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Chapter sixteen

Wes

I 'd spent the day watching Eric move through the cottage like he belonged there, humming while he organized his research notes, making coffee in my kitchen with the unconscious ease of someone who'd found his place. It terrified me how right it looked.

Aunt Helen's death had shaken something loose inside me, some carefully constructed wall that had kept me functional on Ironhook.

I'd finally burned the letter. It was ashes now, but the words echoed: next of kin.

I was Derek's cousin and Helen's nephew, and none of them had thought to tell me she was dying.

I'd been exiled so completely that my family's deaths happened without me.

Eric emerged from the guest room carrying his laptop, ready to settle into his evening typing routine and occasional soft laughter at whatever Ziggy texted him. They would be the sounds of someone who had people who loved him and who would notice if he disappeared.

"Eric."

He looked up, those ocean-blue eyes immediately focusing on my face. "Yeah?"

"Want to see something? Up at the cliffs."

"Now?"

I nodded. "Now's good. Before I lose my nerve."

"Time to make hot chocolate? It's a little chilly out there."

"Yeah." I paced the living room for the five minutes it took Eric to mix up a thermos of hot chocolate. When he was ready, I grabbed a blanket, and we headed out the front door.

The path to the high cliffs wound through beach grass that whispered against our legs. Eric walked beside me without pushing for conversation.

My knee protested the climb, sending familiar complaints up through my thigh with each step on the uneven ground. The pain was manageable—it always was—but tonight, it felt like a reminder of everything I'd lost and everything I was afraid to want again.

"Watch your step here." I guided Eric around a section where recent storms had carved the path into loose gravel. "Easier to twist an ankle than you'd think."

When his hand briefly touched my elbow for balance, electricity shot through me. After three weeks of contact, ranging from gentle touches to one night taking each other over the edge, my body still responded like no one had ever touched me before.

The lighthouse was operating for the first night of the season. Its beam swept across us as we climbed—fifteen seconds on, five seconds off—painting everything in alternating silver and shadow.

In the brief moments of illumination, I glimpsed Eric's profile: the determined set of his jaw and the gentle curve of his mouth.

I was about to destroy all of it, about to tell him why he needed to leave before I became someone who disappointed him.

The cliff's edge opened before us like the end of the world. Below, waves crashed against granite with the kind of relentless patience that had carved the shores for millennia. Above, stars scattered across the sky.

I'd brought Eric to where I'd done my hardest thinking for all my time on the island.

"This is where I came the night I got to Ironhook." I spread the blanket on the flat granite ledge that served as a natural observation deck. "Nineteen years old, knee held together with pins and prayers, and convinced I was going to throw myself off these cliffs before morning."

Eric froze.

"I'd been a hockey player. Not only someone who played hockey—it was who I was.

From the time I could skate, it was all I wanted.

The rink's smell, the equipment's weight, and the sound of a puck hitting the sweet spot on your blade.

" I stared out at the water. "I dreamed of hockey. Planned my whole life around it."

The lighthouse beam swept across us again. Eric turned his face toward me.

"UMaine had offered me a full ride. The scout said I had hands that could make magic happen with a stick and legs strong enough to outskate anybody in the conference.

" A bitter laugh erupted from deep inside me.

"Then Derek crashed his truck with me in the passenger seat, and suddenly, I was just another cautionary tale about teenagers who made bad choices. "

"Wes—"

"They took the scholarship away before I left the hospital. University said they couldn't risk their investment on someone who'd demonstrated poor judgment. Never mind that Derek was driving. Never mind that I'd tried to talk him out of it."

I pulled my knees up, wrapping my arms around them like armor. "Poor judgment. That's what sixteen years of my life have been about—one night of poor judgment that wasn't even mine."

The wind picked up, carrying the scent of deeper water. In the distance, a boat's lights moved slowly across the horizon—someone heading somewhere while I sat beside Eric, trying to explain why I'd stopped believing in destinations.

"You want to know what scared me most about the accident? It wasn't the pain—broken bones heal. It wasn't losing hockey, though, that nearly killed me." I pressed my forehead against my knees. "It was watching everyone I trusted decide I wasn't worth the trouble anymore."

