There’s this thing called broken heart syndrome, where the emotional pain of losing a loved one leads to an actual medical condition. The surge of stress hormones causes a temporary disruption in the heart’s normal pumping system, resulting in severe chest pain.

I felt like that was happening to me, because every part of my upper body ached.

My best friend, the boy who made me smile, who made me feel better whenever I was down, was gone. Just like that. Only yesterday we’d laughed in my bedroom and danced around to Fall Out Boy. It already felt like a lifetime ago.

I couldn’t seem to reconcile the fact that I’d never see him again. That I had to live the rest of my life without him.

H-how . . .

How was I supposed to live the rest of my life without him?

I sat in the hospital waiting room, tears streaming down my face as I tried to make sense of how all this had happened so quickly. Yvonne placed a cup of tea and an oat bar in front of me, but I wasn’t hungry. I felt like I might never be hungry again. All I felt was sick, empty, and hopeless.

When a nurse finally came to say I could go in and see Dylan, I walked down the corridor in a daze. He was being treated in a room with several other patients, but Tommy had pulled the curtain over. Dylan’s dad came and hugged me tightly.

“That poor, poor boy,” he rasped, speaking of Sam. “There’s no justice in this world. None.” He left to give us some privacy, and I brought my eyes to Dylan. He lay in bed, bandaged and hooked up to pain meds, his face devoid of colour.

“Evelyn,” he breathed, and in that one word I heard all his guilt, pain, and anger. I heard his sadness. “I’m s-so sorry,” he choked.

I didn’t say anything for a moment, just came and sat down next to him. I took his hand in mine and squeezed it softly. A lone tear streamed down my face, its saltiness stinging my already raw skin. “Why? None of this is your fault.”

“I brought him running with me, if I hadn’t . . .” He paused, tears filling his eyes. As soon as I saw it, I started crying, too.

“Don’t do that, don’t blame yourself. The fault is at the hands of whoever did this.”

Dylan’s sadness turned to anger. “Jackson,” he seethed. “As soon as I get of this hospital he’s a dead man.”

For a second, time stood still. “How do you—?”

“I saw him. He was one of them,” Dylan gritted.

“Did you tell the Gardaí?”

“Yeah, but they’ll be lucky if”—he paused and shifted his body, grimacing past the pain—“if I don’t get to him first.”

“Dylan, look at you. You’re not fit to go after anyone,” I said, thoughts racing. I couldn’t believe a boy from our school was behind all this. Well, I mean, I could believe it, because he had a reputation for violence and was gunning for Dylan for months. But how could things escalate this far? How was this the logical outcome?

The man who witnessed the attack said there was a gang of them. A gang against two people. They didn’t have a chance . . .

A memory flashed in my head, of Jackson at school with Kirsty whispering sweet nothings in his ear. Or was she whispering something else? I was certain she heard Dylan and Sam making plans to meet up for a run at the park. She could’ve easily forwarded this information to Jackson.

God, it didn’t even bear thinking about, but I couldn’t help it. The idea wormed its way into my brain, blackening my heart and soul. Was this her way of getting back at Dylan? A burning, fireball of anger lit inside me. I stood and walked straight out of the hospital room. Dylan called after me, but I didn’t stop or turn back.

Like a raging bull, I walked all the way to the flats. I climbed the stairs to the very top floor where Kirsty lived and hammered on her door until it flung open. Her mam stood in front of me, a lit smoke hanging out of her mouth.

“What in the hell do you think you’re doing banging my door like that?” she questioned in irritation, hand on hip.

“I’m looking for Kirsty,” I answered, using all my might to keep my anger at bay until I saw her.

Her mam made a sound of displeasure and turned to call, “Kirsty, there’s some young one at the door for you.”

Kirsty emerged a moment later, eyes narrowing when she saw me. “What do you want?”

“Are you happy now? Do you feel better?” I fumed.

“Bitch, get the fuck away from here before I call my brothers out,” she threatened.

“Jackson Keegan and his gang attacked Dylan and Sam this morning at the park. He and his buddies beat them so bad that Sam . . .” I choked, hardly able to say the words my grief was still so fresh. Finally, I blinked away the tears. Kirsty didn’t deserve to see my pain. I pulled myself together, looked her dead in the eye and told her, “Sam died at the hospital.”

Her mam, who was still standing in the doorway, put her hand to her mouth and gasped, while all the colour drained from Kirsty’s face. “You’re lying,” she whispered, but I’d told her the truth, and she knew it. She looked like she’d seen a ghost. She looked like she was about to be sick and faint all at once. Gone was her tough exterior and catty attitude. Now she looked like she was realising the consequences of her meddling, the awful, horrific results.

