Slade’s POV
Cory’s room smelled the same.
It was stupid to notice something like that after all these years, but the second I stepped inside, it hit me. Cedar. Clean laundry. The faint trace of his cologne that no one ever bothered to throw out. The room had been preserved like a museum exhibit, frozen in time the way my parents liked to freeze everything that hurt too much to deal with.
The bed was still perfectly made. His hockey posters still lined the walls, edges curling slightly with age. His trophies were dusted, polished, untouched. Even his stupid lucky puck sat on the shelf by the window.
I lowered myself to the floor with my back against his bed.
And then I broke.
Just silent tears sliding down my face while my chest felt like it was collapsing inward. I pressed my fist to
