. Your hands came up to grasp his forearms, feeling the solid, grounding warmth of him. "I’m sorry for the way I acted."

"It’s okay. I understand," he murmured, leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss against your forehead. "But please, don't push me away. We’re in this together, right?"

"Yeah," you whispered, a genuine, relieved smile finally tugging at the corners of your lips.

"Good." Beau let out a low, breathless laugh, the tense lines on his handsome face finally melting away into pure relief. He pulled you even closer by your waist, his eyes dropping to your lips. "Now, gimme a proper kiss and tell me about your day—or your week. I missed you so much, I seriously thought I was going to die."

————————————————————————

Giggling, you look back down at your phone where his contact is open. To be honest, you never thought his own first name would make him outright scandalized. But looking at him now, he’s never looked more offended.

“Oh, come on,” you scoff, shoving his shoulder playfully. “Get over it.”

“You? Never,” Beau says, shaking his head. “But this? This, I cannot accept.” He points an accusatory finger at the screen.

In your phone, Beau appears simply as… Beau.

“Now, for real, what is your problem?” You turn to face him where he’s sitting next to you on the couch. Both of you had crashed at your place near campus after a grueling day of lectures and practice.

You’ve been seeing him for a couple of months now, ever since you ran into him at Malone’s. You were out with the girls, and Beau was with Dean and a few other hockey and football players. They were playing billiards, and he was losing. Big time. Seeing his struggle, you couldn’t help but tease him about his lack of ball coordination—which was hilarious, considering Beau is the most talented quarterback for Briar’s football team.

Beau had looked up from the table, locked eyes with you, and smirked. “This one's for you, then.” He proceeded to miss the ball completely.

The guys had thrown their heads back, erupting into laughter alongside you and your friends.

“Maybe if you buy me a drink, you can make up for whatever that was,” you’d said, pointing a finger at the table and winking.

“Come closer then,” he’d replied, his voice dropping. “I don’t bite. Unless you want me to.”

Back on the couch, Beau nudges you with his elbow. “I call you pet names all the time.”

“And?” You raise an eyebrow.

“Don’t you think I deserve one in return?”

You laugh straight in his face. “You’re seriously pressed because I didn’t save you under a pet name?”

“I am! I'm privileged,” he insists, jutting his chin out before reaching over to flick your nose.

“Privileged, my ass,” you laugh, rolling your eyes. “The only privilege you have is me.”

“Yeah. Like I said, I’m privileged,” he winks. You hate how easily a blush creeps up your neck at his words.

“Okay, so what do you have in mind?” You clear your throat, trying to ground yourself because his unrelenting gaze is making your heart skip a beat and your brain malfunction.

“Gimme.” He snatches the phone out of your hand and starts typing furiously. When he’s done, he flashes a victorious smile. “There.”

You peer down at the screen and instantly snort. “Magic Stick? How is that a cute nickname?”

“Maybe I went a little overboard, but tell me it isn’t fitting.”

“I wouldn’t exactly call it a stick, but…” you murmur, letting the joke hang in the air. “Anyway. How about…” You tap your chin with your index finger, pretending to think hard. “Oh! How about Sexy Back?”

“Now you’re just flattering me.” Beau presses a dramatic hand against his heart.

“Yeah, you’re cocky enough,” you grimace. Then, as a better idea strikes you, you bite your lip and quickly type it into the name bar.

“Stud?” he reads aloud.

“Yeah. It fits you perfectly.” You flash a wide, bright smile at him, your eyes twinkling like you’ve just solved a world crisis. But, to be fair, it was a crisis for Beau.

Beau’s gaze instantly darkens, the playful banter evaporating. “God, you’re so fucking pretty like this,” he whispers. His thumb slides over your bottom lip, brushing against the skin with agonizing tenderness, goosebumps spreading all over your body.

“You’re such a flirt,” you breathe, your eyes locking onto his plush lips as the space between you suddenly feels entirely too small.

“C’mere,” he murmurs against your lips.

Before you can even answer, his hand slides up your thigh, guiding you effortlessly onto his lap. You instinctively lock your hands behind his neck, burying your fingers in his hair as his right hand travels up the expanse of your back, finally settling firmly at your nape to draw you down into a kiss. All the while, his other hand grips your thigh, anchoring you right where you belong.

Your moan gets lost in his groan as you taste each other, driven by a mutual, ravenous craving. Keeping you anchored by the nape of your neck, his tongue licks along your bottom lip, wordlessly begging you to let him in. You part your lips happily—he’s addictive, sweeter than any candy.

His tongue swipes over yours, sending a delicious shiver straight down your spine. The sensation makes you arch deeper into him, pressing your chest flush against his.

The kiss deepens, the slow friction of your swollen lips echoing softly in the quiet room. Almost unconsciously, driven by pure instinct, your hips begin to rock against his.

He grunts against your mouth, his palm sliding down to grip your ass, giving it a sharp, light smack to break your rhythm.

“Stop it, you tease,” he rasps, though he doesn't actually pull away, instead continuing to pepper your lips with breathless, bruising pecks.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur. You honestly hadn't even realized what you were doing - your body had simply taken over, leaving your mind completely numb.

“I don’t want to come in my pants the first time I’m with you,” he admits through hazy eyes.

“Aw, but I’d be honored,” you pout.

“My misery would be honourable?”

“I could brag about it.”

“Absolutely not,” he shakes his head aggressively, while Beau pinches your thigh. “You can only brag about the earth shattering orgasm I’ll give you and the aftercare.”

You gape at him. “I’ll get aftercare?”

“Baby, you’ll get everything,” he kisses your cheek, “You own me,” and kisses your jaw.

————————————————————————