'I'd often said to Ellie how much I liked that she had no idea who I was, or cared about One Direction. Now, that was the worst feeling I could have ever imagined.'

This thought was constantly on Harry's mind. It was almost worse than a breakup, because there was nothing he could do about it. He didn't have a chance to fight for her, to prove himself. She was just gone, and with her, a big part of himself was missing, too.

He was a mess his last few weeks of filming 'Dunkirk' in LA, and he channelled it all into his character. Many of his castmates were sympathetic, since they had met Ellie just weeks earlier when she visited Harry. They often tried to take him out, keep him distracted, but he always ended up either getting too drunk, or doing something else embarrassing in public, like crying.

At least he was staying in the same hotel as his cast mates, so he saw them regularly. He'd tried to go to his house, but just driving there made him think of all the memories he'd had there with Ellie; laying on the beach, swimming in the ocean, cutting his hair...so many memories he couldn't stand to think of in that house by the ocean. Without really planning too far ahead, he put the house on the market. He had someone clean his belongings out for him, and send anything Ellie had left behind to her parents. It was just too much for Harry to deal with.

When filming wrapped, Harry moved on to Jamaica, not wanting to give himself any time off in between. He was afraid that if he remained stationary for too long, it would catch up to him and the weight of the situation he was in would crush him. Instead he threw himself into his album, writing one heartbreaking song after another.

Jamaica became a bit like a never-ending party. Harry wanted to distract himself, and working on his album was exactly the distraction he needed. He had no memories of Ellie here to haunt him, no daily reminder of her clothes in his closet, or her hairbrush on the sink.

As September came to an end, Harry got a shocking reminder of his past: The New York Riveters. They had won their first Isobel cup, and dedicated it to Ellie, even though she had no idea they, or the NWHL, existed.

"Sell the team. I don't care for how cheap, just get rid of it," Harry said to his manager after hearing the news. Then, Harry locked himself in his room and wrote one of the saddest songs on his album.

"Harry," Mitch knocked on his door. "Just checking on you, we haven't heard from you in two days..."

"I'm fine." Harry mumbled, but didn't open the door.

"Uh, well, Jeff - your producer, Jeff Bhasker, not your manager Jeff Azoff - he's going to be here soon, and we have to show him what we've got, and uh..." Mitch paused as he tried to think of the kindest way to say this. "Do you have anything new? Because what we have so far, it's kind of..."

Harry opened the door suddenly, his pink eyes squinting at Mitch. His unwashed hair was a birds nest on his head and distracted Mitch from Harry's apparent disinterest in wearing any clothes. Harry stared for a long moment at his guitarist before mumbling, "okay."

He closed the door and pulled on some clothes before stumbling down to the studio. "Out, I have to finish this." He held up his notebook, and his band members exchanged glances before leaving him alone.

He grabbed his guitar and began working through the lyrics he'd written, putting a melody to the words. He was eventually interrupted as someone came in, and he turned to tell them to leave, but stopped.

"Oh, hey Jeff." He said to his producer.

"That's a nice song you're playing, what's it called?" He asked and sat down across from him.

"Um, I'm thinking 'Two Ghosts', because..." He took a shaky sigh.

"I understand," Jeff put his hand on Harry's shoulder. "I know this is hard, but it's good to get your feelings out."

"And it'll make a good album, at least, right?" Harry looked up, his bloodshot eyes meeting Jeffs' for the first time. "This album is the only good thing to come out of this. It's...like my goodbye to her, but I don't want to say goodbye. I want to remember our memories together forever. And this album will do that."

Jeff nodded. "Music is a great outlet for these kinds of emotions, and I'm glad you've found a way to deal with it. Yet, I'm worried the mood of your album is perhaps a little too depressing. Have you considered working on some of the earlier songs? Before the break you had some really good songs that might help balance the mood."

"She liked 'Kiwi'." Harry stated.

Jeff ordinarily would have chastised a client for sharing music with someone outside the studio like that, but in Harry's sensitive mindset he thought otherwise. "Why don't we try going through that?" Jeff suggested.

"Maybe tomorrow, this was enough for one day." Harry put his guitar away and returned to his room.

An upbeat song like 'Kiwi' was exactly what Harry needed to lift his mood. He was actually enjoying himself for the first time since that fateful afternoon in an ice arena in Newark over a month ago. Their second time through the song, however, he remembered Ellie's theories behind the chorus. He stopped singing and just stared blankly, and slowly the band stopped playing.

"She asked me if I'd knocked someone up," he said quietly. The room was silent as they waited for his next move. Harry hadn't mentioned Ellie since they had arrived in Jamaica, and no one was quite sure how to respond to this.

"She asked if it was someone from New Zealand, if that was why...kiwi."

She didn't mean to, but his drummer Sarah giggled quietly. Harry turned around to face her, and slowly his mouth slid into a smile. "I thought it was funny, too, because I hadn't thought of that when we named it."

A few of his band mates laughed as well, relieved that the old Harry seemed to be returning. "Why don't we stop for lunch." He announced, and sat in front of the piano, messing around with it until everyone had left.

Jeff stayed behind and watched him, and slowly Harry wrote what would become 'Sign of the Times.' He had nearly finished the song by the time everyone returned from lunch, and one by one they all joined him to work out the song together.

"That was some really great work today, kid," Jeff put his hand in Harry's shoulder as they left the studio that evening, a whole song completed in just a few hours.

"Thanks, I guess I just needed that push to get started again."

"You just needed some time, time to grieve and come to terms with things." He patted him on the back before the two parted ways.

While Harry was certainly feeling like he could at least function like a normal human being again, he was not back to his usual self, and he didn't think he ever would be. He pulled himself together enough to finish the album the next month, and headed home. However, Harry yet again could not bring himself to step foot in his own house.

