A week later, I wake in my old bed in Gram's cottage to the sound of Mom and Dad packing up their things to head back home. Grams voice is offering them drinks for the road. Rolling off the mattress and stretching my arms high above my head, I decide to go downstairs and say goodbye.

That is, until I pass Casey's old door and can't resist the urge to peer inside. Pushing the door open slightly, his smell fills my nostrils and I let out a long sigh. Looking around the room, it's clear Grams has not picked up where I left off. My fingers rapidly tap against my thigh as I stare at the storage boxes I began to fill, the posters still left for me to take off the walls.

Unable to stop myself, knowing Casey deserves this seen through, I walk inside, slowly sinking to a cross-legged position on the floor. I resume stacking old CD's in a half-full box to my left, glancing at the covers of each and every one. Each playlist brings back a memory, each song, a night spent driving around with my brother as he sang too loudly and way off-key.

Before I know it, I'm humming to myself, not well, but still better than Casey could have, the montage in my mind bringing waves of nostalgia along with it.

What song would be Casey's favorite now? Racking my brain for what's currently on the radio, I decide he probably would've stuck with his old 90's playlists. He'd say that music today isn't what it used to be, just like people our parents age do. The thought makes me chuckle.

Finishing up with the CD's, I tape the box up and stand, peering around the room for something else to do. My eyes fall on his photo-wall, the one thing I still haven't been able to take down. The posters were next on the list, the photo-wall... The photo-wall would be nearly impossible to remove. It feels like taking Casey out of this room, out of Grams cottage, completely.

Stepping closer still, I inspect each picture, the happy smiles in them all. My heart tugs painfully at Luke's dimples and my eyes quickly dart away, finding one of Casey's favorites of us instead. I always loved the one of us at the front of our boat when we were little - I twist the engraved pendant around my neck - but Casey liked this one instead. We were little, not even pre-teens yet, and just like Casey loved to protect me, he also loved to tease. In the photo, a Dylan pout stares back at me, ice cream smeared over her nose and chin, a crushed cone on the table in front of her. And Casey grins hugely, a guilty twinkle in his eyes, head tipped back, hands covered in sticky vanilla ice cream. My sticky vanilla ice cream.

I'm thinking about all the things I would give up just to have Casey push an ice cream cone into my face another time, to hear his teasing voice calling me Pickle, to swat him away one more time, when the door to his room swings open.

I turn in time to meet Mom's gaze. She stops abruptly when she sees me. "Dylan," She peers around the room, sadness coming over her features, before settling her sights on me again. "I'm surprised to find you in here."

Turning my back to her, I grab the ice cream photo from the wall and decide to keep it. For the memories, I think to myself, just as I practically hear Casey's voice saying the same thing.

"I should probably finish cleaning it out for Grams." I face Mom again, eyeing her cautiously. After my conversation with Dad, which I assume he filled Mom in on, Mom has been... Less unpleasant. We haven't talked it through and I'm not sure if we ever will. I'm not sure I could forgive her if we did, since she was the mastermind behind it all, anyways.

Still... It would be nice if she showed remorse for what she's done.

She takes slow steps across the room towards me, like I'm an injured animal she's afraid will run from her, before stopping beside me and scanning the photos on the wall. A sad, appreciative sound slips from her lips as her fingers barely trace the photos. Her hand stills over a perfect shot of Casey - he's with Maya, but if you don't look at her, it's just him and his beaming face.

Maybe not even to me, Mom lets out a sigh. "My perfect boy."

My head snaps in her direction and before I can think to keep my mouth closed, I whisper, "He wasn't perfect, Mom."

Because he wasn't.

And it wasn't just the accident. Since telling him how angry I am with him at his cross that day, it's like a veil has been lifted from my eyes.

Casey was not perfect. He was a boy - a kid, just like the rest of us. When we got in trouble for breaking into the town pool, he had been there, he had wanted to go, too. We thought because he talked us out of trouble it made him golden... In reality, it made him a smooth-talker. A kid who could work the system a little better because people thought so highly of him.

When we all drank at the bonfires... It wasn't just Luke supplying us alcohol. Casey carried just as many bottles and twelve-packs.

When we fought before the party... It wasn't just me. Casey was being an asshole.

But that... That didn't make him bad. It made him human. Something I never really put together until now. Something Mom doesn't want to see, doesn't want us to admit.

