You remember the sound of rain on marble. Heavy, relentless. It matched the beat of your heart that day—too loud, too broken, too alive in a world that suddenly felt too empty.

Nate Sinclair. The sun in your sky. The boy who stitched you and Rafe Cameron together, who made your laughter collide like stars. The boy who carried hope in his palms and shared it so recklessly, like it could never run out.

Now he’s gone. Too fast, too reckless, like a candle burning itself out just to glow a little brighter. And here you are, in a black dress that feels like a noose around your ribs, tears carving rivers down your cheeks. The funeral is a blur of flowers you hate, faces you barely see, and silence so loud it could crush you.

Rafe is the only thing that feels real. His arms, iron and trembling all at once, hold you upright when your legs give in. You never got along before. You were fire and he was steel, and Nate was the only one who knew how to keep you both from burning each other to ash.

Now Nate isn’t here to hold the pieces together.

You taste salt on your lips and press your face into Rafe’s chest, as if you could hide from the truth. His voice is a low ghost in your ear:

“I’ve got you. You’re not alone.”

But the lie trembles. You can feel it in his heartbeat, skipping like a stone on water. He’s barely breathing too, but he catches your fall. He holds your storm because someone has to.

The night before the accident claws at your thoughts. The warmth of Nate’s skin under your fingertips. The words that slipped out of your mouth—I love you. His smile, soft and sad, like he already knew he couldn’t keep that promise. The kiss that still burns on your lips. The morning sun on his face, so painfully alive.

And now? Cold skin in a wooden box. Silence that tastes like goodbye.

You wonder how you’re supposed to keep breathing when the only reason you did is gone. The world feels like it’s missing a color you can’t name.

Rafe’s grip tightens. His thoughts are running wild behind those sea-glass eyes, and you don’t know he’s holding a secret so heavy it’s crushing him too.

Just before the crash, Nate was at Rafe’s place. Sick, hurting, but smiling that same broken smile. And Rafe, who had always loved you in a way that burned him from the inside, finally spoke the words:

“I love her the way you did.”

It was a promise, traded like a prayer in shaking hands. Nate didn’t want cancer to take him. So he chose his bike. Chose speed, wind, and freedom for his last breath.

And now the boy who never got along with you is the only thing keeping you from falling apart. Because he made a promise in the last minutes before the end. And love, in its rawest, ugliest form, is what keeps him standing beside you, whispering:

“I’ve got you. I’ve got you. Always.”

You don’t know where tomorrow starts. But Rafe knows where it ends: With him keeping Nate’s promise. With him loving you in the ruins Nate left behind. With two broken hearts, stitched together by grief—and by a boy who loved you both enough to burn out for you.

And somehow, in that shattered truth, there is the faintest spark of something almost like hope.

Almost.