“I hope you live a long life, Kirsty, and I hope that every single day you think of my best friend and know you had a hand in his death. I hope the guilt eats at you until there’s nothing left.”

With that I walked away. It wasn’t enough. There was no justice in this. There never would be. Every year people were killed by violence in the city, but even if the criminals were sent to prison, it didn’t bring the person you lost back.

Sam was gone, and I would never be the same without him.

I went home, got into bed, and cried so long my pillow was soaked through with tears. I cried until my throat ached. And then finally, with a hollow in my belly, I fell into an empty, dreamless sleep.

I refused to leave my bedroom for days. I was so consumed by grief I couldn’t bring myself to go see Dylan at the hospital. I kept going over and over things in my head, wondering if I had done even one thing differently, maybe Sam would still be here.

If I’d said something to Kirsty at the lockers that day, if I’d tried to clear the air, would she still have told Jackson where Dylan and Sam would be that morning?

My brain was sore from my endlessly frantic thoughts. Once, I squeezed my eyes shut as tight as I could, like if I focused hard enough I could turn back time and prevent it all from happening.

My birthday came and went. I mostly slept through it, not wanting to think of how Sam was planning a surprise. It only hurt worse when I did.

I wasn’t sure what day it was, or how long I’d been lost in my grief, when the door to my bedroom opened and someone stepped inside. I didn’t look to see who it was. Didn’t care. Then, Dylan’s recognisable form crawled into bed behind me. I hadn’t seen him since . . . since that day, but I knew he had one arm in a cast, his ribs were bandaged, and stitches sealed the deep cut on his temple. He pulled me close, wrapped his good arm around my middle and rested his head in the crook of my neck. He didn’t speak, he just held me.

“They discharged me from the hospital an hour ago,” he said, after a long few minutes of silence. “I came straight here.”

I didn’t say it, but I was glad he did. The fact that he was still breathing was the only thing keeping me going. Without him, the pieces I was made of would crumble and scatter. I wanted to tell him how much I appreciated his attempt at comfort, that I was sorry I hadn’t come back to see him, but there was a block on my heart, on my voice. I was clogged up with anguish and didn’t know how to expel the pain.

“Jackson was arrested,” Dylan said, his voice so quiet it was barely a whisper.

I stilled. My heart jumped into my throat as I attempted to swallow it back down.

“When?” I asked. The word was painful to speak, but I had to know. I needed someone to blame, someone to despise. There was so much hate in my heart I didn’t feel like myself anymore. I wasn’t sure I’d ever be the same girl.

“This morning. They got three of the other lads who were with him, too. They’re all eighteen, so they’ll be tried as adults.”

I swallowed and blinked away my tears. “Good.”

“They’ll go to prison for a long time,” he went on. It sounded like he was saying it more to himself than to me. Like he was trying to convince himself it was for the best. I knew he’d wanted to go and get Jackson himself, but all that would achieve was him sharing a cell right along with him.

A sudden swell of sorrow gripped my body. The emotion was as familiar to me now as the back of my hand.

I pressed my face into the pillow to hide my crying, but it was no use. Feeling my body heave, Dylan pulled me closer and squeezed me tight. I tried to feel nothing, to quell the pain inside, because every second was agony.

“Ev,” Dylan choked. He was grieving just the same as me.

“I wish I could go into a coma until this feeling fades,” I whispered.

“You can’t,” he murmured, “but it will. You just have to go through each day until it does.”

“I’m not sure I c-can,” I said, voice cracking.

“You can. I know you can.”

I knew Dylan understood grief. He’d lost his mam, so he completely understood the deathly ache in my heart. But he’d had time to say goodbye. And . . .

I closed my eyes for a second. I loved Dylan so much, but his optimism was futile, and ironic, since he’d always been the negative one. I would never get over this, and it hurt doubly to know he was waiting for the day when I would.

“My dad’s gone to stay with my uncle in Galway for a little while,” he said. “He’ll be safer there.”

I frowned and wiped at my tears. “What do you mean ‘safer’?”

Dylan exhaled a tired sigh. I turned to look at him properly and saw his exhaustion mingled with fear. “The McCarthy’s aren’t going to be happy about their boys going to prison. It’s only a matter of time before they figure out I was the one to give Jackson’s name to the Gardaí.”

At this I became incensed. I jumped out of bed and gestured angrily. “An innocent person died, how is that not enough for them?”

“These people aren’t logical, Ev. It’s all about optics, making sure everyone knows they’re not to be fucked with.”

