Before You Break

And it had been too damn long since I’d laid eyes on her.

I squatted down, picked up the can of paint near the rear wheel, and blew the thick layer of dust off the top. I’d had such big plans for her. Had I continued my renovation the last couple of years I’d be taking her for joy rides by now.

But after the accident it just seemed wrong to refurbish the same kind of machine that was instrumental in my best friend’s death. And for me to find any kind of solace in it. All I could see was Bastian lying in the wreckage on the side of the road. The desire to rebuild anything, especially cars, had been zapped away. As if my livelihood, my spirit, had been vacuumed out of my soul.

But standing here now, I couldn’t keep the foreign feeling welling up in my chest at bay. As if it couldn’t be contained any longer or it would consume me. Permeate my skin, latch on to my bones, and flow through my veins.

I’d been too damn afraid all this time. Terrified it would taint Bastian’s memory. Make me a disgrace.

Instead, it was slowly killing me. I was withering away to nothing. A hollow shell.

As I rolled up my sleeves and reached for the screwdriver on the worktable, I allowed a singular emotion to take hold and it was so fucking potent that I felt tears burn the back of my throat.

I didn’t bother to swallow them down. I just knew I had to do this. Take this first step.

In order to survive.

Chapter Fifteen

Ella

The two days I’d been home, I’d been busy with an endless list of chores to help my mom ready our house for Saturday-night di

One of the reasons I’d decided to leave home to live with Avery was because our family was close. Too close. Like know-all-of-your-business close. And they’d always set high expectations for us. And that’s why I didn’t know how Christopher could have slipped past us undetected. We were very involved in each other’s lives.

My father admitted that he sometimes suffered from bouts of depression. I wished he hadn’t been too proud to come clean earlier. Maybe Christopher wouldn’t have felt so alone. According to the journal I’d found after his death, he’d been depressed for a long time. He’d felt like he didn’t belong to our family. The only thing that had made him feel halfway sane was playing soccer. Because he’d found something he was good at.

My parents had certainly changed since Christopher’s death. Especially my father. He was more quiet, introspective, and protective of us.

One of the reasons I’d become a psychology major was because I’d wanted to understand why my brother had taken his own life. And in the process, I had helped heal my family. As much as a family could mend when one member was lost to you forever.

That morning, I was helping my mother prepare di

This was our routine and some days we performed our tasks in silence. Today, Mom wanted to know all about my classes. I hadn’t told her about Joel and me yet. I’d just said that he wouldn’t be coming for di

My twin brothers, James and Jason, were in the garage helping dad change the oil in my car. My father insisted on inspecting my vehicle each time I came into town. It was his way of making sure I was safe.

“You bring Avery the leftovers,” Mom said. “And tell her I expect a visit from her and her new boyfriend soon.”

“I will, Momma. She already told me she’d miss your cooking.”

The past several years, Avery and her brother, Adam, had come for Easter di

Even though Avery’s mother was having a better year in the parenting department, she wasn’t up for any mom-of-the-year awards yet. She still shacked up with different guys, but at least she had curbed her alcohol and drug usage, according to Adam. She had even kept a decent-paying job.

Two hours later, a couple hundred pierogies were pinched at the seams and ready to be boiled. They were filled with sauerkraut, ricotta, plum jam, and my favorite—potatoes and cheese.

After we cleaned off the table and washed the dishes, we headed out the door to Aunt Karina and Uncle Roman’s restaurant. The diner was busy and Aunt Karina had called and asked me to pick up dessert along with a side dish she’d made, in case they were ru

Basia’s Diner sold freshly baked pies, and I was glad that Mom had decided not to make hers from scratch. Truth be told, I liked Aunt Karina’s pies the best, even though she and my mother used the same recipe—my late grandma Basia’s. She taught them everything they knew about cooking.

The diner was located in the next town over on a busy thruway, and, no surprise, the lot was full. It was always packed during the holidays as people passed through town to get to their destinations.

I spotted a familiar car taking up two spots in the far corner of the lot. I don’t know my classic cars like my father did—or like that other person did. The one who I was trying extra hard not to think about.

We were greeted by Aunt Karina as soon as we stepped through the door. She wore the same light-blue apron with purple embroidered flowers that she refused to retire no matter how many replacements we’d bought. It had once belonged to Grandma Basia.

“Look at this beauty-queen niece of mine.” Aunt Karina pulled me in for a strong hug while my mother walked behind the counter to greet Uncle Roman.

“Hi, Auntie.” Our parents were so close, she’d almost become a second mother to me. “Been craving your banana cream pie for weeks. I can’t wait to get my hands on a slice.”

She kissed the top of my head. “I loaded it with extra whipped cream just for you.”

She grabbed my cheeks and pinched lightly. “How are things?”

I looked into her bright-blue eyes and saw myself in thirty years’ time. “Good, Auntie.”

She peeked over my shoulder to make sure my mother wasn’t listening before whispering. “How about with that boy?”

I shrugged. “It’s all right.”

It was nearly impossible to lie to my aunt. She’d always had excellent radar for boy troubles. “You’ll tell me all about it tonight?”

I nodded and looked around. “You guys have a crowd this afternoon.”

My eyes sca

Qui

Like this was last place he’d ever imagined seeing me. On spring break, at Basia’s Diner.

Yeah, no kidding. The feeling was mutual.

“What the hell?” I said, louder than I’d intended.

“What is it, honey?” Auntie asked, following my gaze. “Ah, that handsome boy at table twenty? He comes in every now and again.”