Not ever.
Chapter 1
Kayla
Beep... Beep... Beep...
It’s the first thing I notice.
A steady pulse, slicing through the fog, threading itself into a dream I don’t want to leave.
I’m at the checkout. Mom’s coaching the bag boy like the fate of the world depends on where the eggs go, while Dad sneaks a candy bar past her eagle eyes. Braden elbows me, smirking, as we try to slide a few packs of gum onto the belt. She catches us, of course—but instead of scolding, Dad claims the gum as his own. His favorite.
Mom rolls her eyes but doesn’t argue.
We know she knows.
We let Dad think he’s won.
It’s the unspoken deal: our tax is one stick each.
We laugh.
It’s easy. Sweet.
Home.
Then the dream vanishes.
Gone like smoke. Like it was never mine to keep.
Pain crashes into me.
Hot. Vicious. Unrelenting.
It blooms under my skin, wrong and everywhere. My joints scream like they’ve been pulled apart and reassembled by fire. My limbs throb with exhaustion, as if I’ve run for miles and hit the end of the world at full speed.
The beeping quickens, matching the wild thrum of panic rising in my chest.
The sun from my dream is gone—replaced by a sterile white haze. Not warmth. Not light. Just… nothing. Cold. Clinical.
Something is wrong.
My throat is raw, shredded. Like I’ve been screaming. My lips are cracked. My body doesn’t feel like mine.
I feel broken.
Panic slinks into my bones.
How many times have I woken up like this?
What’s real?
This place smells like bleach and loneliness. Like grief that settled into the walls and never left. I try to breathe, but it hurts. Even the air feels borrowed.
Braden. I saw him. I was just with him, wasn’t I? His voice lingers in my ears, soft and mischievous. Mac, not Kayla. Never Kayla. Just Mac.
He was just here. But…no. That can’t be right. The edges of the memory fray. Zellers? No…Target. Maybe both. It slips away like water through my fingers.
