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Harley looks up at him, his light brown eyes shadowed by his eyebrows as they dip low, confused by Dad’s words. “She’s my little sister,” he tells Dad. “I’ll always take care of her.”
On either side of me, the chairs scrape against the floor, and I’m suddenly flanked by friends. I didn’t even see them get up from opposite me. Jeannie takes my hand, while Sammy throws an arm around me, and I rest my head on her shoulder as the clip fades to black, moves on to the next ones. Birthday parties, and Christmases, and holidays and vacations, and throughout all the moving pictures and still images, Harley and I are side by side.
I always thought I lived in his shadow.
Turns out, I was the one who always shadowed him.
The quick clips go on, showing our growth, until Harley finds basketball. And then it’s just him, and his love for the game—from middle school onwards. Every time Harley makes a play or shot worthy, the boys in the class cheer him on, and my friends… my friends only hold me tighter.
Shot after shot, clip after clip, picture after picture, all switching faster and faster and faster until they’re nothing but flashes, and then…
And then it slows completely.
Harley’s a senior now, the ball in his hands above his head as he jumps off his toes, and the rest plays out in slow motion—the way the ball leaves his hand, the way his feet don’t quite land right, the way he collapses on the middle of the court…
“That’s exactly how I remember Harley,”I once told Jace. “His life in snapshots, and his death in slow motion.”
The scene cuts there, and for seconds, five in total—there’s nothing but white noise and static. The room is silent during all five of those seconds. I lower my head as the video cuts to a local Dallas news reporter standing outside the school gym. “Tragedy unfolded on Wednesday night as NBA prospect and future Texas Tech University recruit Harley Greenediedon scene, collapsing mid-game from a genetic heart condition. Fellow students and teachers here at…” The audio fades, along with video, and I don’t look up when the next clip begins. His team stands in a line in the middle of the court, their heads bowed, arms around each other, as a ruby-red jersey is unveiled in the gym. It hangs on the wall, lit up by a spotlight. The numberfiveretired forever.
At some point in the clip, Levi breaks the line to get me from the sidelines, and he holds my hand as he leads me back to the rest of the team—my brother’sbrothers—and makes sure I’m part of honoring his memory.
The school held a celebration of life a few days after that. Thousands of people filled the football field. Students, teachers, parents,fans. My parents were there.
I stayed home, crying in my closet as I clutched my dead brother’s jacket. It was the first time I’d ever done it.
“Kids! I’m home!” I look up at the sound of my dad’s voice playing through the speakers. He’s standing in the entryway of our old house, the camera pointed right at the stairs. A moment later, there’s a bang—Harley opening his door so fast it hit the wall behind it. “No!” I yell, as Harley flies down the stairs with me only a step behind. He’s eighteen in this clip. I’m seventeen. It was the last time Dad ever said those words.
I jump on Harley’s back to stop him from getting to Dad first, and he laughs in the video, and I let out a sob, because I miss his laugh. Jeannie cries with me, wiping her tears. On the screen, Harley’s trying to untangle my limbs from around him while still moving toward Dad, and he can’t stop laughing, and neither can I, and then it ends.
Right there.
With both of us smiling, reaching for our dad.
A still shot of a memory I never want to forget.
Harley’s name appears over the image of us, followed by his date of birth, then his date of death.
And then all those words are replaced by the ones he wanted to live by:
Faith Over Fear.
For the longest time, no one moves. No one makes a sound. I stare at the TV, my cheeks stained with liquid longing.
Finally, I clear my throat, breaking through the silence. “That was my brother,” I say, my voice cracking with emotion. “He was my hero, but I didn’t realize it while he was alive. I always felt like I came second to him, but he was never the one to make me feel that way. And I thought… I thought I’d forever live in his shadow, but then someone…” I trail off, keeping my gaze down for fear of what I’ll see if I look up and around the room. “Someone really important to me once suggested that maybe… maybe Harley wanted me to see his shadow, so that I’d always remember there’s light…”
79
Harlow
It didn’t take long for the whispers to start, then the sideways glances that quickly turned to all-out stares. It doesn’t affect me the way it used to. Besides, there’s only one pair of eyes I care about, and I can feel them on me from across the cafeteria. I’d been too afraid to look up, choosing instead to focus on the untouched tray of food in front of me. My friends are talking to each other. I can hear their voices, but they seem so far away, so distant. I try to fight off the urge to look over at Jace, but the more time that passes, the weaker I get. Finally succumbing to my heart’s desire, I ready myself, building a wall around my beating organ, and lift my gaze.
I was right.
I’d felt it in my soul.
Jaceiswatching me.
There’s a depth in his stare, a sadness that tugs at my heart, forces air from my lungs. For seconds, we stay that way, our eyes locked, our hearts beating as one. It feels like we’re the only two people in the room. The only two people who understand each other’s pain. Or… at least, we used to.