Eric shifted beside me, waiting.

"My parents came to the hospital twice. Twice.

The first time to make sure I wasn't going to die, and the second time to tell me I'd disgraced my family.

Derek's mom, my aunt, blamed me for corrupting her son, even though everyone in town knew Derek had been drinking since he was twelve.

" The words stirred up my old battles with grief.

"She slapped me across the face and told me I should have died instead of Derek. "

"Jesus, Wes."

"She wasn't wrong. Derek was... Derek was electric. Funny and reckless and alive in ways I never was. He lit up every room he walked into. I was only the cousin who was good at hockey."

I rocked slightly. "When he died, part of me died too, but the wrong part. The part that knew how to trust people not to leave."

Eric's hand found mine in the darkness, fingers intertwining with gentle pressure.

"That's why I came here. It wasn't only about disappearing. It was about learning not to want things I couldn't keep. I had to stop caring about people who would eventually figure out I wasn't worth the effort."

I looked at Eric, wanting to memorize his face in the starlight. "And then you showed up with endless questions, terrible coffee-making skills, and ridiculous optimism about everything."

Eric was quiet. The lighthouse beam swept over us, and he spoke.

"I used to think my dad was invincible. Fire chief, right?

Runs into burning buildings, saves people, makes everything okay.

" He shifted closer until our shoulders touched.

"Then I got older and realized he was just a man doing his best with impossible choices.

Sometimes people live, and sometimes they don't. It's not always about how hard you try or how much you deserve a happy ending. "

The lighthouse beam found us again, and in its light, I saw Eric's profile—the gentle curve of his jaw and how his hair fell across his forehead.

"That night you're talking about? You were eighteen, in a truck with someone you cared about who made a terrible choice.

You survived something that should have killed you, and instead of celebrating that miracle, everyone around you decided you were the problem.

" His grip on my hand tightened. "That's not poor judgment, Wes.

That's only life being cruel and random and unfair. "

"But—"

"No buts. You've spent years here punishing yourself for Derek's choices, believing you deserved to be abandoned." He turned to face me fully. "You want to know what I see when I look at you?"

I wasn't sure I did, but I nodded anyway.

"I see someone who notices when his neighbors' chimneys stop smoking.

Someone who fixes things before they break completely.

Someone who kissed me under meteor showers like I was worth celebrating.

" He touched my cheek with his free hand.

"I see someone who survived and built something beautiful from the wreckage. "

Eric leaned closer, his breath warm against my cheek. "I'm not them, Wes. I'm not going to decide you're too much trouble or not worth the effort. I'm here because I want to be here, with you, for as long as you'll let me."

He was close enough for me to see the starlight reflected in his eyes and count the freckles across his nose. When had I started memorizing his face like this? When had looking at him become as necessary as breathing?

I'd decided to let him go, but he was making me pause. "I don't know how to do this," I whispered. "I don't know how to let someone—"

He silenced me with the gentlest touch—just his fingertips against my lips, then trailing along my jaw. "We don't have to figure it all out tonight." Then, he kissed me.

It was soft, deliberate, and patient. His lips were warm and tasted faintly of the coffee we'd shared after dinner. When I leaned into the kiss, deepening it, he whimpered softly, making my pulse race. His hand moved from my cheek to the back of my neck, fingers threading through my hair.

We broke apart slowly.

"Eric," I whispered. "I've never told anyone those things."

"I'm honored you told me. I'm honored you trust me."

Trust. The word usually terrified me, but Eric changed that. I did trust him—with my story, my scars, and maybe even my heart.

He nibbled my earlobe. "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

The stars wheeled overhead, indifferent to our human drama but somehow blessing the moment anyway. The lighthouse continued its steady rhythm, marking time while everything I'd believed about myself began to shift and change.

We moved slowly. Eric's hands found the hem of my jacket, and I let him push it off my shoulders. The October air was cold against my skin, but his touch was warm enough to chase away any chill.

"Here?"

"Here." I pulled him close, and we tugged part of the blanket up over us. "If you want."