Memories are like ocean waves. They can be beautiful, soothing, comforting. But they can also be deadly, destructive, damaging. For over an hour, I was expecting the latter. I was anticipating a surge of repressed emotions to flow through me, to take me back to a few months ago. Back to a time when spending even a second in Sawyer's presence would make me crumble. But it didn't happen.

I'm still standing.

And the only thing I feel right now is gratitude. I'm grateful I got to spend time with my friend. That's what he was to me. A friend. A friend I fell in love with. But always a friend first.

Maybe we can be friends again.

"Thanks for the ride," I say, slamming the passenger door shut. Sawyer awkwardly shifts his weight, shuffling the gravel driveway with his shoes as he looks into the distance. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah-" He clears his throat, finally meeting my gaze, his blue eyes glistening from the porch lights. "Well actually, no, I'm uh- I've been thinking and-"

Oh no. I know that look. I've seen it. I fell in love with it.

Please don't ruin this.

"Sawyer, don't," I whisper, slightly shaking my head. "Please don't."

He frowns. "Don't what?"

"You know what," I say, unable to look at him. "Don't say it. Please don't say it."

"I miss you, KC," he admits, his words like a giant wave crashing over my body. "I really do." He gestures at the car. "I miss driving around with you and listening to shitty music." He takes a step towards me, a gentle smile on his face as he flicks a piece of chocolate off the corner of my lips. "I miss watching you devour your weight in 3 Musketeers bars." His hand stays on my face as he whispers, "I miss it all."

Shit.

Maybe we can't be friends.

"Sawyer-" I place my hand on his, lowering it slowly. "I said don't for a reason."

"You don't miss me?" he asks, his face falling. "Not even a little?"

"I do miss you but-" I bite my lip. "I don't think I miss you in the same way you miss me."

"Right." He nods, running a hand against the back of his head. "Right."

"Plus," I add cautiously, "You're with Corrine, remember?"

"Yeah, I know but it's just...she's not-" He sighs, closing his eyes. "She's not you."

"No, she's not," I agree, sucking in a small breath and pushing my ego aside. "But she loves you, Sawyer. And you love her too...right?"

He swallows, looking over my shoulder as he thinks. A little too long.

"Sawyer?"

"Yeah?" he asks, glancing at me with heartbreakingly sad eyes.

"I know it's not my place to meddle in your relationship but maybe you should figure that answer out sooner rather than later," I say, my own heart starting to hurt. "Because faking something...it doesn't make it real. Trust me."

He narrows his eyes. "What are you-"

"I'm just saying, be honest with what you want," I quickly add. "Because otherwise, someone's going to get hurt."

"Fuck," he breathes, jaw locking. "I shouldn't have said anything. I feel like a jackass right now."

"I mean, I did say don't say anything," I note in a semi-playful tone, hoping it'll cut through the super uncomfy tension in the air. "You should listen to me more often."

"You're right." He lets out a lifeless chuckle, shaking his head. "Somehow, you're always right."

"I know," I smile cheekily. "It's a curse."

"Well, I guess I'll get going now." Sawyer takes a deep breath as the front door of the house my mother is staying in creaks open. We crane our heads, my heart suddenly thumping in my chest. "You gonna be okay?"

"I think so," I mutter as my mom pokes her head out of the door, and twelve years of memories flood my brain. All beautiful. All soothing. All comforting. "Oh, God."

"Kennedy?" Mom calls out, tightening her beige cardigan as she steps onto the porch. "Is that you?"

"Go," Sawyer says, giving me a slight shove. "Go, KC."

"Are we good?" I ask, needing one more moment to prep for the reunion. "Are you going to be okay?"

"Always am," he smiles, waving me off as he circles the car. "Night, KC."

"Night," I whisper, flicking my nails as he backs out of the driveway. Here goes nothing. I slowly make my way to the front door, every step feeling like a dream. But it's not a dream. Not any more. She's here. I'm here. We're here together. Finally, "Hi, mom."

"Baby," my mother whimpers, swinging her arms around me and holding me close against her chest. "Oh, baby, I've missed you so much. Oh, God. I can't believe you're actually here."

"Mom," I sniffle into her shoulder, my arms tightening around her warm body as I cry. As the floodgates open. As the distraction of Sawyer and the drive fade away, I'm left with only pain and hurt. "Mommy."

"It's okay, Kenny," she hushes me, stroking my hair. "It's okay. I'm here, baby. I'm here."

Memories are like waves. But it wasn't Sawyer's waves I should've been worried about.

It was Oliver's.

Deadly. Destructive. Damaging.

