Fall (One Direction) [Sequel To Run]

Chapter Twenty-Six

Then we head downstairs, ready for dinner with his family.

-

Dinner is fun.

I didn't get to see the Tomlinsons much after Louis left, and I guess I must have missed them. They used to be practically my second family.

It's over all too soon, and my mum is at the door to collect me.

I only realise in the car that I forgot to suggest that Louis' mum block YouTube.

I'll call when I get home.

And of course, I forget again.

-

We get home, and I head straight for my room like always.

I'm often not prepared to deal with my mum analysing me.

This time, though, my room is not empty.

There's a man sitting on my bed.

When he hears my footsteps, he jumps to his feet.

“Riley!” I squeal, launching myself at my brother.

He hugs me, lifting my feet from the ground.

He smells good, familiar, like my brother.

“God, I missed you” he says in my ear.

We hug for a few more moments, and then he sets me down. He's three years older than me, and he left for the army five years ago, straight out of college. He deployed to Afghanistan four years ago. He wrote to us sometimes, but not very often. He's been in combat, and last year, the truck he was in was hit by a roadside bomb. A lot of his friends died, but he and two other people survived. His leg was shattered, and he spent the last eight months in rehabilitation. Mum said he was coming home soon, but she didn't tell me the date.

Now I know.

“You missed a lot” I say softly, studying his face. “But then, so did I.”

He has changed.

He looks the same, still with his short brown hair that's the same colour as mine, stubble covering his chin, his green eyes with the golden flecks, just like mine. But his eyes aren't really the same. He looks haunted, like he's seen too much, and of course he has. He's seen his friends die. He's also leaning heavily on his left leg, and I would bet that if he started walking, he would have a bad limp. He also has a new scar above his right eye, and probably more that are covered by his clothes. But he's home now, for good, and he's safe.

That's the important part.

“How are you?” he asks softly, sitting back down on the bed. I sit next to him, cross-legged, eyes on his face. I'm so glad he's safe.