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Yank out the poisonous weeds wrapped around your heart, telling you you’re never allowed to fall apart.

Fall—fall into pieces and find your way back to the center.

For there’s beauty in your broken pieces—peace brought in the calm during a raging storm.

So, while regret may be the ashes of the unrealized, they also tell the story of how you survived.”

I don’t realize I’m crying until warm palms touch my skin. Mason wipes the tears and pulls me into a hug. “It’s okay, Evie.”

His words are a comfort, but not enough to alleviate the crater-sized chasm in my chest. Liam’s words hit like it was crafted just for me. Another reminder that I do deserve to forgive myself, but it’s also okay to not be okay.

Needing fresh air, I stand. “I’ll be right back. I need to step out for a minute,” I explain, then exit the venue.

I walk down the corridor, searching for the bathroom sign, when I see her. It’s just the back of her head, but that’s her. But as quickly as she appeared, she disappears into the ground.

“Fah,” I yell, causing people to look at me, but I don’t have time to care about that shit. She’s alive. I fucking saw her. Fah’s alive.

Running down the hall, I turn left and then right. I search until my feet hurt, but I’ve lost her again.

I crouch down until my ass hits the floor and hug my knees to my chest. I replay the scene, questioning my sanity. One thing I’m almost certain of is that she’s alive—Farrah’s fucking alive.

45

eva

Ever since thenight of the poetry slam, my mind has been a mess of confusion. Even with Colt and Coop making it their mission to make me expire from coming, I can't shake this sense of uneasiness that lingers.

Everywhere I turn, I see glimpses of Farrah. But no matter how fast I follow, she disappears...

Why can't I hold onto her? Why do I keep losing her?

I’m beginning to believe it’s all in my head, but each time I find a note with something that only she would know, my belief is renewed.

It’s third down, and Lincoln-Wood just received a flag on the play, pushing them back fifteen yards, and right out of the red zone.

I watch as they break from the huddle and line up with our players. After the snap, Groveton takes off, anticipating that Lincoln-Wood will send one all the way down into the end zone. Instead, Lev pretends to hand the ball off to one of the running backs, causing our defense to respond by running back upfield.

Gasping, I watch as Lev steps back and sails it right into the hands of one of their receivers, who runs it in for the touchdown as the game clock ticks to zero.

“Damn, that was a good game,” Cammy utters, standing and dusting off whatever popcorn crumbs landed on her jeans.

“Word,” Ayana adds.

Humming my agreement, I say, “That last play is going to eat at our team until next year.”

We’re nearly to the bottom of the stands when I hear someone calling me. I look up and freeze. It’s Farrah’s mom. I school my features, trying to hide my fear. I’ve avoided any chance meetings with her as often as possible.

“Eva! I’ve missed you more than words can convey,” Mrs. Jacobi greets, wrapping me in a hug.

I choke back tears, inhaling her calming scent before I respond, “I’m okay.” It’s the only half-truth I can offer. What kind of ass would tell the mother who’s had to bury her child that she’s a wreck over her death?

A tear must escape, because she wipes my face, embracing once more, but this time, tighter. “I know, Evie Rose, I’m still processing—three years later and I’m still seeking answers, I may never get,” Mrs. Jacobi confess as we both drop our arms. Her soft eyes blink away the tears threatening to fall.

If she cries, I’ll fall apart.

Clearing her throat, she probes, “How are the boys treating you?”

My eyes widen, and a blush blooms up my neck into my cheeks. “G-g-good,” I finally mumble.