Renewed partnership.
That’s the phrase he swore he’d never let them use again.
I set my coffee down, too hard. Liquid splashes the counter.
“…Mr. Wright, how does it feel to be back?” a reporter asks from offscreen.
Crew leans toward the mic, and for a second, his lips part like he’s about to speak the truth. But then something shifts—his eyes flick sideways toward Harris, a warning or a reminder—and what comes out is measured, flat, someone else’s voice wearing his mouth.
“I’m grateful,” he says. “The team has always believed in me. I’m looking forward to moving past distractions and focusing on what matters.”
Distractions.
That’s what he calls me now?
The air leaves my lungs like it’s been punched out.
Someone in the café laughs at another table, a sound too bright for this moment. Mrs. Lopez hums to the radio. The world doesn’t notice I’ve gone still.
I stare at the screen, at the way his hand tightens on the table, fingers flexing once like he’s trying to hold on to something invisible.
Harris smiles wider, leans closer, says something low I can’t hear. Crew nods.
The camera pans, and for a flicker—just a single heartbeat—Crew’s eyes meet the lens. And I swear he’s looking for me.
That tiny, desperate thing that passes through his expression—it’s gone before I can name it. But it’s there. The real him, buried under PR polish and contract chains.
The screen shifts to an ad. Bright colors. Laughter. The world keeps moving.
I’m still frozen.
Mrs. Lopez looks over. “You okay, honey?”
I nod, but the word doesn’t reach my throat. “Yeah. Just… spilled my coffee.”
“Want a towel?”
“I’m fine,” I manage, already grabbing my bag. “Sorry—bookstore needs me.”
She calls something after me, but I don’t hear it.
Outside, the air cuts cold against my cheeks. I walk without direction, phone clutched in my hand like a lifeline that isn’t one. The waves slap against the dock in slow, deliberate rhythms. Somewhere, the gulls scream again.
I stop at the edge of the pier, wind tugging my hair, the lighthouse small but steady in the distance.
He looked at the camera. Helooked at it like it was me.
Something inside me steadies—not the fear, not the hurt, but something sharper. Resolve, maybe.
If he can’t say what’s happening out loud, then I’ll find out myself.
The water shivers with light as the lantern sweeps across it, one steady pulse after another.
I whisper to the horizon, to him, to whoever’s listening,
“I’m coming to get you back.”
And for the first time since he left, I let the storm break.
