“You told me you had plans with Travis. I didn’t know it was him, Claire.”
Claire’s voice cracked as she asked, “Is there something going on between you two?”
“No,” Sara snapped. “Before last night, the last time I saw him… he was standing in the driveway. Watching us leave the island.”
Claire looked down at the napkin again.
Until next time.
Her hands trembled.
Because now she wasn’t sure what she feared more—
That he meant it.
Or that he didn’t.
53
Closed Chapter
Thenextmorning,Jaxonstepped into the Atlanta airport with a quiet resolve. The bustle of travelers moved around him like a tide, pulling luggage, coffee, and conversations along its current. But he wasn’t in a hurry. Not yet.
He stopped in front of the flight board.
The same one.
The one where years ago, a voice had cut through the noise and changed everything. A voice that laughed too loud. That spoke his name like it already belonged to her. That belonged to a woman who no longer did.
His eyes scanned the board, though he already knew his gate. It was just habit now. Muscle memory wrapped in sentiment.
He turned his head to the left, gaze landing on the same patch of terminal floor where Claire had first spoken to him.
“I wish you the best,” he whispered, voice low, steady, like she was standing there again—messy hair, soft smile, all fire and possibility.
And then he walked away.
No hesitation. No ache in his chest. Just a man stepping forward.
The flight from Atlanta to Wilmington was uneventful. No chatty seatmate. No tension bubbling beneath the surface. Just silence and recycled air. And maybe that was the difference—because last time, it felt like everything had been just beginning.
Now, it felt like something had finally ended.
Back on Oak Island, the familiar salt air welcomed him home. He stepped into his house and stood in the foyer, scanning the room like it was someone he hadn’t seen in a long time.
Same furniture. Same photos. Same paint.
It didn’t feel like him anymore.
Something inside him stirred. A need for change. For forward motion. For reclaiming the space that had been stuck in limbo for too long. Maybe it was time to let go of the ghosts and build something new.
He grabbed a notepad and started scribbling ideas for a remodel. Nothing fancy—just something fresh. Something that felt like who he was now, not who he’d been.
A few hours later, the familiar hum of engines pulling down his driveway broke the silence. The usual crowd for the bi-weekly cookout had arrived. Cars, laughter, music, the smell of beer and sunscreen. His tribe. His constants.
Jaxon stepped out onto the porch, lit the grill, and dropped a stack of burgers onto the sizzling grate. As always, a few of the guys wandered over, drinks in hand, ready to talk shit and offer unsolicited grilling advice.
Trevor leaned against the porch post, eyeing him. “So… how was Atlanta?”
