“Hey, yourself.” He pulled me close, arm around my waist. “How are you feeling?”
“Good. Really good, actually.” I leaned into him. “Lincoln’s going to call his contact at Riddell.”
“That’s huge.”
“It feels huge. Like something’s actually moving forward.” I tilted my head up. “Thank you. For being here. For realizing when I was falling apart. And for not getting upset when Hunter interrogated you.”
“Hunter didn’t interrogate me.”
“He did. I saw his face.”
Seth laughed. “Nah, that was just him silently warning me that I’d better not fuck this up.” He cupped my face, thumbs brushing my cheekbones. “I meant everything I told him earlier. That I care about you. That I’m not going to hurt you if I can help it.”
I kissed him. Slow and soft, tasting the wine on his lips. The marsh was quiet around us, and I let myself sink into it—the feel of him, the warmth, the way my chest loosened when he held me.
We slipped inside and pulled the doors closed behind us. Even with the windows closed, I could hear the distant rhythm of waves. The bed was bigger than either of ours at home—enough room to spread out, to keep distance if we wanted. We didn’t want. I found my way to him in the dark, and he pulled me close without hesitation. Seth’s chest against my back, his arm around my waist, his breath on my neck.
“Five more weeks,” I said into the darkness.
“Give or take.”
“I’m counting.”
He pressed a kiss to my shoulder. “Get some sleep.”
I closed my eyes and let the distant sound of the waves lull me under. Tomorrow, we’d walk on the beach with people who loved us. Tomorrow, I’d have breakfast with my best friend and his fiancé and two men who’d known my father and wanted to help carry his legacy forward.
And tonight, I let myself believe it could last.
Tonight, that was enough.
10
SETH
Somewhere around the South Carolina border, Tanner kicked off his shoes, propped his bare feet on my dashboard, and took over the aux cord.
“Payback,” he said, cueing up some indie band I’d never heard of. “For the Garth Brooks.”
“I will never apologize for Garth Brooks.”
“Then suffer.”
Three hours of suffering followed. The best kind, not that I’d tell him it wasn’t actually torture. Tanner hummed along to songs he’d memorized, his fingers brushing my arm when he wanted to point out a hawk circling over a field. He’d gone loose and easy in a way I’d never seen—shoulders dropped, jaw unclenched, his laugh coming quicker and lasting longer. He wasn’t checking his phone every ten minutes or narrating the miles left until home. He’d stopped bracing for something.
My phone buzzed in the cupholder. I didn’t look, but I felt Tanner glance at it.
“Your mom again?”
“Probably.” I kept my eyes on the road. She’d called twice yesterday, left voicemails I’d deleted without listening to. The pattern was familiar—radio silence for weeks, then a flurry of contact when she wanted something. Usually ammunition.
Tanner’s hand found my thigh, squeezed once. He didn’t say anything else, just turned the music up and let me have the quiet.
We pulled into our parking lot around nine, both of us stiff from the road. I braced for the reset—for the familiar retreat where Tanner would disappear back into his head, brick by brick rebuilding every wall Wilmington had coaxed him into lowering. I’d watched it happen before: the slow shuttering behind his eyes, the careful distance creeping back into his voice. I told myself I was ready for it. Whatever we’d been on that trip didn’t have to survive the return.
The apartment felt different when we walked in—smaller, maybe, but warmer. Like we’d left as two people sharing space and come back as something else.
“Shower,” Tanner announced, dropping his bag. “I smell like gas station coffee and stale fast food.”
