The Space Between

Prologue

At a young age, he had learned that death was inevitable. When he was thirteen, his mother had died of cervical cancer. Since then, death always seemed close—hovering at the door, waiting to take someone away. He feared it, yet had grown numb to its presence.

Even so, he couldn't help but feel a deep sadness as he took in the scene before him. His muscles tensed, and he pressed his lips together, watching Alex crumble. Without thinking, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her. Her sobs were loud and ragged, her body trembling against his chest.

It's okay, he thought to himself. He wanted to say the words out loud, but they felt hollow and stupid. Nothing about this was okay. Logan Smith was dead.

His father sat on the sofa, head buried in his hands, shaking with silent grief. Ginny stood a few feet away, her expression eerily blank. He wanted to go to her, to console her, but Alex was in pain. And beneath his sadness, anger simmered—a bitter, familiar anger that would boil over if he tried to get too close to Ginny.

Steve walked in, his gaze sweeping over the room. His eyes softened when they landed on Alex. He nodded at him, silently taking over. "It's okay," Steve murmured as he knelt beside his sister.

Hearing those words from Steve Lopez—a man known for his hard edges—felt strange. In five years of knowing him, he'd rarely seen this side of him.

Relieved, he finally stepped away from Alex and approached Ginny. The contrast between Ginny Montreal and Alex Lopez had always been striking. Where Alex's grief was raw and visible, Ginny's silence felt even heavier, more painful to witness.

"I'll take you home," he said quietly.

Ginny snapped out of her trance and turned to him. "I—I can drive myself."

"No," he replied firmly. "You can't drive like this."

Her glare was sharp, but she didn't argue. Maybe she was too tired, or maybe she knew he was right. Either way, she walked ahead of him, her hurried steps keeping him at a deliberate distance. He didn't try to catch up. The space felt safer.

When they reached the car, she climbed into the passenger seat without a word. Rain pelted the windshield, and the dark clouds made the afternoon feel like night. The weight in his chest grew heavier.

He wasn't close to Logan. People might even say they were rivals—they had dated each other's exes, after all. Still, Logan's death cut deep.

"Is he really dead?" Ginny's voice startled him.

He glanced at her before focusing back on the red light ahead. "Yes."

The tone of his voice was unfamiliar, even to himself. It sounded like Steve's earlier—soft, steady, and full of unspoken reassurances.

Ginny didn't respond. She turned to the window, her blank expression reflected in the glass. She remained silent for the rest of the drive.

When they reached her house, she didn't move. Seconds stretched into minutes. Finally, he leaned over and tapped her arm. "Ginny," he said, his voice hoarse.

No response.

Sighing, he stepped out into the rain and opened the passenger door. Gently, he unclipped her seatbelt. "We're home," he said, his clothes already soaked.

"You can go," she whispered, her voice flat and mechanical. "I can get out on my own."

Her words were nonsensical, but he let them go. She climbed out of the car with surprising ease and walked briskly to the front door. He stood there for a moment, watching until she disappeared inside.

When he finally got back into the driver's seat, he let out a shaky sigh he hadn't realized he was holding. He considered going to Bobby's, but he knew everyone would be there. They'd bombard him with questions he wasn't ready to answer.

Instead, he drove to his grandmother's house. The place was quiet. Lili wasn't home, and his grandmother was napping.

And then it hit him, all at once.

Logan was dead. Alex was pregnant. And Ginny hated him.