When we were in fourth grade, Mrs. Blake insisted that Mr. Blake and my father take down the fence that separated our yards and build a playground in its place. It had taken an entire summer to build one from the ground up, but it had been so used and played on by us kids that I knew our parents didn't mind all the sweat and tears it'd taken to build.

Sometime around middle school it went from a fun jungle gym to a safe haven of sorts. During my parents divorce I hadn't been able to find peace anywhere but the swing set attached to the old hunk of junk. On occasion I'd glance out my window to find one, or both, of the Blake boys using it as their own personal outlet after their mother passed away from Cancer in seventh grade.

To say I was irritated to be stirred awake a little after three am to talk to the boy next door in that very swing set, would be the understatement of the century. For a moment I considered the possibility of it being Max, as my window had been his way in for ten years in fear he'd wake my family if he were to use the front door. The thought of it being my best friend fizzled as the knocking persistent in an obnoxious manor.

I yanked my pillow over my ear, hoping Ryder would take the hint of head back across the yard to his house. My heart whispering pitiful and sympathetic words to my head forced me to my feet and across the room to my window. A grin, similar to that of a child being handed candy, broke out across his face upon me unlocking and opening the window.

"What do you want, Ryder?" I grumbled. "It's late."

He chuckled. "Or early, depends how you look at it."

"What do you want?" I repeated, this time through a yawn.

"I was wondering if we could talk." He said quietly. "Ryan mentioned you were looking for me earlier."

I eyed him down, currently in nothing more than a pair of black pajama pants, then met his eyes again. "Can it wait until tomorrow?"

"No. Come on." The insomniac responded flatly, turning his back to me and heading for the rusted swing set. I threw a quick look over my shoulder to ensure our talking hadn't stirred my family awake, then climbed out my window, stubbing my toe on my Mom's creepy garden gnome on my way across the yard. I had to throw my hand over my mouth to keep from crying out in pain. Ryder fell into a fit of laughter, kicking his feet back so he was starting to swing.

"Stop laughing," I huffed, a smile tugging at the inner corners of my lips. "Or I'll kill you myself."

He snorted when the swing creaked under my weight, "This thing definitely wasn't built for two adults."

"What is so important that you had to disrupt my sleep?" I questioned, straight to the point. "I'm hell on Earth when I don't get enough sleep, so it better be for a good reason."

"I have Cancer." He whispered, casting a sad look in my direction. "I told you that the other day, I know. But I need your help."

"Killing yourself?" I recalled. "Why the hell would you need my help with that?"

He laughed at my sudden outburst. "Because the goodness in your heart wants to help in any way possible?"

"Helping you kill yourself is in no way a kind thing to do." I muttered, eyeing him down. "Why don't you ask Cade or your brother?"

The question took a few minutes to register, but once it did, the sad look returned to his eyes.

"Cade is. . . he doesn't know. And I'd like to keep it that way. He's my best friend, Zoey, and I know he'd be one hundred percent against it." He paused, meeting my eyes again. "And Ryan. . . Ryan stood beside me and watched our mother wither away into nothing. He would in no way, shape, or form agree to help me."

"Shouldn't that be a sign?" I said, digging my heel into the grass to stop myself from swinging. "Maybe you should try and take your meds and-"

"Zoey, please." The desperation in his eyes stirred something in the pit of my stomach. I averted my eyes, fearful I'd give in seeing the hurricane of emotions in his eyes.

"Why me?" I questioned. "Why not one of the thousands of girls you've slept with?"

He slowed his swing, speaking once it stopped, eyes on the grass under his bare feet. "Because you dislike me as it is. If I die doing one of the stunts, it'll just be an oh well situation for you. You have no attachment."

"I don't feel one way or the other about you, Ryder." I whispered, standing. "But I'm sorry. I'm not going to help you get yourself killed."

He stayed quiet for so long I thought I was in the clear and would be able to walk back to my bedroom in peace. Just as I started forward, he grasped my forearm. I spun around, ready to push him off, but my free hand fell limp at my side the moment his striking blue eyes met mine.

Much like his older brother, they had the ability to stare into me rather than at me, paralyzing me where I stood under his intense, pleading gaze. What differed was the expression in them. Where Ryan's almost always held some sort of teasing or playfulness, Ryder's were full of desperation and fear. It was mind blowing watching the boy I'd watched morph into a conceited, rebellious player completely fall apart before me.

So mind blowing I gave into him.

"Okay, say I did help you, what exactly do you mean by help you kill yourself?"

As if he had been prepared all along for me to cave into his endless begging, he pulled a crumbled piece of notebook paper and set it in my hand. I opened it up, shocked to find what at first glance appeared as a Bucket List, but upon deeper inspection had little captions beneath the things listed explaining how each thing would be sure to kill him.

"This is extremely morbid." I said without looking up. "How and why the hell did you write all this?"

"I watched my mom die, Zoey. I watched her completely crumble after the diagnosis, then scream in pain and watch her hair fall out during Chemo, and sat at her bedside as the Cancer finally consumed her and listened to her flatline. I'm not allowing the stupid disease take me the same way. I'm going out on my own terms."

My heart sunk at the answer I hadn't been expecting. My mom had been extraordinarily close with Mrs. Blake. I distinctly remember my mother walking through the front door, her scrubs covered in blood, eyes bloodshot and cheeks tearstained. My sister nor I asked any questions, we could hear the war being raged between the boys inside the Blake house next door well enough to know Mary had passed. Ryder had only been about eleven and Ryan almost thirteen, but they'd spent over four years just sitting in anticipation, waiting to hear their mother to release her final breath. The boys, back then, had been kind and nothing like the daredevils they are now. Some part of me had always been sure that their change and actions had been a result of their mother's death.

"Okay." I agreed. "Can we discuss the rest of this another time? I have a party to help set up for tomorrow. I need my beauty sleep."

"Yeah. We're done. Thank you, Zoey. I appreciate it." Ryder's response left a big bubble of guilt gnawing at my insides. I walked back over to my bedroom window, but made the mistake of casting one last look over my shoulder.

Ryder was staring at his hands, one of them trembling. He grasped his knees with both hands, trying his best to steady them, but it didn't help. The shaking was slowly spreading, only stopping when his entire body began to ravage with them. He lowered himself to the ground, leaning against the post holding the swing upright, burying his face in his hands. It was then, catching a glimpse of his face that I realized the shaking wasn't a side effect of the cancer, but Ryder crying. I staggered back a few steps, tripping over my mom's stupid Gnome again, and hit the ground.

Ryder must have thought I had already crept back into my room, because his expression shifted from sadness and embarrassment, but despite the embarrassed look on his face, the tears never stopping falling from his long lashes on to his cheeks.

But it was the look he gave me when he tried his hardest to force a smile that would forever be imprinted in my mind. A look that was gone as quickly as it appeared.

Ryder Blake wore a look of complete and utter hopelessness and all I could do was stand and stare.