I chocked a cry of pain. “This makes my head hurt.”

Dylan blinked a few times, as though steeling himself, then reached out to grip my hand. “I’m going to America,” he blurted and my stomach dropped.

This wasn’t news I needed to be hearing right now. I didn’t say anything, just stared at him, my expression empty.

“There’s a department store in Los Angeles where my work has a branch,” he continued. “I did a phone interview with the manager, and they offered me a job if I want it and—"

“Great. Good for you,” I snipped.

Dylan frowned, “Don’t be like that.”

“Be like what? Sam’s gone, and soon you’ll be gone, too. I’m entitled to be any way I want.”

“Ev, don’t you understand? I want you to come with me. I always have.”

I closed my eyes, because I didn’t have the strength to have this argument with him again. I’d told him so many times I couldn’t go, so why wouldn’t he listen?

“You know I can’t.”

“Your gran would want you to.”

I sat up now and crawled out of bed. My hair was a greasy mess, and I’d been wearing the same pyjamas for days. I went to stand by the window, hands on my hips as I stared him down. “I don’t care what my gran would want. I don’t want to go, so please drop the subject.”

Dylan’s face fell, and I despised myself for hurting him, but it had to be done. Swanning off to America together was a pipe dream. Maybe it was possible for him, but not for me. I had no money, no qualifications. Hell, I hadn’t even finished school. Even if I wanted to go, there was no way I’d ever get a visa.

I told him as much, but he still wouldn’t listen. He got down on his knees in front of me, gripped each of my hands in his and stared deep in my eyes.

“We’ll sneak you in. Pretend you’re going for a holiday and then just stay. I’ll support you.”

I let out a joyless laugh. Grief rendered me bitter. “Oh yeah, and then get deported when I’m found out. No thanks.”

“That wouldn’t happen. I’d figure out a way—”

“Look,” I interrupted cuttingly. “I always knew you were going to leave, and now you have no reason to stay. Your dad’s gone to his brother’s, and he’ll probably stay there. Plus, there’s a gang out to get you. You couldn’t stay even if you wanted to. I get that.”

And I really did. It hurt worse than anything, but I understood. I wished I had the ability to be happy for him, but these days all I felt was misery and bitterness.

He raked a hand through his hair. It was growing out with a slight curl. “I need to get out of this place. Even before this happened, it suffocated me.”

“I know. That’s why I’m telling you to go.”

He shook his head. “Ev, you’re grieving, not thinking clearly.”

I stared at him, so beautiful and sad as he knelt before me, and I knew I’d never love anyone in my life like I loved Dylan O’Dea. He would always own my heart. Always. But I wouldn’t allow him to drown here. He was made for bigger things. I knew I wasn’t, and that was why I had to make one of the hardest sacrifices I was sure I’d ever make. I had to push him onto that plane. I had to say goodbye. If I forced him to stay here, he’d waste away, never fulfil his potential. But out in the world . . .

Out in the world, he would shine.

The door to my room opened, and Yvonne walked in. She wasn’t her usual groomed self, none of us were. Her hair was a knot on top of her head, and she wore no make-up. My aunt always wore immaculate make-up, but she hadn’t so much as touched a tube of lipstick in days.

“Hey, you two,” she said, not even questioning why Dylan was kneeling in front of me. Just like me, she’d lost her sparkle.

Sam had been the sparkle in all our lives, but we’d never realised how much until he was gone.

“I better go,” Dylan murmured and stood. He didn’t cast me another glance as he disappeared out the door. Yvonne emitted a soft sigh. She looked at me with such motherly concern I had to turn away.

“How are you?”

“Dylan’s going to America,” I said, avoiding her question.

“Oh.” She was silent a long moment before she asked, “And how do you feel about that?”

Like the entire world is coming to an end.

“It doesn’t matter how I feel. He has to go. If he stays, those boys who killed Sam will come after him again. It’s only a matter of time.”

She chewed on her lip, like she didn’t know how to respond to that. There was no motherly advice, no way of turning this lemon in lemonade. I followed her out to the kitchen and watched as she put the kettle on. She exhaled tiredly, not looking at me as she spoke softly, “Sam’s funeral is tomorrow.”

A lump formed in my throat. A funeral was too final. I didn’t know what to say, so I simply turned and went back inside my room. Yvonne came and placed a sandwich and sugary cup of tea on my bedside table.

“You can wear my black dress, if you like.”

I shot her a thankful look, both for the food and the offer of the dress. “Sam always loved that one,” I said.

She gave a sad smile. “He said it made me look like Grace Kelly.”

