But she pulls away.
Not because she wants to—but because she has to.
She climbs into the SUV, tears already blurring her vision.
And then she’s gone.
Jaxon stands in the driveway long after the taillights disappear, staring into the emptiness like it might bring her back.
The silence crashes in around him. Deafening.
He wants to run after her. Yell down the road. Tell her to stay.
But he doesn’t.
Because the thing about love—the real kind—is that it doesn’t chain someone to you.
It stands still.
And waits.
Even when it kills you.
44
Undone
Clairesatatherdesk, lesson plans sprawled across the screen, fingers moving on autopilot. Her mind wasn’t here—hadn’t been for weeks now—but her job required it. She typed out standards, objectives, and activities she knew she’d scrap by Wednesday. That was the irony of teaching—crafting detailed blueprints for a classroom that never stayed inside the lines.
“Half the time we don’t even follow these plans,” she muttered to herself. “We wing it. We adjust. We do what the kids need.”
She loved her students. Loved the way their faces lit up when they finally understood something. But even now, even with this job she once thought she’d have forever, Claire felt it—that quiet ache in her chest. That question that had burrowed in and refused to leave.
Is this it?
She clicked Print and pushed away from her desk, the heels of her flats tapping the tile as she headed down the fluorescent-lit hallway toward the workroom. The copier chugged and hummed as she slid her papers into place. And then she saw it.
A flicker of light caught her eye.
It danced across the wall—bright and fluid, like sunlight bouncing off the ocean. For a second, she closed her eyes. Let herself pretend.
Waves crashed. Seagulls cried in the distance. There was salt on the air, warm wind on her skin. And he was there. Jaxon. Smiling like he always did when he caught her staring.
She could feel him—really feel him—until the sound of the jammed copier startled her back into reality. Her eyes snapped open. No ocean. No breeze. No Jaxon.
Just the teacher’s assistant behind her, waiting to make copies.
It had been months since she left the island. Since the gravel crunched beneath her tires and she watched him fade in the rearview mirror. And though she and Jaxon talked every day, the space between them felt wider with each passing morning. Like the ocean had grown between their texts and calls, like the signal only stretched so far before it started to break.
But the island? The island never stopped whispering.
Its tide tugged at her in ways she couldn’t explain. It found her in reflections and shadows, in dreams and stray thoughts that clung like salt to skin.
“The island has a way of turning tourists into locals.”
His words echoed in her head as she walked the hallway back to her classroom. Her steps slowed. Her heart didn’t.
Is that what’s happening? she wondered. Is the island calling me back?
