22 years old
The music in the club was loud enough to fracture bone.
Lyon barely heard it.
"Bro, at least pretend you're alive." Matteo shouted over the bass, shoving a drink into his hand.
"I am alive." he mumbled.
"Debatable."
The girls at their table were laughing too loudly at something one of his friends said. One of them slid closer to Lyon, fingers brushing his arm.
He didn't react. He didn't even look at her. His mind was further away to care.
His phone glowed on the table in front of him.
12:03 a.m. Boston time.
Her birthday.
He had told himself he wouldn't check. That he didn't care. That she had chosen.
He hated that the date was too vivid in his head. He sometimes forgot his birthday. Why did he remember hers?
His thumb betrayed him.
Norah's public story was the first thing he saw.
Video of balloons. Laughter. Dylan's voice in the background.
Then a picture.
Tara in a black dress smiling. She looked more radiant. Dylan's arm was around her waist.