"Harry, why is there a for sale sign in front of your house?" Gemma asked her brother over the phone.

"I couldn't, I can't go back there."

Gemma was quiet for a moment. She didn't realize her younger brother was so heartbroken. "And where exactly are you living? I thought you'd been home for weeks."

"I'm in a hotel."

"Harry..." Gemma tried to sound sympathetic and not scolding.

"It's nice, they bring me food and do my laundry." He explained.

"Yeah, and so would mum."

"Mum would try to baby me and treat me like I'm made of glass. I won't get better with that kind of attitude." Harry didn't mean to sound upset, but it's true - their mother was sometimes over-motherly.

"Okay, how about you and I have a sibling's-night-in." Gemma suggested. "I was going to call it a girls night in, but you're not exactly a girl."

"No, I'm not, thanks for that keen observation. But, you can still paint my nails if you want; you can't exactly do my hair anymore."

Gemma suddenly remembered last Christmas, when she and Ellie braided Harry’s hair, and tried to steer the conversation in a different direction. “We can get drunk and watch movies, or play scrabble! I know how much you love scrabble.”

“Yeah, I guess I should probably get out of this room, for a change.”

“Okay, why don’t you come over tonight, I’ll order us some pizza, and we can have whatever kind of alcohol you want,” Gemma suggested, and Harry agreed.

Well into their pizza and scrabble night, and halfway through a bottle of tequila, Harry was finally able to talk freely to his sister about Ellie. It was such a unique situation, neither of them really knew what to do.

“I feel like I’m grieving for her as if she...died,” Harry said after a pause. “But she’s not dead, she’s still out there somewhere, alive and, as far as I know, well. She’s just missing a few years of her life, the years that include me.”

Gemma put her hand comfortingly on his shoulder. “You have to admit, this sounds a bit like your favorite movie, doesn’t it?”

Harry slowly lifted his head to look at her and raised his eyebrow. “What?”

“Well, in ‘The Notebook’ older Ryan Gosling has to remind older Rachel McAdams that they are in love by telling her the story of how they fell in love when they were younger. That’s the point of the notebook, as it has their story in it.” Gemma explained. “Ellie doesn’t have dementia, but it’s a similar idea, right?”

“I guess,” Harry agreed, though he didn’t quite see it that way. The last time he saw Ellie, she’d screamed at him, said she never wanted to see him again. He wasn’t sure he could face that again without completely falling apart again.

“You said you have a few songs about her on the album?” Gemma asked, seeing that Harry didn’t want to talk about that anymore.

“Yeah, most of them, actually.”

“When do we get to hear it?” Gemma asked.

“Soon, I think. They’re still working on it.”

It was quiet again, neither of them paying much attention to the game of scrabble anymore.

“So, where are you going to live if you’re selling your house?” Gemma finally asked.

Harry shrugged. “Right now they’ve put everything in storage, since I don’t own any property anymore.”

“You sold the New York apartment too?”

Harry flinched. “That was the worst one, I had to. She spent the most time there, it was full of too many memories.”

“What did you do with her things?” Gemma asked.

“Her parents and Scott cleaned her stuff out of the New York apartment while they were there after the accident, when she was in the hospital. I had everything else shipped to them.” Harry refilled his glass and took a long sip of tequila.

“How’s she doing, have you heard?” Gemma asked carefully.

“She’s at home now, with her parents. She’s working with a doctor on her memory, but other than that she’s fine.” Harry sounded more monotone that normal.

“Do you know if there’s even a chance-”

“I don’t know,” he cut her off. “I can’t think about that. Scott has my number, he said he’d call if anything changed.”

“So that’s why you watch your phone like a hawk,” Gemma said quietly. The two went off to bed soon after, having had too much tequila to consider continuing their board game, and they didn’t have too much to say to each other after that.

When Harry finally woke up the next morning, Gemma had made him waffles, or tried to at least. Hey eyed them as he sat down at the table, and she shrugged.

“Sorry, I know they’re not like mums, but it’s good enough,” she sat down next to him.

“Thanks,” Harry answered, and dug in. “It’s nice to have food made by someone, and not delivered in a styrofoam box.”

“Glad I could help,” Gemma accepted his somewhat backhanded compliment. “Maybe you can try taking a shower now? That’s meant to be done more than once a week, you know.”

“Just haven’t felt like it,” Harry mumbled and stuffed more waffel in his mouth.

“Come on, you can use my shampoo, it smells absolutely delicious. But don’t eat it, it’s not actually edible, it just smells nice.”

“Fine…” he slowly stood up from the table and brought his plate over to the kitchen sink.

“I”ll grab you some towels, one minute.”

Harry had to admit, her shampoo did smell delicious, and having the hot water wash over head head did feel nice. As he washed up, his eyes caught on something he’d been trying to avoid: the hockey sticks tattoo he got for Ellie a year ago. He ran his fingers of the black markings on his hip, remembering how she had searched his body for the new tattoo. He surprised himself by smiling at the memory, instead of curling up and crying in the shower for hours. He had considered having the tattoo removed, or covered up, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

Because things could change. Maybe, one day, they would have their ‘Notebook’ moment, as Gemma put it.

Maybe she’ll come back.

Notes

I hadn’t intended this alternate ending to have a ‘Notebook’ feel to it, but when I realized how similar they were, I had to mention it! In the other ending, Gemma mentions ‘The Vow’, so I knew it had to be her who pointed out ‘The Notebook’. Though knowing how many times Harry has watched that movie (I think he said 30+) he probably would have figured it out on his own.

Sorry this is so sad and depressing, trust me it’s not easy to write! (yet I continue writing it…) But it’s fun, in a weird kind of way. It will get happier! I promise!