"Let's go inside," Mom whispers, taking my hand and leading me into a rustic cabin-esque house. We enter the kitchen and I plop down by the island, resting my head on the granite countertop. "Do you want to talk about it?" I glance up at her, frowning. She chuckles. "I know you, Ken, and I don't think these tears are for me." She tilts her head. "So?"

Five years. I haven't seen or heard from my mom in five years. That should mean something. That time apart should've changed something. I should be more hesitant. I should be more wary. More guarded. More angry.

But as I spill the tea to my mother about every single thing that's happened between me and Oliver and Sawyer in the last few months, I realize that time means nothing. Time together. Time part. It means nothing. Time is not a measure of love. Time is just time. But a mother's love, that's timeless.

"Well, I think this Oliver is an idiot," my mom says, handing me a second cup of hot cocoa. "A cute idiot, but an idiot nonetheless. Maybe you should focus on finishing school, and put boys on the backburner."

"How do you know he's cute?" I ask, raising a brow.

Mom sheepishly blows into her mug. "I might have creeped you andyour friends over the years."

I blink. "Creeped?"

"What? Did I use it wrong?" Mom asks.

"No," I laugh, popping a marshmallow into my mouth. "But I think you should avoid my generation's vernacular. Makes you seem a little lame."

My mom swats my arm. "Well, sorry for trying to connect with my teenage daughter."

I roll my eyes, letting out a sigh. "I don't know what to do, mom. What should I do?"

"Be smart with your heart, Kenny," Mom says, suppressing a yawn. "And don't give it to someone who doesn't deserve it."

"And he doesn't deserve it," I muse. "Right?"

"I don't know Oliver well enough to answer that," Mom shrugs. "But you do."

"That's the thing," I say, an incoming call vibrating my phone. "I thought I did know him but now I'm not sure."

"Maybe Maxine can help," Mom says, nodding at my phone. "If I remember correctly, she's always been excellent at giving advice. Like that time she encouraged you to cut your own bangs."

I snort, standing up. "She's matured since we were kids," I answer the call, putting it on speaker. "Max, you're on-"

"Dude, I just ate the strongest edible of my life and now I think I have 4D vision. Avengers here I come, bitches!"

I cringe, quickly taking her off the speaker. "I'm gonna-"

"Take your time," Mom says, gesturing towards the living room. "I'll get the guest room ready for you."

"Max, hold on," I say, putting her on mute. I smile at my mom. "Can I stay with you over the break?"

"Of course, baby," Mom says. "As long as your father-"

"I'll tell him I'm staying at Max's," I say. "He won't care. He never does."

Mom frowns. "Ken-"

"Later," I say, forcing a smile.

One fire at a time.

"Hey! Kid! Wake up!"

"Toss off," I groan as someone repeatedly kicks my shin. My brain pounds as I roll over, the clanging on cans echoing in my ear. "Shut up."

"Bud, you gotta go," the voice says. "I have a rental for the space in like half an hour." I don't move. "Oliver! Get the fuck up."

"Fuck!" My eyelids flicker open as Bobby's face comes into focus. Shit. "Just give me a few more minutes."

"You have ten minutes." Bobby shakes his head, judgment oozing from his glare as he surveys all the empty beer cans and trash around the band space. "I'm charging you and the boys a cleaning fee, hope you know."

"Here-" I sit up, leaning against the edge of the couch as I pull my wallet out of my pocket and hand Bobby two hundred dollar bills. "This enough?"

"I will never understand your generation." Bobby clicks his tongue, judgment now morphing into pity. "One day you're gonna have to get your shit together."

"Yeah, yeah," I mutter, a sour taste coating my tongue as the events of last night flash in my head. "Shit."

When Bobby finally leaves the room, I glance around the floor I apparently slept on for my phone. Oh god. Please be a dream. Please be a dream.

Unlocking the screen, I'm smacked with reality. She did text me last night. I didn't make that up. She told me she was going to be late. Why didn't I check my phone? Why didn't I take one fucking minute to check my goddamn phone?! What's wrong with me? Why couldn't I have given her the benefit of the doubt? Why?

I squint, scrolling up to unread messages from Max. From 1 am last night. Lovely. This should be good.

I rub my eyes, my gut twisting as I continue reading.

.

I drop my head to my knees, the pain in my heart overtaking the pain pulsing my temples.

She's right. What I did was not okay. It was idiotic and impulsive and it ruined everything. Everything I touch turns to utter shit. I'm shit. Christ, what is wrong with me? How could I do that? To Kennedy? To the girl that's the one fucking good thing in my life.

And now she's gone. Just like that. I've lost her. She hates me. She fucking hates me.

