A pair of headlights slowed behind me. I didn’t turn at first. Didn’t trust it. My shoulders stayed hunched, my body braced for disappointment.
The car rolled to a stop. A window slid down. “You alright there, kid?” a man called out over the rain. “You headed somewhere?”
My breath hitched painfully. My heart slammed so hard it made me dizzy. “Beacon Ridge,” I said, voice cracking. “Please.”
There was a pause—long enough for panic to bloom again in my chest.
“Get in before you freeze.”
I nearly collapsed with relief. As I climbed into the car, water dripping onto the seat, my hands shook so badly I had to grip my knees to steady them. The door closed, cutting off the roar of the waves, but the storm still lived inside me—raw and relentless.
“I’m Mack, by the way.”
As the car pulled back onto the road, the coastline blurred past, dark and violent and beautiful.
“Elliot,” I murmured in response.
I pressed my forehead to the cool glass and let myself believe—just for the length of the drive—that if I could make it to Anthony’s door, I might still be allowed to exist.
That maybe love didn’t always mean disappearing.
That maybe, tonight, it would mean being let in.
The car slowedas it turned onto Anthony’s street.
Beacon Ridge looked different in the rain—quieter, softer somehow. It had been years since I’d been here, the last time had been with mom. The houses sat back from the road, lights glowing dimly behind rain-streaked windows. Everything felt hushed, like the world itself was holding its breath.
Mack pulled up in front of a dark truck I recognized immediately. My chest tightened.
“That’s fine,” I said quickly, fingers already fumbling for the door handle. “Thank you. Really.”
“Take care of yourself,” Mack said, gentle but unsure, like he knew he’d just dropped something fragile back into the world.
The rain hit me again the second I stepped out—cold and sharp—but I barely felt it now. My focus tunneled forward, locked on the front door. My legs trembled as I crossed the drive, each step uneven, my body running on fumes and stubbornness alone.
I hesitated on the porch. Just for a second. My heart was beating so hard it felt like it might crack my ribs open. My hands shook as I lifted them, knuckles hovering inches from the wood. I suddenly became acutely aware of everything—how soaked I was, how ridiculous I must look, how raw and unguarded I felt.
If he doesn’t answer,something inside me whispered,I don’t know what I’ll do.
I knocked anyway. Once. Then again, harder. Footsteps sounded almost immediately on the other side. Fast. Uneven. The door opened.
Anthony stood there barefoot, hair mussed like he’d just run his hands through it too many times. His face went slack when he saw me—shock first, then something that looked a lot like fear.
“Elliot—”
I didn’t give him time to finish.
My body moved before my mind could catch up, stepping into his space, hands gripping the front of his hoodie like it was the only solid thing left in the world. The moment my fingers closed around fabric, my knees nearly gave out.
“I couldn’t—” My voice broke completely. “I couldn’t stay there.”
Anthony didn’t speak.
He didn’t ask questions.
He reached for me instinctively, one hand sliding between my shoulder blades, firm and grounding, the other bracing my hip as he pulled me fully inside and kicked the door shut behind us.
The sound of it closing was loud in the quiet house. Final.
