Beyond Grey Shadows

I see him everywhere.

I can't escape him—nor do I want to. Whether he's comforting me during the day or haunting me at night, the memories are all I have left of him.

As unhealthy as they might be, I welcome the hallucinations, the nightmares, the visions—because without them, Becker Reeves truly ceases to exist.

And I refuse to accept that he's gone.

Becker and Alec Reeves—beloved brothers—have marked graves, yet none of us have ever found closure. Three years later, we're still left with unanswered questions. We never saw their bodies. There was no proper funeral. Only after they were cremated and buried were we allowed a private memorial.

My therapist says that's why I can't move on—why I'm trapped somewhere between denial and depression with no hope of clawing my way out.

She says I need to look for the silver lining. I used to believe in that once. Even after losing my parents and raising my blind younger brother, Chase, when I was barely thirteen, I searched for the light in every dark place. And then I met Becker—my B with the aqua-blue eyes who somehow healed what was left of my heart.

But when he died, that light went out.

Still, I'm told to keep trying—to find the good among the bad. To build resilience.

Whoever can do that after losing everything must be the luckiest person alive—or not human at all. I try every day to find that light, and every day I fail. Because there's nothing good that comes from losing the person you love most.

The only one who's ever shown me what resilience truly looks like is Chase. Born blind, he's learned to navigate a world that refuses to make room for him. He shows me, without words, that not everything broken stays that way. That if you keep pushing, you'll eventually make it to the other side.

Maybe one day I'll believe that. For now, Chase is the only one succeeding.

"Have you had any panic attacks this week, Greya?"

Here I am again—sitting across from my therapist, drifting between her words and my own thoughts. This is the one place I can let my guard down, where I'm free to feel sad or angry or anything I suppress at home or in class.

"Greya?"

"Yeah? Oh, um... one. I had one the other day."

"Can you tell me what brought it on?"

Of course I can. The same thing that always does—remembering the night they were murdered. The night Jack Reeves, the man who spent years destroying their lives, finally ended them.

But I don't want to think about that today. Not when there's a party to get ready for—a reminder of yet another milestone Becker and Alec will never see.

"We're having a birthday party today," I say, keeping my answer simple. "For my brother."

"That's wonderful," she says warmly. "I'm sure Chase will be thrilled. Celebrations are a joyous part of life, Greya. Let yourself embrace them. Becker would want you to live—to try, even when it hurts."

"I know."

And I do. Her words are kind, her intentions good. But I'm not ready to move forward without him. Maybe I never will be.

If healing means adapting, then I've done that part. I've moved Chase and me to a new city, new schools, a new life—because staying would've killed what was left of us.

"How about this," she offers. "Today, for every sad or painful thought that comes, match it with something that makes you happy. When you miss Becker at the party, look around—find something, anything, that brings a smile. It doesn't have to be big. Just... look for the good. It's okay to hold on to your love for him, but remember your heart still has room for joy too."

"Okay," I whisper. "I'll try. See you next week."

"You can always come by, even without an appointment."

"I know. Thank you."

"Tell Chase I said happy birthday."

I smile and nod. She means well—she always does. And maybe she's right. Maybe today, I'll try to find something good. Even if it's just the sound of my brother's laughter.

On the drive home, I do my best to block out images of Becker. He's always there—awake or asleep, in my head, in my heart. I don't even try to fight it anymore. Forgetting him feels like losing him all over again.

When I pull into the driveway, my friends are already there, helping with the party.

"Hey, where do you want the cake?" Fynn asks as he steps inside, holding a white bakery box. My childhood neighbor turned roommate, Fynn's been by my side through everything.

"Counter's fine," I say, trying to sound present.

Today's about Chase. His thirteenth birthday—and a Sunday. The same day we always gather for our weekly dinners: Cohen, Declan, Ari, Fynn, and me. We promised never to let the tradition die. It's the one thread that keeps us all connected, even as we carry the weight of who's missing. Becker and Alec.

