Page 42 of Find My Way Down to You

London should be here. Starting his first year at UCSB. I should be watching him walk the campus, make new friends, become the man he was supposed to be.

If he was right here, I would—

Stop.

My eyes blink open. I’m being foolish. It doesn’t matter what Iwoulddo. I can’t change what happened. London’s not coming back.

Carelessly, I toss the hoodie across my bed. The impact sends something flying into the air. Small delicate white petals. They float back down. Land on my pillow.

I stare at them, my breath catching.

You are welcome to visit anytime.

Milos’s voice runs through my head, as clear as a river.

I sit up so fast, I’m lightheaded. The realization punches me hard: I’ve been to Aides. I’ve met the ferrier, who has guided every soul to the underworld.

Could Cary have met London? Guided him somewhere in Aides that he can take me to?

A dangerous feeling flickers in my stomach:hope.

Maybe I can see London again. Tell him everything.

That I never intended to rip away the future he was meant to have. That I would take it all back if I could. I would’ve said no when he convinced me to take his dad’s car for a quick drive. I would’ve stayed outside his parents’ house and talked and held him instead. I’d tell him that I didn’t deserve to have this life he wanted so badly because I’m doing nothing with it.

That I still love him. That I was better with him than I’ll ever be without him.

I’d tell him the one thought that follows me in my dreams and nightmares and everywhere in between:

That it should’ve been me that night.

Maybe Cary can give me the time Death ruthlessly stole from us. But first, I need to find the one boy I hoped to never see again.

I don’t know why I think I’ll find Cary in Santa Barbara. People die all over the world. He could beanywhere. Still, I take my chances, assuming that being an immortal Deathless means he travels to collect souls quicker than I imagine. That he’ll eventually come back…here.

Santa Barbara Cottage Hospital.

It wasn’t my first choice to search for him. But creeping around alleys or hospice centers felt too morbid. Just the idea made my skin prickle.

Now that I’m standing outside, I think maybe those weren’t the worst options.

It’s early morning. Rising sunlight glazes the hospital, the largest in the city. As with every other downtown building, the exterior is bone white. Well-kept plants decorate the walkways. Deep blue water dances in a wide-mouthed fountain several feet from the main doors.

I arrived twenty minutes ago, but fear has frozen me. My feet won’t bring me any closer to the entrance. If I want to see London again, tell him how I feel, say goodbye, then I need to move. Or I’ll always be somewhere between Before August and After August. Never whole, never at peace.

I’ll never be anything more than the boy who survived.

The wind is cool against my hot face. It quiets the noise of my heart. Another minute goes by as I steel myself, build courage.

Then I hear: “August?”

I whip around, startled. It’s my dad.

He walks up with a brown paper bag in hand. His scrubs are apricot orange. He loves wearing bright colors for the sick kids he tends to. It makes them happy. For some reason, it does the same for me.

“Hey, Dad,” I say, low.

He tugs me into a hug. I’m taller now. It’s weird no longer being the small boy who fits neatly in his arms.