June hugs me next, and I hold her a little longer, resting my chin against her shoulder.
“Call me if you need anything,” I tell her quietly. “And keep being exactly who you are, okay? Don’t let anyone dim who you are.”
She nods, eyes shining but steady. “I won’t.”
I stand there watching them walk toward the plane, waving until the door closes behind them. The engine hum grows louder as the aircraft rolls away from the tarmac. I don’t turn back toward the truck until the plane disappears into the sky.
The drive home is quiet, the coast unchanged but somehow emptier without their voices filling the space beside me, and when I finally walk through the front door, silence meets me immediately, thick and still where laughter and music had lived all week. Neptune lifts his head from his bed and pads over, pressing against my legs as I set my keys down. I stand there for a moment, letting the quiet settle around me, the house familiar and calm and suddenly feeling a little too big.
My gaze drifts toward the window, toward the soft outline of Aiden’s house next door. The thought comes easy—a knock on the door, a few quiet minutes, something warm and steady to fill the silence—but I shake it off before it gets any further.
Neptune nudges his nose against my leg, offering me all the comfort that I need.
“Come on,” I murmur, bending to scratch behind his ears. “Let’s go find something yummy to eat.”
Chapter 33
After a few days, the quiet starts to feel less sharp. I move through it, finding familiarity in my usual routine. Mornings go back to normal with coffee, work, Neptune pacing while I get his breakfast ready, my laptop already waiting for me at the table.
Work keeps me moving. Early mornings at the center, data to log, equipment to clean, reports to finish before someone calls me back outside again. Some days I’m on the water long enough that the salt dries into my skin before I even realize how tired I am, other days I’m inside running samples or catching up on paperwork that never seems to end. Coming home feels good again, kicking off my shoes at the door, Neptune circling my legs while the quiet settles around us, easy and familiar.
The Battlefield chat stays busy. April dropping voice notes full of chaos, memes showing up at random hours, Junesending pictures from whatever city she’s in that week with the team, stadium tunnels, hotel views, or random snapshots that somehow turn into inside jokes within minutes. It’s mostly nonsense, the way it always has been, but it keeps us feeling close even while all of us move in different directions.
Life here keeps moving in its quiet way.
Aiden has been working long days, and I haven’t seen him as often. Sometimes days pass where the only sign he’s been around is the sound of his truck leaving early in the morning or the faint glow of lights at his place when I glance out the window late at night, but even when we don’t cross paths, he somehow still finds ways to show up. Neptune always knows before I do. I’ll open the front door and find a small paper bag hanging from the handle, still warm, bagels wrapped neatly inside with a folded note resting on top, written in his easy, messy handwriting.
Figured you’d forget breakfast again. A.
Or a text message mid-morning.
Aiden:
Skye wants to see her best friend. I’m taking him on a walk for a bit.
His presence stays quiet, slipping into my day without asking for attention. Bagels on the porch, a quick text, Neptune coming home tired and happy after a walk.
Neptune loses his mind any time Aiden shows up to walk him, tail whipping so hard his entire body wiggles while I try not to smile too much watching them disappear down the street through the window, Aiden’s long stride easy and familiarbeside him. Sometimes I catch myself standing there longer than necessary, coffee cooling in my hands. At the same time, they grow smaller in the distance, and I have to remind myself to step away before I overthink too much about how much I’d like to join them on their adventures.
I end up doing laundry at Aiden’s place more often than not, carrying my basket next door and knocking lightly before letting myself in.
“You bring snacks?” Uncle Mike asks, eyebrows lifting hopefully.
I hold up a bag of cookies, and he nods approvingly.
The sound of the washing machine hums through the house while we talk about everything and nothing, stories from his younger days mixing with updates about work, comments about Neptune’s behavior, little pieces of life slipping easily into conversation. He loves to hear stories about my sisters and me growing up, and his face especially lights up when I open up about my mom.
Aiden comes and goes while I’m there, the back door opening with the sound of boots against the floor, the smell of cold air following him in as he pauses when he notices me. His smile is small but warm, as if seeing me there was exactly what he expected, even when it wasn’t planned.
“Hey,” he says, voice rough from the day.
“Hey.”
He grabs a drink, checks on Mike, scratches Neptune behind the ears when he pushes his nose insistently against his hand, and lingers just long enough for me to feel his presence settle into the room before he moves again, heading back outside or into another task. Nothing about it feels forced. We exist in the same space easily, crossing paths without needing to fill the silence, and I find myself relaxing into those moments more than I expect.
Days pass like that, one folding gently into the next, routines settling into place before I really notice how comfortable they’ve become. I run into Finn here and there—at the station, once outside the coffee shop, another time when I’m loading equipment into the truck — and every time he flashes that easy grin and asks when I’m going to let him take me out again. He says it lightly, like a joke between us, but there’s always something hopeful underneath it that makes my stomach tighten in a way I’m not entirely sure how to answer. I usually laugh it off, promise “soon,” and keep moving before the conversation turns into something bigger than I’m ready for.
Today starts like any other until the office administrator calls my name and tells me there’s a delivery waiting.