Our Sunday dinners remind us that, despite everything, we're still family. And maybe if I keep them alive, I can hold on to a piece of the life we had before.

"Greya? You alright?" Fynn's watching me, brushing his shaggy blonde hair from his eyes.

"Yeah. You can leave the cake there. Thanks, Fynn."

"No problem, Grey. Where's the birthday boy?"

"He's with Parker. They should be here any minute."

Ari and Declan are busy decorating the living room with streamers and balloons, and one of Chase's friends is helping them. We've kept it small but meaningful—a surprise. Thirteen is a big deal. He deserves to feel celebrated.

Cohen walks in next, carrying boxes of pizza—Chase's favorite. He sets them on the counter beside the cake.

"Cohen, wait," I say, catching his wrist before he can disappear into the living room. His dark curls fall over tired eyes rimmed red, the sleeplessness etched deep in his expression.

"Is everything okay?" I ask softly.

He doesn't answer right away. Cohen took Becker's death as hard as I did. Maybe harder. He still blames himself for not saying something sooner—to his parents, to the police. If he had, maybe his best friend would still be alive. The guilt has kept him isolated, surviving on soccer, classes, and our Sunday dinners.

I squeeze his wrist and pull him into a hug. He doesn't resist. He never does.

"Thanks, Grey," he murmurs into my shoulder.

"Anytime," I whisper. "And thanks for picking up the pizza."

He smiles faintly, and we join the others in the living room just as my phone buzzes—Parker's mom texting that they're on their way.

The moment Chase steps through the door, we all yell, "Surprise!"

"Wow! Thanks, everyone! Is that pizza I smell?" Chase grins wide.

"You bet it is, little man!" Fynn teases.

"I'm a teenager now," Chase laughs, swatting his arm. "You can't call me that anymore."

"Teenagers are punks," Ari says, mussing his hair. "So should I call you Punk instead?"

"Haha, Ari." He pushes her hand away, laughing.

"I'm still calling you little man until you're taller than me," Fynn says.

"That'll be soon with how much he eats," I add, earning a round of laughter.

The rest of the evening blurs into warmth and noise. Every game we play is one that needs blindfolds—our subtle way of making sure Chase can be part of everything. His laughter fills the room, and for the first time in a long while, the house feels light.

Hours later, after his friends have gone home, it's just the six of us. Chase sits cross-legged on the floor, unwrapping presents while the rest of us lounge around the couch.

Watching him now, I can't help but think how much he's grown. I've been raising him since he was three. Our mother's been gone ten years, our father eight. Too much loss for someone so young, and yet—he's the most resilient person I know.

"Cohen! Is this one from you?" Chase's excitement makes me smile.

"Yeah, bud," Cohen says, and I already know what it is—the one gift Chase's been begging for, the one I couldn't find anywhere.

"Oh my God—this is it! You found it! Thank you so much!" Chase practically launches himself across the couch, hugging Cohen tight.

Guardians of the Galaxy, first edition print—in braille.

Cohen's grin is pure, unguarded joy. "My parents helped me find it," he says, answering the question I don't even ask aloud.

"Thank you," I mouth to him.

Watching the two of them, I feel something stir—a faint warmth where coldness usually lives.

"Open ours next!" Ari urges, and Chase dives into the rest of his gifts, tearing through wrapping paper like it's Christmas morning. For a little while, he's just a kid again, and all of us are caught in his joy.

"Cohen, did you really pin the tail on Parker's shirt instead of the donkey?" Declan laughs.

"That was so funny!" Chase's laughter doubles him over, and soon we're all laughing too—loud and real and unrestrained.

For the first time in three years, our laughter fills the silence Becker and Alec left behind. It doesn't erase the pain—but it eases it, just a little.

As I look around the room, I realize maybe this is what my therapist meant.

Maybe this is the silver lining.