Prologue
Myla
Deep slow breaths.
I could feel every muscle in my body getting ready.
See the jump.
Know how it is going to go.
Feel every movement.
Visualize.
One…
Two…
Three…
I could fly. In those few seconds, I could actually fly.
Pushing myself to limits I never thought possible was incredibly liberating, and pulling off the perfect flying camel was always my favorite. There was something so peaceful about being alone in the rink. My skates gliding over slick, smooth, polished ice…the chilly air nipping at my cheeks and filling my lungs…it was like coming home. I knew I was meant to be there.
Skating around, listening to my Spotify playlist full of angsty punk rock music—it was the best way to fill an afternoon. Right as Blink-182 started singing about going away to college, my skates left the ice and I was in complete bliss.
After landing my best inside axel ever, my eyes snapped to the bleachers to find my mother’s smiling face. She was absolutely radiant, practically glowing as she jumped to her feet, clapping and cheering.
“Do a stag for me!” She beamed as she cupped her hands around her mouth to project her voice out to reach me.
I rolled my eyes, yelling back to her, “Why do you like splits so much? I just don’t get it.”
She giggled, shrugging. “What can I say? I just do.”
“As you wish,” I teased, sticking my tongue out at her as I skated backward to get enough room to pull off her request.
I set myself up, taking a few slow, deep breaths, counting to myself. Within seconds I was flying again, smiling at my mother as she collapsed where she stood up in the stands. I crashed down onto the ice as a blaring horn drowned out my music.
My eyes burst open. Lights were all I could see—bright lights barreling toward us. I was strapped into the passenger’s seat. The windshield wipers were frantically trying to keep up with the pouring, freezing rain.
I screamed as I realized what was actually happening. “Oh my God, Mom! A truck!”
Crash.
Darkness.
Stillness.
Nothing.
Chapter 1
Brayden
“So, doc…” My eyes traveled down to the blue-gray speckled white floor of my sister’s hospital room as I gripped her hand tighter. “How bad is it, really?” I knew from how mangled the car was that I was lucky she was breathing—even if it was with the help of a machine—but I needed to find a shred of hope that she’d see morning.
Watching Myla’s tiny frame clinging to life in that hospital bed damn near broke me. Most of the time, I prided myself on being the tough one in the family, but right then and there I was crumbling into a pile of useless emotions, praying for this to all be one sick, twisted nightmare that I needed to wake from.
