He reaches up and replaces my hand with his, continuing the job of hiding the pain.

“I want to feel worthy of you, Dylan.”

“Riley, you are—”

“Not yet,” I cut in. “But I want to be. And that’s something I haven’t felt since Jeremy died. I want to stop drinking and I want to stop feeling nothing but despair when I think of him. I want to be stronger than that. I don’t want to feel like the horizon.”

His head tilts. “The horizon?”

“I feel like I’m the sky and the earth is reality. And the horizon… it’s just the sky and the earth appearing to touch, but they never do. I want to touch reality, Dylan. I want to live in it. I want to feel like I’m here… in this world, and not just floating around it. And if I’ve learned anything from Jeremy and from you—it’s that life’s too short, and no matter how much it hurts, it’s better than the alternative.”

Seventeen

Dylan

She tells me not to come over during the next two days because her mom’s home and having her mom question why I’m there may just cause her to drink. She wants to do everything she can to avoid it, which makes me proud. I tell her so and she smiles. “Good. I want to give you a reason to be proud.” We exchange phone numbers so she can text me in case her feelings ever get too overwhelming and she reaches for the bottle.

“You look like ass,” Eric says when I step into the living room.

“It’s been a long ass day.”

He motions to my shoulder. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, nothing like that. Where’s Sydney?”

“Work.”

“What does she do?”

“She’s a nurse.”

“Seriously?” I ask.

Eric laughs. “Don’t let her shitty life choices—aka, being with me—fool you. Sydney’s a really smart girl and she’s funny and compassionate and… yeah….” He clears his throat. “Hey! Have you seen my balls? I swear I lost them around three weeks ago.”

“She probably took them to work with her,” I say through a chuckle. “Yo, what’s with all the computer shit in my room?”

“It’s just work stuff.”

“You work?” I ask in disbelief.

He laughs. “I also pay half the mortgage if that means anything.”

“What the hell do you even do?”

His eyebrows rise. “Ah, baby brother. If I told you, then I’d have to kill you.”

“Fuck off.” I throw a cushion at his head. Clearly, I’ve been hanging around Riley too much. “Tell me.”

He throws the cushion back. I catch it. “I work for a secret government agency. I try to find online predators, kiddie porn, all that stuff.”

“No shit?”

He nods.

I stare at him. “Yeah. You really look like you’re doing a good job with that.” I point to him sitting in his boxer shorts with a beer in his hand.

“Fuck off, dickhead. I work nights. That’s when the assholes come out.” He shrugs. “It works out, though. I get to be home all day and Sydney and I both work the same schedule so we can see each other as much as possible.”

“You really like her, huh?”

“Yep,” he says, now unashamed. “Thinking of asking her to take it to the next step.”

“What? Like marriage?” My voice is loud. Too loud.

“No. Not marriage.” He’s looking at me like I’m stupid. Maybe I am, but what else could the next step be?

“I’m thinking about asking her to date me, you know. Not just fuck me.”

I shake my head. “You’re fucking gross.”

“Okay, guy who’s on The Drug.”

“I’m not on The Fucking Drug.”

He laughs. “I know. Sydney told me about the girl next door. How’s she coping anyway?”

“What do you mean coping?”

“After the accident. She kind of went a little…” He spins his finger around his ear and whistles.

“Don’t talk about her like that.”

“Oh,” he says, his eyes wide while he nods slowly. “So you’re more than boning her?”

“I’m not boning her,” I snap. And now I’m pissed. Maybe because he’s talking shit—or maybe because he seems to know more about her than I do. Sighing, I drop my head forward. “What accident?” I ask.

“She hasn’t told you?”

“Obviously not. How the fuck do you play detective online and you can’t even work that out?”

He shakes his empty beer and stands up. “Just look up her name online. I’m sure you can find out.”

“Can I borrow a computer?”

He shakes his head as he passes me. “Just use your phone.” He smacks the back of my head. “How the fuck are we brothers?”

I pull my phone out of my pocket and search for the Internet app. When I finally find it, I don’t type her name. I type his: Jeremy Walters into the search window, and when the results load, my eyes scan the headlines, my breath leaving me completely.

Freak cliff jumping accident takes life of promising teen.

North Carolina teen dies after taking “The Leap.”

I continue to scroll down the page, my heart beating wildly in my chest.

Then I see it—the one headline that causes my heart to stop and my head to spin.