“You do look like her. We could be related. She had Irish roots,” I said, forcing a smile in return.

“Maybe that’s where we got our blonde hair,” Yvonne replied and slipped off her shoes.

She climbed into bed beside me, and we ate in quiet contemplation. The sandwich tasted like nothing, all food was the same, but I ate it nonetheless. When I was done I turned over and went back to sleep.

When I woke later, Yvonne had gone to work. It was dark out and the moon shone through the open curtains. There was something about the light that made me feel sad, so I got up and pulled them closed. I walked restlessly around my bedroom.

I considered taking a shower when my phone lit up with a call. The screen read ‘Mam’ and my stomach dropped. Why was she calling again? What did she want?

Deciding to get it over with, I picked up the phone and answered.

“Hello.” My voice was staid, flat.

“Evelyn, it’s Mam,” she greeted. Her tone was saccharine and maybe a little tipsy, which explained her calling at such an unsociable hour. I knew the sweetness was a front. She wanted something, that’s why she was putting it on.

“I know that.”

She cleared her throat, obviously thrown by my hostility. Usually, I was nice, even though she didn’t deserve it. But now, in this post-Sam reality, I could give two fucks about being nice. Nice didn’t get you anywhere in this cold, brutal world where the best things were taken, and you had no way to ever get them back.

Mam’s voice grew softer now. “I heard about little Sammy, Evelyn. I’m so sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Don’t say that.” She sounded offended.

“Don’t pretend to care.”

“Of course, I care. I’ve been trying to call you for weeks, but I only ever get your voicemail. I wanted to tell you I’m coming home.”

“Why would that mean anything to me?”

“Because I’m your mother,” she replied, hurt.

“That didn’t stop you from leaving the first time. If you’re coming back, fine, but don’t expect a warm welcome from me.” With that, I hung up, pissed. It was probably my anger that fuelled me to walk into the bathroom and get in the shower. There was nothing like a bit of cold, hard fury to finally snap you out of melancholy.

I was still awake when Yvonne got home, since I’d slept most of the day.

“Oh, you’re up,” she said. She sounded exhausted.

“Yep. I had a shower and everything. Also, Mam called.”

Yvonne grimaced, but she didn’t look surprised. “Yeah, she um, called me, too.”

“What did she say?”

“She and her boyfriend have broken up. She’s also been fired from her job. She wouldn’t say why, but I suspect she was caught stealing.”

So that was why she was so eager to return home. The police were probably looking for her over there.

“I don’t want anything to do with her,” I said firmly.

“No, I don’t blame you,” Yvonne replied, and it threw me. Normally, my aunt would’ve encouraged me to give Mam a chance, see where things went. But not now. The loss of Sam had affected her just as much as it did me. She wasn’t so forgiving anymore; her leniency reserves were all dried up.

“Where are they burying Sam?” I asked.

“Glasnevin,” Yvonne replied. “We can drive over in the morning.”

I chewed on my lip, still feeling restless. “No, I’ll meet you there. I have, um, something I need to do.”

“It’s four a.m., Ev. Go back to sleep. Whatever you need to do can wait.”

“This can’t,” I replied as I threw on some jeans and a T-shirt. I opened the wardrobe and pulled out Yvonne’s black dress and some shoes. I threw them in a bag and also grabbed Yvonne’s wheelie grocery carrier. I’d always teased her for having it, but right then it was exactly what I needed.

“Where are you going?”

“Just to the roof to do some gardening,” I replied.

“Okay, well, don’t work too hard. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Yeah, see you then,” I said and hurried out the door.

After days of endless misery, it felt good to have a purpose.

When I reached the roof, I unlocked the metal storage box where I kept all my gardening tools and got to work. I cut, dug, and pulled out every single plant from the soil. My sunflowers and lilacs, my wildflowers and echinacea. Now that the sun was up, they had all opened for the day. For the final time. There was something sad and beautiful about that. Maybe they would go wherever Sam was, surround him in colour and pretty scents.

Most of my flowers were diurnal, which meant they closed at night to keep unwanted bugs away, but opened in the day to attract their little buzzy friends.

Melancholy clutched my heart, because I didn’t think I’d garden again. I didn’t have it in me. I realised that my ability to grow was closely connected to my affinity for positivity and hope. But those things didn’t live here anymore. They weren’t a part of me anymore either.

When I was done, Yvonne’s wheelie carrier was full to the brim, fit to burst, while my allotment lay bare, a barren wasteland. It took a while to get down the stairs with all my cargo, but I just about managed it. I caught a bus to Glasnevin, and asked the caretaker for directions to Sam’s grave.

