**Chapter 1**

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Davian

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I’ve been told a lot of things in life. By a lot of different people. Some I knew, others were strangers. Still I listened, even when all the words I heard were breaking me down . I became aware of the fact that I was either enough or nothing at all.

It’s so stupid honestly. What boy my age ever listens to the people around him? I’m supposed to sneak out my window to meet a girl I don’t even like. I’m supposed to yell at my parents, tell them I don’t love them, that I don’t need them. I’m supposed to slam my bedroom door and feel that little tingling urge to grab a bag, throw clothes into it and run.

From the outside looking at me right now you’d think that exact thing. The old, worn down bag that sits in the backseat of my car, the passing speed limit sign that reads twenty when my speedometer reads thirty, growing by the seconds. It’d make sense to assume a sixteen year old boy speeding through the night was running away. And maybe somewhere deep inside my mind that’s what I tell myself I’m doing. Running away, disappearing from the world of pain I’ve become accustomed to. But running away requires effort, it requires a lot more planning then packing a shirt into a bag and sneaking out. It requires things I’m too tired to even think about doing. It was an option long ago. To run. But not literally running, my idea of an easy out was . . . Is the literal way out of life. No life, no worrying, no pain, just nothing. Sounds peaceful to me, especially right now.

I turn on my blinker making a sharp right into a neighborhood that’s still in the makes. Piles of wood, bones of houses, it’s been like this for three years. And everyone knows why. But it’s not so personal to them, not as personal as it is to me.

I stop at the end of the street, and there it is. The reason this place is never getting finished. It looks just like all the other unfinished houses. Tall walls that you can see right through, the outlines of windows, the door, and the garage. It’s perfectly normal, except if you look deeper into the house, you can see the scorched wood. The black walls, half of the house is missing, burned to the ground. You see the outcome of smoking on the job, of bring a lighter to work.

I lean back in my seat, licking my chapped lips as I run a hand down my face. I take in a deep breath, tears pricking in my eyes as I force myself to look away.

_“Davian!”_ Mom’s scream echos in my mind. The sounds of crackling flames still so strong. The smell of bitter smoke whirling around me— it all comes rushing back. _“Davian! Baby! Where are you?” _

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Hiding. That’s where I was. Hiding in the bones of a burning house. The only actual hiding place in there was under the wooden stairs. And I knew that, I was eleven about to turn twelve. I wasn’t a fiver year old, I was a older. I should’ve acted like it._ _

_“Mommy!” _I hear my little voice.

_“Baby!” _Mom coughs, her voice growing closer_. “Baby, where are—” _

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Then it was over. I heard it from under the stairs. The loud, deafening crash of wood, burning wood. But even worse, the pained scream that followed, the scream I knew belonged to my mother. I covered my ears, with both my trembling hands. And cried.

I shake my head, sweat already beading on my forehead as I grip the steering wheel. I let out a shaky breath, my hands trembling just like that night.

I jump at the sound of my phone vibrating in the seat next to me. The screen lights up with Tommy’s name. I shut my eyes, letting the vibrations echo through the quiet darkness. I thought Tommy had work until late tonight, even though in my head he was being selfish to work on a day like this. But Tommy does what Tommy does.

I reach over grabbing my phone as I take a quick glance in the mirror hanging above me. _Please_. I think as I stare at my brown eyes that are reddened with tears. _Don’t cry._ __

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I raise my phone to my ear, waiting for Tommy to make the first move, as I use my free hand to wipe at my wet cheeks.

“Hey,” Tommy’s voice comes in my ear, soft, tired and surrounded in tears. “You looking for company?”

Before I can say anything two bright lights break through the back window as I hear the low rumbling of an engine. I lower my phone from my ear, throwing the car door open as I stand in the bright spot light of Tommy’s . . . _Dad’s_ old, rusty blue truck.

The door of the truck opens with a loud creak as Tommy slides out, with Allie, his girlfriend. And former best friend from 8th grade.

“D,” Tommy calls to me even though we’re only a few yards away. I lift my hand in a wave as I turn away from them, peering into the dirt covered window at the bag that’s still sitting in silence in the back. I open the door, grabbing hold of the leather handle and pulling it out. I shut the door, throwing the leather strap over my shoulder as I make my way towards Tommy and Allie.

