But I don’t need protection anymore. And I don’t need his manufacturing business. I need freedom.
And for the first time in my life, I get to live my dreams without someone else’s hand on the steering wheel.
The relief that washes over me is so intense it makes my knees weak. I sag against my father, letting him hold me up, and finally let the tears come. Tears of triumph. Of liberation.
I did it.
CHAPTER 35
MicahBarrett
Saturday, December 12
I walkinto Cricket’s room and turn to her, my face splitting into a grin. “You did great.”
She shakes her hands like she’s shaking off nerves, a soft laugh spilling out. “I can’t believe it.”
I take her hand, mostly to still her, but sparks shoot up my arm, hot and dizzying, and I grasp it more firmly. “I can. I knew you could do it. Doesn’t it feel good?” I thread my fingers through hers, hoping she can feel everything I can’t bring myself to say.I’m proud of you. I care about you. I?—
She nods, smiling that radiant, heart-twisting smile. “Yeah.”
“And now you can major in English and read all those old books you like and get school credit for it.”
She laughs, that magical sound that always hits somewhere low in my chest. “Yeah. I can’t wait to change my major.”
“I can’t wait for you to finish your book.”
Her grin falters, just slightly, and she looks down at our joined hands. The movement’s small, but it’s enough. My heart stumbles. She’s uncomfortable. I let go, forcing my fingers to unclasp even though it feels wrong—like setting down something fragile that might break if I hold on any tighter. The space between us fills with everything I wish she felt but doesn’t.
I clear my throat. “Want to go outside? You can bring your laptop and work on your book, and I can bring my guitar. It’ll be like old times.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to go to your apartment and finish unpacking?”
I point to the window, to where sunlight spills across the waves. “It’s such a nice afternoon. Let’s take advantage of that. I can unpack tomorrow.”
She curls a strand of blond hair behind her ear and nods. “All right.”
We grab our things then walk out the back door and down the path that winds past the yard to the beach. The late-afternoon sun glints off the ocean, sparkling like tiny diamonds. I spread out our favorite faded blanket, and we settle in, the sound of the waves filling the silence between us.
She opens her laptop, and I pick up my guitar. The rhythm of her typing mixes with the quiet strum of my strings, a kind of music only we make together. It’s easy. Familiar. Comforting. And at the same time, it’s torture—because the longer I sit beside her, the more I realize how much I don’t wantfamiliar.I wantmore.
Finally, she sighs and pulls the scrunchie from her hair, sliding it onto her wrist. Her hair falls loose and messy around her shoulders, and I have to look away before I do something stupid like reach out and tuck a strand behindher ear.
“All right,” she says, a breathless kind of wonder in her voice. “It’s done.”
I grin, my chest tightening with excitement for her. “Let me read it.”
She hesitates only a second before handing over the laptop. I skim through the last chapter, and it hits me in waves—the emotion, the vulnerability, the hope. In a great twist, Zane confesses his love for Alexa, and it feels raw and real, like every word she’s written is something she’slived.
Something shefeels.
And as I finish, I realize with a hollow ache that maybe she does. Just not for me.
“That was really good,” I say, handing her computer back.
She stares at me, searching my face, and for a heartbeat, I think maybe she’s waiting for something more. But I don’t know what. I don’t understand, so I tilt my head. “What?”
She breaks eye contact, her gaze drifting to the horizon where the sun is sliding lower. “Nothing.”