I blink, glancing towards my mother and finding her already staring at me, tears in her eyes. When our gazes catch, she blinks, swiftly wiping at her lash line so I won't see her cry.

It doesn't matter what she hides anymore, I've heard her at her worst that night and I know the whole truth now.

"Well." She ignores my comment, clearing her throat. "Your Dad and I are going to get going."

I don't know why, but something like disappointment settles in my stomach. "Right," I mutter, looking back to the photos. "Drive safe."

Before I know it, Mom's arms are thrown around me, tighter than I've ever been hugged before, and she's pinning me in place, one hand cradling the back of my head like a baby's. Stunned, it takes me a minute to register what she's doing, and that's when I realize that she's also crying, sniffling right into my hair. My arms lift awkwardly until they're wrapped around her, too, and suddenly, even though I'm angry at her - so fucking angry - I'm holding on like my life depends on it.

"I love you, Dylan-girl." A kiss on my temple. "I love you so much."

It's not an apology.

"I..." I feel myself relax - a tiny, itty-bitty little bit, in my mother's arms. "I love you, too."

But it's a start.

Later that afternoon, a couple of hours after Mom and Dad have gone, I'm sitting on the porch with Grams. We've got tea and biscuits between us and the only sound is the soft creaking of Grams rocking chair.

Until she speaks.

"Did you talk to your Mom?"

I raise an eyebrow at her, wondering how much Dad and Grams tried to pressure Mom into an apology. Grams struggles to open a new pack of cookies, her cast making it complicated. Reaching for the package and tearing it open for her, I shrug. "Not exactly."

"Hm." Grams bites into a butter pecan crisp before closing her eyes and resting her head back against the chair. Like she's relishing in the warm breeze passing through. "Have patience with her."

I almost ask how much more patient I can be, years later. But then Grams cracks an eye open and adds, "Mothers are not supposed to bury their children."

And the retort that had been on the tip of my tongue fades away. I wasn't supposed to lose my brother. Mom wasn't supposed to lose her son. But it all happened and now we just have to do the best we can. We have to try.

"Be patient." Grams says again, her eyes fluttering closed once more. I think she's almost asleep, but then she asks, "What's the plan now, Dylan?"

"I'm not sure." I pick at a cracked piece of wood on my chair. Looking down the quaint street I grew up visiting, I sigh, "I can't stay here."

I expect an argument. Instead, I find Grams smiling sadly at me. "No," She pats my knee. "No, I don't suppose you can."

There's just too much history. I'll never be able to breathe again if I'm always drowning in the past. And here... The past is everywhere. Without my telling her, Grams seems to understand. I appreciate that.

Inhaling the salty air I once loved so much, I cock my head at her. "Mind if I go out for a bit? I want to say goodbye."

"Sure thing, Dylan Grace. I'll be here, in this chair, when you get back."

I make her promise she won't do anything crazy and dangerous while I'm gone, and then I leave to do what I said I would.

I walk the town streets that I know like the back of my hand, peer into stores I've shopped hundreds of times, listen to the sounds of outdoor eateries. Inhale the scent of fried foods and hot dogs and burgers, watch kids dripping popsicles down their hands. Passing the general store, it's the only time I don't turn my head to look inside.

Each step, every place, every sound, is a memory.

I continue walking until I can hear the ocean waves rolling in, the children splashing in the water, and seabirds crying over head. Gazing out at the ocean, the dune uneven beneath my feet, I feel a new kind of sadness.

This is what I'll miss the most. I close my eyes and let myself experience it all, committing every grain of sand, every roar and crash of the waves, to my memory.

When I open them again, the sun just beginning to set over the water, dimming the sky into shades of orange and pink, I notice a fiery mane several feet away, in one of the benches overlooking the beach.

A rush of emotions runs through me and without thinking, without planning out what I'll say, I'm kicking up sand, marching towards Maya and her strawberry smoothie.

She stiffens at my approach, at me looking straight down at her, before configuring her features into a snobby expression. "Here to hit me some more?"

"Actually... I'm here for Grams, again." I say, not knowing what I came over here for in the first place.

"Oh." Maya mumbles, looking away from me and back to the water. She picks up her cup, the straw almost to her lips, before she puts it down again. "I'm sorry about Grams."