At least we have that in common.

I hate me too.

My phone vibrates in my hand, my brother's face popping up on the screen.

"Freddie?" I ask, clearing my throat, trying to sound less mangled. "Fred, what's wrong?"

"So?!" Freddie squeals. "Did you win the contest last night? Did you?"

"Uh-" I stammer, unable to remember. How much did I drink? "Uh, the results aren't in yet, Fred. I'll uh- know later today."

"Oh," Freddie hums, the excitement in his tone vanishing. "Well, call me when you find out, yeah?"

"For sure," I rasp, looking around for a water bottle. "I will."

"You okay, Ollie?" Freddie asks. "You sound a bit sick or something."

"I'm fine," I say, reaching for a random bottle of beer and taking a sip to soothe the dryness in my throat. "Just woke up is all."

"You sure?" he asks. "You sound a little sad to me. Did you lose the contest and you don't want to tell me? I won't be disappointed, I promise, Ollie. You can tell me the truth."

"The truth?" I murmur, closing my eyes and expelling a long sigh. "You want the truth, Fred?"

"Of course," he says. "You always say it's best to be honest, right Ol?"

"I do say, don't I?" I muse.

"So? What is it?"

"The truth, Fred," I say, clenching my jaw. "The truth is I am sad. I'm fucking devastated actually."

"Because you lost?"

"I did lose something important," I say, taking another sip of flat beer. "But it wasn't the contest."

"I'm confused," Fred says. "What are you talking about?"

"A girl, Freddie," I say. "I'm talking about a girl."

"A girl? Oh," Freddie muses. "How did you uh- lose her?"

I scoff at myself. "I fucked up and did something very stupid."

"What did you do?"

"I got drunk, Fred," I sigh. "I got drunk and I hurt her feelings." Pausing, I add, "I hurt them badly."

"Oh," Freddie hums. "Well, that's okay, Ollie. Just say sorry and she'll forgive you."

I let out a cynical laugh. "I wish it were that easy but I don't think sorry's going to cut it."

"Why not?" he asks. "It always works for Dad."

My entire body tenses as if my blood turned to stone.

"What?" I whisper. "What did you say?"

"I said it always works for dad," Fred repeats himself. "Because when he gets drunk and hurts mum's feelings, she always forgives him, right? So this girl will forgive you. You just need to buy her some flowers and say you're sorry."

"I'm not dad," I grunt, my heart beating rapidly. "I'm not dad, Fred!"

"I know that, Ollie," Freddie says, his tone wavering. "I didn't mean anything bad by it I just-"

"I'm sorry, Ollie, I'm sorry," Fred pleads. "Please don't be mad at me, I just mean to-"

"No, I'm sorry," I say, this time I make sure to use a more gentle tone. "Don't cry, Freddie, it's fine. I'm not mad at you."

"Promise?" he whimpers.

"I promise, mate," I say, his comparison eating away at my fucking soul.

It always works for Dad.

Dad. My dad? The asshole that torments his wife? His kids? Who drinks every night and destroys lives? Does Freddie see me like that? He must, right? If that's the first thing that came to him? Fred's only a child. A kid. And yet, he can see it? A parallel? Between me and that...that monster?

"Freddie?" I ask hesitantly. "Do I remind you of dad?"

"Not really," Fred says. "You got nothing in common."

"Except we both drink," I mutter. "Right?"

"Well, you said Dad drinks because his job is really stressful and it's a way for him to escape the real world," Fred replies, repeating the white lies I've told him over the years. "But you drink beer for fun, right? So it's not really the same, is it?"

Fun? I don't remember the last time I had fun while drinking. I usually don't remember anything after drinking. Just flashes. Small, insignificant memories. Often bad. Embarrassing. Regretful.

Destructive.

Like a large wave wreaking havoc on a peaceful shore.

Kennedy was my shore. She was solid ground. And I crashed all over her. Destroying everything in sight.

Just like Dad.

Just like him.

"Freddie, I gotta go," I say. "I'll call you on Christmas, okay?"

"Okay, say hi to Aunt Bessie for me," he says. "Love you, Ollie."

"Love you too, Fred," I say, hanging up.

I stare at my phone, chewing my bottom lips as I contemplate my next move.

This ends with me. I won't become him. Ever.

I dial a number, bringing the phone to my ear.

"What do you want, dickwad?"

"Maxine," I begin, closing my eyes. "I think I need help."

_____________________

Both my little beans are going through so many things :(

THOUGHTS? On Sawyer? On Ollie? On Ken? Is Corn gonna be mad?

PREDICTIONS?