Page 185 of The Fall

Those were Cody’s.

“Couldn’t sleep?” His voice is deeper than usual, dark water scraping over hidden rocks.

“No,” I breathe. “Blair…”

“This was his room,” Blair says, answering the question I didn’t need to ask. “He stayed with me before…”

This room holds everything he’s lost, each silent night layered on top of the next. On the dresser, two boys mug for the camera at an outdoor rink, Cody’s grin sharper than Blair’s careful smile. Hockey sticks gather dust in the corner. His brother lives everywhere here, the boy from these snapshots frozen forever between puck-drop and next season.

I study the photo on the wall beside me: Blair and Cody, arms thrown around each other, grinning wildly, two dark-hairedboys on skates. They had the same ocean-eyes, the same jawline. “He was handsome,” I say. “Like you.”

The ghost of a smile touches Blair’s lips. “He was the pretty one. He always had girls throwing themselves at him.”

I sink onto the rug in front of Blair and reach for his hand. He has them knotted between his knees, knuckles white and bloodless. “Tell me about him?”

Blair’s fingers twitch against mine, squeezing tight. His eyes stay fixed on some invisible point beyond the empty bed, as though Cody might materialize there if he watches long enough.

“He laughed all the time,” Blair finally says, his voice barely above a whisper. “Even when things were shit. Especially then.” A small, broken sound escapes him that might be trying to be a laugh of his own.

I run my thumb across his knuckles, over the ridges and valleys.

“Sometimes people thought we were twins. We’d let them think it, too. We used to drive our mom crazy, answering to each other’s names.”

The moonlight through the window catches on something shiny tucked into the corner of a framed photo, a medal or pin, I can’t tell. Blair follows my gaze and swallows hard.

“First tournament we won together. He scored the winning goal.” His voice cracks. “I assisted.”

He unspools the story of his brother’s career: the promising start, the devastating setbacks, the slow unraveling.

“He bounced between leagues in Europe and started partying too much. Then came the drugs.”

First it was just recreational stuff, Blair tells me. Pills to keep the energy up during games, something to take the edge off afterward. The slippery slope that became an avalanche. Blair’s throat works as he swallows down whatever’s threatening to break free.

“I’d get these calls at three in the morning. He’d be somewhere in Prague or Helsinki, completely out of his mind.” Blair’s fingers tighten around mine until it hurts, but I don’t pull away. “I flew out twice to bring him home. The second time, his team had already dropped him.”

I take the pain of his grip. His eyes grow distant, traveling across oceans and years to hotel rooms and foreign streets where he tried to gather up his brother’s broken pieces.

“What was he like when you found him?” I ask.

Blair’s breath catches. He stares at our joined hands like they’re the only solid things in the room.

“A stranger,” he says. “Thin. Angry. Convinced everyone was against him.” He pauses, the memory carving new lines around his mouth. “I packed his things while he screamed at me. Threw a lamp. Called me every name he could think of.”

I stay quiet, giving him space to continue or stop. The moon shifts behind clouds, casting the room in deeper shadow.

“I tried so fucking hard,” he says, his voice dragged over broken glass. “I thought if he was near me, if I kept watch, he’d be okay. We went to meetings every day after. I had him on clean-eating meal plans and workouts. I thought if we kept moving forward together we’d make it through.”

I know how much wanting can cut you when it isn’t enough. “I’m sorry.”

“He was good for a while,” he breathes. “But summer ended and…” His voice snags.

Silence hangs between us. He breathes deep; his knuckles blanch.

“I didn’t— ” Each syllable he forces out is raw. The guilt in his voice rides shotgun with a love so strong it bends everything around it. He tries again. “I think about it every night,” he whispers. “What I missed.”

He looks over, eyes too deep for any storm-wrecked sea, and his agony seizes me. “Turns out you can’t save somebody who doesn’t want saving.”

If love alone fixed people, none of us would break at all. “Blair…”