I stood before it, nothing but an empty rectangle in the ground and thought, this wasn’t how it was supposed to be. It just . . .

. . . wasn’t right.

A tear fell down my cheek, as I pictured life how it should’ve been. Sam and me getting a flat together, him pursuing a career in singing, while I saved up to open my own florist. It was a picturesque world, one that would never exist for us.

I sniffled, blew my nose, and wiped away my tears with the back of my hand. After clearing out my entire allotment, I was already exhausted, but my work wasn’t done yet. Not by a long shot. Pulling on my gloves, I got started.

“Never seen something like that before,” the caretaker said with a whistle when I was finished. “We’ve had our fair share of extravagant displays, but nothing like this.”

My eyes traced the medley of colours and a small sliver of peace sealed my heart. Sam would’ve loved it. He was nothing if not ostentatious. The bright yellows, deep reds, and vibrant purples made my chest swell with pride. The last flowers I would ever grow paid tribute to my lost friend.

It was all I had to give him.

I gathered the last of my things and went to the visitor bathrooms to change. Once I was dressed, I went back out and saw a lone figure standing by Sam’s grave. He wasn’t dressed for a funeral, but still, I’d never seen Shane look so broken.

“Does it hurt?” I asked, coming to stand next to him.

Shane glanced at me then back to my flower display. “I could ask you the same question.”

“Like a bastard,” I said, quiet.

Shane grimaced. “Guess we’re in the same boat then.” A few moments of silence elapsed before he gestured to the display, “This your doing?”

“Yes.”

“He’d a loved it.” His voice was mildly choked and I frowned. I’d thought it was only sex between them, but maybe I was wrong. Maybe it was more than that.

“You’re right, he would.”

“I think I loved him,” Shane blurted, and his confession truly surprised me.

I stared at him a moment, then cleared my throat. “Did you?”

“You don’t have to sound so fuckin’ cynical. I’m capable of love.”

“Well, you’ll forgive me for thinking otherwise.”

He arched a brow. “Will I?”

“It’s a figure of speech.”

He ran a hand over his jaw. “Yeah well, I’m gonna m-miss him.” There was a quaver of emotion in his voice and for some reason it set me off, too.

“There’ll never be another one like him,” I said, choked.

“Nope. Little shit was one of a kind.”

Silence fell between us, and I saw some people start to arrive at the cemetery. I couldn’t see Sam’s parents yet, but I hoped they’d appreciate my tribute. Flowers meant life to me. Vibrancy. Hope. And that had been Sam. He’d been such a vibrant and vital part of my life. For a long time, he and Yvonne had been my everything. And now . . . I shook my head. I didn’t want this day to happen. I couldn’t be here and say goodbye.

“Why were you so horrible to him?” I asked Shane. “I mean, before you got together.”

It took him a moment to answer. “Guess I hated the fact that I liked him, so I lashed out.”

“Makes sense,” I said, because it did. That didn’t mean I’d ever forgive Shane for his treatment of Sam in the beginning. Maybe we shared a connection of loving the same person, but we’d never be friends.

“Will you come out now?” I asked. I wondered if the loss would make him a better person. Surely some good might come of Sam’s death. It had to.

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

I looked at him, my expression sincere. “You should. It’s no kind of life hiding like that.”

Shane studied me a moment, like he was thinking about what I said. I wondered if he agreed. I reached out for a second and squeezed his shoulder. “I’m glad he had you. I’m glad he got to experience love before he went.”

Shane visibly swallowed then nodded. His eyes shone, and I thought he might cry, but he turned and walked away. I stood by the grave as more and more people arrived. There were so many of our neighbours from the Villas, kids from school. Sometimes it felt like Sam and I only had each other, like I was the only one who really knew him, but he’d obviously made an impression on lots of others, too.

Yvonne arrived and came to stand next to me. She wore sunglasses and a dark-coloured blouse.

“You look so grown,” she commented.

“It’s just the dress.”

She shook her head, sounding sad when she said, “No, it isn’t.”

I knew what she meant. Losing Sam had made me grow up much faster than I was supposed to, and all in the wrong order. Amy and Conor arrived; each gave me a hug and stood close. I was glad for them. I needed their strength.

I was distracted when Dylan came and took my hand in his. After our conversation yesterday, the gesture was unexpected. I knew he’d be pissed at me, but I also knew his heart. He loved me. Was living for me. He understood how much losing Sam was wrecking me, and his empathy and love was something I’d clung to. In a way, he’d also lost a friend, a brother, so I knew his heart ached as well. Together.

Today we’d grieve together.