Jørgen clears his throat, his voice steady. “Is that really our business?”
The silence is heavy. Awkward.Uncomfortable.
I nod at him, grateful, but mostly I’m sick with myself.
Because it should’ve been me. It should always be me. I’m the one who should’ve shut them down, who should’ve stood up for him.
But I never do. I just sit there, mute, letting someone else save me from my own cowardice. And it makes me furious. At them. At this town. At myself most of all.
“Want me to get you some water?” Jørgen asks quietly.
“Yeah,” I manage. “Thanks. I’ll grab it myself.”
I look back at Noah, still patting his lopsided volcano with absolute pride. I wish I could live in that headspace for five seconds. Just five.
Instead, I’m stuck here, the kind of man who can’t even defend the person he can’t stop loving. The kind of man who hides behind silence and then hates himself for it. I’m Cole the Clueless. Adorable, yes, but otherwise just the guy who sings songs and keeps his head down.
Harmless. Forgettable. Not someone you stay for.
For four years I blamed Xaden for leaving me behind, but when it comes down to it, how hard did I actually fight for him? Or was it all just in my head and Xaden didn’t have a clue that he was my whole world? That I would’ve done anything for him. Anything.
I press my palms into the sand until they sting, and I want to scream, but I don’t.
I just get up and swallow it down like always.
I’m someone who needs to get away. Just to be able to breathe right.
XADEN
I glance up from the dock, towel rough against my face, when I see him.Cole.
Standing alone by the kiosk, a water bottle dangling from his hand.
I haven’t seen him since karaoke night. Since he sang me into oblivion withSex on Fire.Maybe that’s why my chest feels like it’s about to combust.
Cole has always ticked all my boxes. That quiet strength, the dreamy looks, the boyish grace that’s been my downfall since the day I fled his room in the middle of algebra tutoring. And now, with the sun catching his hair, reflecting on his slender body, I feel breathless with how much I want him.
But then I notice something’s off. He’s standing too still, his knuckles pale around the bottle. He’s looking at the horizon, like he’s bracing for a wave only he can see coming.
I know that rigid posture. It’s the same one I sometimes saw in the school cafeteria, when the noise got too loud. Or in the classroom, when Mrs. Kirkland wanted him to answer, and he forgot how to speak. I used to know exactly what to do when that happened. So before I can think twice, I’m already moving. It’s a reflex.
Then I halt. I’m always stepping in before he breaks. Suddenly I’m not sure if I should.
I see him taking a deliberately slow breath, shoulders squaring like he’s reminding himself he can stand tall. Still, when his eyes catch mine, I see relief. Maybe he wants me close, not as a shield or a rescuer. As a person.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, hovering between wanting to help and giving him space.
He exhales, shaky but not collapsing. “Just… noise. The questions. The gossip.”His voice wavers, but he doesn’t look away this time. He meets me straight on, like he’s daring himself not to shut down again. “And the way they all look at you like you’re… like you’re a prize to be won.”
I tilt my head, caught off guard. Not just by the words, but by the grit in his voice. That tiny flash of jealousy. “Doesn’t it get to you?” he asks.
“Sometimes,” I admit. “But I’ve survived worse than a few gawking moms.”
He nods, and then he does it. He says the thing that flips my whole damn world.
“You said moms,” he mutters. “But I’m just as bad. I can’t stop looking at you either.”
It’s quiet but not mumbling. Not denial. He puts it out there. My laugh bursts out, raw delight spilling through me.