Something inside me loosens and I feel my shoulders sag. "Thanks." Fingers twitching at my sides, I nod to the bench. "Can I sit?"

Maya almost jumps at my question, before working incredibly hard to keep a blank face. "I can't stop you."

Settling as far from her as possible, I sit in silence beside her for some time. I'm not sure what to say. I didn't expect to see her, but it felt right to come over. Now, I'm wondering if I should've just went home. For whatever reason though, Maya doesn't leave. We both just sit there together, staring at the ocean, watching the kids playing in the sand.

For a second, it's easy to remember the times when we'd do this before. The times when she was still my best friend.

Finally, without giving it much thought, I open my mouth and let the words pour out. "I shouldn't have... attacked you." I should probably apologize. Unfortunately, I'm not quite there yet, not with Maya, so I don't.

"Yeah, well..." Her voice trails off and I'm about to leave when she shrugs her dainty shoulders. "I shouldn't have kissed Luke."

Her voice cracks but when I glance over, I can't read her expression. Crazy how much has changed. Whether it's to make her feel better or to get it off my own chest, I don't know, but I let myself speak without a filter.

"Whether you kissed Luke or not..." I pause. It still stings. I still can't believe it. But it doesn't make this next part any less true. "Casey's actions were his, and his alone. He made the decision to drive that night knowing he wasn't in any state to be behind the wheel. He... he's responsible for the accident, Maya. No matter what led up to it." I kick my toes through the sand, feeling her incredulous eyes on my face. "I can admit that now. It's just... it's so hard being mad at someone who isn't here to defend themselves."

My big brother. Who was smart and responsible and good, but made a serious mistake. Because no matter how smart or how responsible or how good he was... he was loyal to me, protective over me, to a fault.

So when he realized news might get back to me about Maya and Luke's kiss, he was determined to be the one to get to me first, to tell me, to protect me. To keep me safe. To make it okay. Even without getting the full story.

And he should've known better, should've done better. But he didn't. He chose wrong. And as mad as I am, at him, at everyone, it doesn't change a thing. He did what he did.

And that's not Maya's fault.

I face her again.

"If he was here... I'd tear his head off for driving himself into that tree."

Strawberry blonde brows bunched over her eyes, Maya only stares at me. Confused, most likely. I continue.

"But he isn't here so I don't get to rip his head off. I don't get to yell at him or ask him why he'd do something so reckless and stupid. I just get to sit here and miss him and cry and be angry. So maybe that's why I said those things I said to you... It was easier to hate you than to face the things I felt ... The things I feel... for Casey."

Even when I didn't know the truth, even when it hurt too much for me to notice that something felt out of place about the story... I was mad at him the whole time. Whether it was his fault or not, he left me. Gone. For good. And that was crime enough.

And now that the truth is out there... It hurts and it's confusing, but I know it's not anyone else's fault.

I stare into Maya's eyes as I complete my apology.

"But no matter the reason, I shouldn't have said them. I shouldn't have put that on you." I know how vicious I can be, how bad I've hurt myself all these years, beating myself up - for what I said before the party, for not going with him, for being the reason he rushed home. My mind can be cruel. Cruel and unfair. Somehow, sitting here, years of hate begin to fade away, small bits at a time. "And... I'm sorry."

Maya only stares at me, her lips parted in shock, eyes wide. Feeling the weight lifted off my chest, even without a response from her, I nod to myself. Maybe this was the goodbye I was looking for, in the end. Feeling lighter, I stand and brush sand from the back of my legs before turning to leave.

"Dylan."

Maya's voice is soft and when I turn around, she's staring right at me, eyes glassy.

"Those things you said... They weren't so bad." A pitiful half-smile on her lips. "Believe me, I've told myself the same - worse things, even - more times than I can count, since that night." Her chin wobbles, but her voice stays firm. "If I could go back and ... If I could take back that kiss, if I could make it so none of this ever happened, I would. In a heartbeat... I'd take it all back."

She looks away from me then, but deep down, her words hit home and I know that she means them.

And while they change nothing at all ... They sort of change everything.

Silently, I nod in understanding and goodbye, and begin my trek back home, leaving her on the bench, staring out at the sea.

oooooop what do we think? Is Dylan done with her goodbyes? What do you guys wanna see in the last couple of chapters? What do you guys think about Maya - the villain the entire time but... she was hurting too ):