Travis stands. “Because I went to the island. I talked to him.”
She stares, stunned. “You did what?”
“A while back,” he says, pacing now. “I drove to Oak Island. Walked into his office. Told him who I was.”
Her voice shakes. “What… what did y’all talk about?”
“You.” He stops and turns to her. “We ended up throwing fists in the hallway of his business.”
Her jaw drops. “Why would you—”
“Because of you!” Travis explodes. “Because we were going through the same shit again, and I figured you were pulling the same stunt. And he—he had no idea. He kicked my ass, Claire. And then—get this—he told the cops not to arrest me.”
Silence.
“I’m sorry,” Claire whispers.
But Travis is already gone. Not out the door—but somewhere else entirely. “Sorry?” he says, laughing bitterly. “Claire, you’re stuck in the past, daydreaming about some perfect little world that doesn’t fucking exist anymore. You spend all day thinking about him, and then crawl into bed beside me every night like it’s nothing.”
He looks down at her hand—at the ring she agreed to wear.
“You said yes to a future with me… while you were still holding onto a past with him.”
And then the door slams.
Claire is left standing in the middle of their quiet, too-clean home. Alone. Finally, brutally alone. The silence screams louder than any fight ever could.
She looks down at the engagement ring—perfect, polished, meaningless.
Claire, what the fuck were you thinking?
You left Jaxon. You walked away without a word. You never told him why. Never gave him the chance. And now? You’re living a life you don’t even recognize, with a man you don’t even love.
And the worst part?
It’s nobody’s fault but your own.
58
Tide Turning
Allofhisfriendsare there—crowded around pergola, drinks in hand, laughing like time doesn’t exist. The smell of charcoal and marinated steaks fills the air, smoke curling up into the sky like a signal of something worth staying for.
Jaxon stands over the grill, focused, tongs in one hand, beer in the other. He lifts the lid, checking the steaks like he’s done a hundred times before. Same ritual, same routine—until something shifts. A feeling. A shadow.
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a figure approach.
When he turns, his heart catches in his chest.
“Claire?”
She offers a hesitant smile. “Hey, Jaxon.”
He blinks, as if wiping his eyes might clear the ghost standing in front of him. But she’s still there—real, solid, older maybe, but still her.
“What are you doing here?” he asks, his voice more breath than words.
“I was passing through the area,” she says softly, “and I... I just wanted to stop by.”