I force a small smile. “Hey.” The most used word of the night.

“You ready?” Tommy asks as we start towards the wooden porch of the house that should have been ours.

“Born,” I whisper, blinking tears away as Allie puts an arm around my shoulder.

I look up at her, her green eyes shining with tears as she looks straight ahead. She knew Mom and Dad like they were her second parents, that’s what she told me anyways. The day we got their ashes.

We climb the three porch steps, sitting with our legs dangling off the edge of the porch. I hold the bag on my lap, steadily letting my fingers reach inside as I pull out the only thing inside.

Tommy half laughs. “Dad’s leather jacket.” He says.

I bring it to my face, taking in the faint scent of wet leaves. “It still smells like him.”

“I almost forgot about it.”

I nod once, lowering the jacket from my nose. “Yeah.” I lie.

“Keeper?”

I stare at the black leather, brushing my fingers over the sleeve. It’s been the one thing we’ve never let go of. Even after three years. It’s the only thing left, the only thing left of Dad.

We sit in silence. It’s always going to be a keeper. We’ve burned every other thing Mom and Dad owed. Their clothes, they’re pillows, and blanket. It was Tommy’s idea, to send them all their things. It’s funny really, I mean we’ve sent them everything that they don’t need. The thing they do need is . . .

“Keeper,” Allie’s voice breaks the silence.

A small smile pulls at my lips. Dad without his jacket, it’s hard to picture. “I bet Dad’s screaming right now.”

Tommy lets out a long breath. “Should we let him?”

“Maybe.”

“It’s the last thing.”

“I know.”

“Maybe it’ll help.”

“Maybe.”

Tommy sighs as he puts his arm around my shoulder. “It’s your call D.”

It could help. But I’m not so sure. It’s Dad’s jacket, the last thing I have left of him. Tommy’s wrong it’s not my call, it’s Dad’s and he’s not here to make it.

Allie rises to her feet, walking around the back of us and then dropping down next to me. “I know it’s not my place.” She mumbles, grabbing my hand.

“It is,” I tell her, giving her hand a small squeeze. The twelve year old version of me would be screaming right now. Allie’s holding my hand, but the now me . . . She’s more like a sister. And nothing more.

“I think your dad would want you to wear it.”

I look down at the jacket. “Really?”

Allie nods removing her hand from mine as she pulls the jacket out from under my arms. “Not everything is about letting go.”

She wraps the jacket around my shoulders, the leather heavier then I thought it would be. It reminds me of Dad, his strong arms holding me close. That one time, the last time I ever saw him, he looked at me, wearing this jacket as he told me he cared.

“Sometimes,” She whispers a single tear escaping her eye. “You have to hold on.”

Tommy gives me a small shake. “Keeper?”

I slide my arms into the sleeves, it fits. Perfectly. Too perfectly. “I think so.”

Allie puts her arm around my shoulder on top of Tommy’s. They both scoot closer to me, laying their heads on mine. The same thing we do every year. The same thing Mom and Dad used to do with Tommy and I. I let my eyes close, taking in a deep breath, everything feels okay. Mom’s dead, Dad’s dead and now instead of settling for good, I’m settling for okay.

And this is okay. Feeling the gentle press of Tommy’s head on mine. The tickle of Allie’s long blonde hair brushing my cheek. I have people. I have my brother and I have Allie. That’s enough, it has to be enough. Or else I might just break.

_You’re nothing._ A voice echos in my head. A voice I haven’t heard for years. _You’re absolutely nothing to me._

I shake my head softly, every so often I hear that voice. A voice I’ve tried so hard to get out of my head, but that voice was part of my life. A person who was always there, but not for me. He was there only to make sure I didn’t live another day. And I hate, I absolutely hate that whenever I’m thinking about my okay days he pops into my head.

“Check in time?” Tommy mumbles as he lifts his head off mine. Allie copies his movement, brushing a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. Even though I moved on from my crush years ago, whenever Allie does that my heart skips a beat.

I nod slowly, begging my tears to wait until I’m alone in my car. Alone with the road, the wind and the radio. _Just hold on_. I beg myself as Tommy scratches his neck. _Just hold on. _

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“You doing okay D?” Tommy tilts his head so he can look at me with his hazel eyes. Mom’s eyes. He’s asking Mom’s questions and he’s staring at me with her eyes. _Don’t_. I scold myself._ It’s Tommy, Mom’s gone._

I force myself to look away from his eyes. “I guess.”

