I can’t breathe.
I can’t think.
And then I hear her. My mom.
Her voice breaks through the silence, loud and agonized. “No! No, no, no!” she cries, her sobs echoing through the courtroom like a punch to my gut.
The guard at my side tenses, but doesn’t move. He’s seen it before. He’s probably numb to this part. But I’m not. I’ll never be.
I turn back to look at her, feeling the heat of my own tears burning my face. She’s shaking, her hands clutching at the railing in front of her like she’s going to fall apart. I wish I could reach her, wish I could make her understand how sorry I am. How sorry I’ve always been. But there’s nothing I can do. I’ve failed her.
I glance at Kenna. She’s got her hands pressed to her mouth, like she’s trying to keep herself from crying out loud. But the tears keep coming. She’s trying to hold herself together, but I can see the pain on her face, see the way this is eating her up inside. I’ve done this to her. I’ve done this to all of them.
The gavel comes down with a loud crack, final and unforgiving.
“Court is adjourned,” the judge says, and just like that, it’s over.
I sit there amid the chaos, numb to everything. The clamor of voices around me—my mom, my lawyer, the judge—is all distant and far away.
I look at Kenna one last time, and I’m unable to stop the tears.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper under my breath. And for the first time in my life, I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to make it right.
Chapter Twenty-Five
SENTENCED TO SILENCE
KENNA-PAST
The daysafter Cole was released from the hospital and taken to jail are a blur. It feels like I’m walking through fog, everything muted and slow. Time doesn’t seem to move at the usual pace.
Every morning I wake up hoping it was all just a bad dream, but the reality of the situation smacks me in the face all over again. I haven’t seen Cole at all. He’s behind bars, and I’m here, feeling more alone with each passing minute. The thought of him in that cold, stark cell fills me with a helpless ache. It gnaws at my insides like something insatiable. I just want to hold him, to tell him everything will be okay, but that’s a luxury I can’t afford right now.
All I can do is wait, not knowing when I’ll be able to see him, or if I ever will.
Every time I close my eyes, I picture myself in his body—unconscious in that car, the flash of the crash still haunting me. It’s like I can’t escape it. The memory of how the car crumpled, how his body was so still, and the sound of sirens echoing in my mind—it won’t go away. It’s like a ghost that follows me everywhere I go, a reminder that I wasn’t there when he needed me most.
I can’t stop thinking about how everything led to this moment. What happened at that party, how I wasn’t there, how I didn’t follow him. Maybe if I had, none of this would have happened. I should have been there with him. I keep going over everything in my head, as if somehow by replaying it all I could fix things, to reverse what’s already been done. But now he’s in jail, and I don’t know what to do with myself. I feel lost, like I’ve been tossed into a current I can’t escape, and it’s pulling me further away from everything I thought I knew.
I try to distract myself with the day-to-day, but it’s impossible. School, chores, anything that used to be a normal part of my routine is now just a blur. I can’t focus. I can’t sleep. My taste buds have stopped working. My mind is always on Cole, on what’s happening to him, on the unfairness of it all. I’m trying to hold it together, but it’s like I’m living in a constant state of panic.
Even my reflection looks like someone else. Sunken eyes. Pale lips. I stare at myself in the mirror and barely recognize the girl I used to be. That girl is gone, and I don’t know if I’ll get her back.
The only things that help at all are Reuben and Asher. They’re the only ones who really seem to understand. I’ve been leaning on them heavily. They’ve been there, talking me through the chaos, trying to make me feel better, but no matter what they say, it never seems to stick. At first, they tried to reassure me that Cole wasn’t drunk when the accident happened, that he had been drinking but not enough to be completely out of control. They told me he was fine when he left. They said the crash wasn’t really his fault, that it was just an accident. But what does that even mean anymore? What does “fine” mean when you end up in jail, when the person you love is being dragged through this mess? What does “fine” mean when your life gets turned upside down in one night?
Even now, their voices echo in my head.
“He was just trying to get home.”
“It wasn’t like he was wasted.”
“He looked shaken before he left. I think something was bothering him.”
And maybe that’s the part that guts me the most—because I wasn’t there to see it. I wasn’t there to help him. He was spiraling, and I missed it.
One evening, Reuben pulls me aside. He’s been quiet lately, and I can tell he’s holding something in. His face is tight, like he’s trying to contain his own pain, his own worries. He wraps his arms around me, and I break. I can’t keep it in any longer. My tears soak his shirt, and I let myself fall apart in his arms, because right now, that’s the only thing I can do.
“Reuben, I just want him back,” I sob, my voice barely a whisper. “I want to kiss him. I miss him holding me. I want to feel safe with him again. I want my boyfriend back. I want everything to go back to how it was before all of this.”
