Page 85 of Campus Fake

“You look good,” he said. “I mean, considering.”

“Considering what?”

“Considering you’re unconscious in a hospital bed right now.” His mouth twitched. “Your hair’s a mess, by the way. Like, really bad. If you could see it, you’d lose your mind. It definitely looks worse than that time we went camping and the squirrel attacked you.”

“That squirrel was feral,” I grumbled, but I still couldn’t believe he was really sitting here across from me talking about something as mundane as my hair.

“Where are we?”

“You tell me. It’s your subconscious.” He gestured around the coffee shop. “Although I’m flattered you picked our spot. I figured you’d go with the rink.”

“I never want to see another rink in my life.”

“Liar.” His grin widened. “I saw you skate. You were beautiful.”

My breath caught. “You saw that?”

“I see all of it, Sam.” His voice softened. “I saw you at the rink. I saw you stand up to Mom. I saw you tell her you were done apologizing.” He paused. “I also saw you fall in love with a six-foot-four hockey player who looks at you like you put the stars in the sky, which is another reason I know you won’t avoid rinks.”

I covered my face with my hands. “Oh my God.”

“What? He seems like a great guy. You could definitely do worse.”

“Bryce.”

“I’m just saying.” He held his palms up, still grinning. “The guy pined for you for over a year. I mean, that’s commitment.”

A flash of a memory, the sound of metal, and then Harry’s panicked voice flitted through my mind. There was an accident. I remembered that now.

“Am I dead?” I asked.

His grin faded. “No. But you’re not exactly thriving, either. You’re in between.”

“In between what?”

“Here and there.” He rested his elbows on the table. “You’ve got a choice to make.”

My stomach dropped. “What kind of choice?”

“The kind where you decide if you’re going back or staying here with me.”

The words hung in the air between us, and I waited for the terror to hit, but it didn’t. Staying here with Bryce. Being with my brother again, in this warm, quiet coffee shop where nothing hurt and no one looked at me with the blame or pity that had lived on my mother’s face every time she saw me. How many times had I thought about what it would be like if I’d died with Bryce? If everything would be better if I hadn’t survived?

“Would that be so bad?” I whispered. “Staying?”

Something shifted in his expression. The teasing big brother fell away, and what was left underneath was somber. “Yeah, Sam. It would.”

“Why? You’re here. This is—” I looked around the coffee shop. “It’s peaceful. No one’s blaming me for anything. I don’t have to perform or pretend or⁠—”

“You were never pretending.” His voice was firm. “That’s the part you never got. You think the person you became in Montana was some kind of mask, but she’s not. She’s you. The girl who held Abby together when her gram died—that’s you. The girl who moved into a hockey house full of boys so her best friend could live with her boyfriend—that’s you. The girl who makes everyone around her feel like they matter—that’s you, Sam. You didn’t build that person to hide from what happened. You built her because that’s who you always were to begin with.”

My jaw tightened and I stared at the table. “If I’d never insisted on going to that competition, you’d still be alive.”

“Maybe.” His gaze locked on mine. “Or maybe I would’ve wiped out on my bike the next week, or gotten hit crossing the street, or choked on a hot dog. You don’t know. You’ve been carrying a ‘what if’ for five years like it’s a fact, and it’s not.”

“Mom said⁠—”

“Mom is broken.” His voice was gentle but unflinching. “And broken people break the people around them. She lost her son and she didn’t know what to do with that grief, so she aimed it at you because you were the easiest target. That doesn’t make it true.”