Tommy sighs as he puts a hand on my shoulder. “Is this why Mom had to spend hours in your room?” He gives my shoulder a small shake. “To get you to open up?”

So many questions. So many memories. And still zero answers. I don’t know why Mom stayed in my room and watched me suffer as I held back tears. I don’t know anything.

Allie smooths a strand of my hair on my head. “You wanna talk about anything?”

Yes. Finally someone knows what I want. I want to cry on someone’s shoulder and just spill my soul out. But I’m not going to, I can’t cry in front of people. It’s weak, and I’m tired of being weak.

I shake my head slowly. “Not really.” I lie.

“Well . . .” Allie trails off. “Can I tell you something?”

My heart starts racing in my chest as my little twelve year old self screams at me. _Allie wants to talk to you! You! Not Tommy!_

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“Yeah.”

Allie takes a quick breath as she lifts her arm, pointing up at the huge black blanket that’s fallen over the sky. “You see that darkness?”

Should I feel like a little kid? Maybe, but I don’t. I nod once. “Yeah.”

“You’re mom told me it was her favorite part of the story.”

“What story?”

“Life. The story we’re creating with each moment.”

I never knew that. Mom never told me, but that’s my fault, I guess. I never asked.

“She told me that it’s only in the darkness. The complete and total darkness,” Allie pauses laying down on the porch, pulling me down with her. I settle myself with my head on her arm as she points up. Tommy falls down next to me, folding his arms under his head as we stare up at the sky.

“That you can see the stars.”

I follow Allie’s finger up into the sky. I see something I haven’t seen for a long time. Little pricks in the blackness, little bits of light shining down on me.

“She told me to hold onto those little things,” Allie lowers her arm, reaching for mine. “To hold onto the stars even when the darkness is hiding them.”

I nod. Searching for something to say, but I can’t think. All I can do is stare at the sky, feel the comfort of Dad’s jacket hugging my body and yell at myself for wanting to cry. For wanting Allie and Tommy to hold me.

Tommy reach’s over me, placing his hand on top of Allie’s that’s gently touching my arm. “Hold on D.” He whispers, the tears in his voice so deep, so soft that my next move is made without thought. I use my free hand and place it on top of their’s, letting one tear escape my eye. Allie sighs as she shuts her eyes, giving my arm a small squeeze.

“I’ll try,” I mutter my eyes still on the darkness above us.

“That’s all I’m asking,” Tommy says.

. . .

As soon as I shut the door of my car I let it out. I heave out sobs, resting my arm and head against the steering wheel. It’s been three years since they died, and still it feels like it was only hours ago. I had hope three years ago, while we were waiting in the hospital. I knew Mom would make it, and I knew that Dad would too. He’d saved Mom. I remember sitting in the waiting room thinking _hero’s don’t die, and the people they save don’t either. _

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The biggest lie TV tells us. Hero’s do die. Being a hero doesn’t mean anything, you saved someone, well what good does that do if you couldn’t save yourself in the process?

I lift my head off my arm, taking in a deep breath as I stare at my reflection in the mirror above me. My black eyes hidden and red, my brown hair messed._ This is you._ I think as I turn the key in the ignition.

Behind me I can see Tommy’s truck, it’s dark but I can make out the shadows of him and Allie. They’re talking, probably about how messed up I am, about how stressful I am. It’s all true, whatever they’re saying.

I press the gas and turn the wheel, lowering my window as I pass by Tommy’s blue truck. I know they’re going to follow me, and I don’t care. I can’t argue against it. What would I say? They followed me home, to their house? They stalked me?

I let my arm fly out the window, feeling the heavy press of the wind against my palm. My eyes flick down to the radio as I click a station. Story of my life comes on. Mom’s song, the song she’d sing at the top of her lungs. The song that always made her eyes smile, no matter what. If she was crying before, the sound of Harry, Niall, Zayn, Louis and Liam singing would change everything. She’d smile, dancing in her seat.

I run a hand through my hair, the wind blowing wildly around me. I breathe it in, shutting my eyes as my tears become cold on my face. _It’s fine._ I tell myself, my eyes still shut. _No one drives on this road_.

Another lie . . .