He nodded, after a pause. Then whisper soft, so quiet I almost didn’t catch it. “Don’t disappear.”
My heart stuttered and missed a beat. Those two almost silent words meant everything. “I won’t.” Even as I said it, I felt the shape of the lie forming—not in the words, but in the way I already knew I would have to pull back before this became something neither of us could survive.
I gave his shoulder a brief squeeze before I let it fall. “Come on. Let's go home.”
Elliot hesitated, just for a second, and stepped back. Not far. But far enough that the cold rushed in where his body had been. The absence of him was louder than the ocean.
“I’ll walk,” he said quietly.
“You don’t have to?—”
“I know.”
That word again. Not defiant. Not bitter. Resigned. He turned toward the path before I could say anything else. BeforeI could ruin him further with comfort I wasn’t ready to stand behind.
“Elliot,” I said. He paused but didn’t turn around.
“I’m here,” I told him. “I’m not gone.”
His shoulders lifted on a breath. Then dropped. “I know,” he said again.
The sky was fully aflame now. Scarlet and gold and burning at the edges like the world itself was on fire. And he was walking away from me through it.
Alone.
I understood something then that hurt worse than guilt. Not that I could hurt him—that I already had. That I was now a wound he would carry with him. And I didn’t know how to touch him without making it deeper.
The ocean kept moving.
So did he.
And I stayed there. Finally understanding that loving him was going to cost something. I just didn’t know yet how much.
CHAPTER 11
ELLIOT
The house felt wrong without any hint of sound. Not quiet. Just wrong. Like something essential had gone missing, and no one had bothered to replace it.
I stood in the kitchen, coffee mug in my hand. The dark liquid had long since cooled, but I didn’t notice. Remnants of steam curled into the air, fogging up the windows by the sink. My hoodie was still damp at the cuffs from the ocean. Salt clung to my hair.
Anthony’s ghost moved around the kitchen from when he'd followed me back. Carrying on his life like he hadn’t just become unmoored. He’d made himself coffee. Gone for a shower. Collected the post and left it on the table before he left.
A thumbprint still smudged the fridge door where he’d closed it.Everything was evidence of motion. None of it felt like it touched me.
The mug clanged when I set it down on the counter. Too loud in the silent house.
The ache in my chest was still there—that hollow, bruised pressure from dawn—but it was muted. Wrapped in cotton. Like someone had turned the volume on my feelings down too far and lost the dial.
The events from this morning replayed in fragments I couldn’t quite hold. Anthony’s arms wrapped around me. Anthony’s lips, too close to mine. That look in his eyes when he pulled away.
I held you to keep you from breaking.
The lump lodged in my throat was hard to swallow. The memory didn’t hurt the way it should have. That was the part that scared me. It should have wrecked me. Should have hollowed me out. Should have left me broken on the ground. Instead, it just floated. Like it wasn’t even mine.
I moved around the house like a ghost. Lost and aimless. I passed through the lounge, up the stairs to my bathroom. I knew I needed to have a shower and brush my teeth, but the compunction was lost so I drifted. Down to Mom’s room, the door still closed because opening it felt like standing too close to her grave.
By the time I blinked, I was standing by the kitchen table staring at the pile of mail. My legs felt weak, and I collapsed into a chair. Hand reaching for the white and brown envelopes like a puppet on a string. Most of them were addressed to my Dad but one caught my attention.
