Page 36

Chapter thirty-three

Finn

I thought I could do this. We settled into the room we’re staying in, and something about the still night air made me believe I could walk out here tonight with the moon as my witness.

It smells like sea salt and pine and something earthy, like moss after rain.

Port Orford is quiet tonight, just the distant swoosh of the tide and our footsteps crunching over gravel as we make our way down the sloped road from the bed and breakfast. I shove my hands deeper into my pockets and try to pretend my spine isn’t buzzing with something that feels a lot like panic.

Foxx walks beside me, his shoulder brushing mine now and then, not by accident, and I take comfort in that, in him.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I lie. “Just cold.”

He doesn’t call me on it, and we continue walking.

The streets are empty, the porch lights of a few houses glowing. We pass the little general store, then a row of shuttered shops. Everything looks like a movie set left behind. It should be calming. Instead, I feel like I’m walking toward an edge.

When we turn the corner, I can hear it—no, more than hear it. I feel it. Each wave crashing and undulating against the sand like they’re trying to pull something out of me.

My legs slow the closer we get. Like my body’s already trying to protect me from what’s coming, my brain shouting to stop and turn around.

Foxx glances over again. “We can turn back.”

I shake my head too fast, sucking in air. “No. I want to see it.”

He gives a little nod, and we come to the edge of the soft sand as it mixes with the beach grass, feet sinking slightly with each step. As we crest the last low bluff, the world opens.

The Pacific stretches out in front of us, vast and endless glistening black and silver under the moonlight. The tide’s coming in, slow and heavy, leaving light foam over dark sand. It should be beautiful. It probably is, but all I feel is dread.

My breath snags like a splinter in my chest. My legs lock up. I stop walking.

Foxx takes two more steps before he realizes I’m not with him, then turns back.

“Finn?”

I shake my head. I can’t— I can’t do it. The sound of the waves is wrong. Too loud. Too familiar. Each crash is like a memory slamming into me, over and over, relentlessly dragging me under. I can’t go back to that day yet. I won’t be able to find him, to save him.

I try to swallow, but it’s like my throat’s closing. My hands curl into fists, nails digging into skin. I can’t get enough air in— I can’t—

Shit. Shit. I need to remember what Dr. Hale told me, but every rational thought has left my mind.

“Hey.” Foxx is in front of me now, his cool hands encasing my face. “Look at me.”

I can’t. My eyes are locked on the water over his shoulder, and it’s like it’s pulling me under without even touching me. I’m not on the beach anymore. I’m back there. Back in that moment. Back to the panic and the screaming and the silence after.

Then I’m in my hotel room. Soaking wet. Hair dripping down my face.

My hands wrinkled from the water. I’m sitting on the edge of the bed, staring through the glass, the ocean still visible in the distance.

The waves are too calm for something that took my best friend from me.

Staring at the changing blues, I feel…empty.

Like I left whatever was alive in me out there with him. Like I should’ve gone under too.

My lungs cease. The world tilts. The memory wraps around me like a riptide, and I can’t tell if I’m breathing at all.

Everything gets too loud and too far away at the same time.

I try to pull air into my chest, but it won’t come.

My throat’s closing. My heart’s slamming against my ribs like it’s trying to knock through my ribcage.

My fingers tingle, my knees go soft, and I don’t even know if I’m still standing.

The waves roar.

The panic roars louder.

I’m going under and…

“Finn.” His fingers curl around my jaw. “Breathe. Baby, look at me.”

I do. I drag my eyes up to his, and the second I see his face, I start shaking.

“I can’t—” I gasp. “I thought I—I— Fuck. ”

“It’s okay.” He steps closer, wrapping his arms around me.

“You don’t have to do this. Just breathe with me.

” He exhales slowly, loud and deliberate.

I feel his breath hitting my cheek, his chest rising against my palms. In.

Out. Again. The sound of his breathing distracts me from the sounds echoing around my mind.

I bury my face in his chest. He’s warm and real and smells like laundry and comfort and safety, and I try to match my breathing to his, but everything still feels too tight, too wound up.

Too much. My legs give out, but he catches me, arms locking around my waist as my body folds.

His strength doesn’t falter once as we sink together, knees hitting the sand, his grip unyielding, his warmth wrapping around the cold shaking my bones.

“I’m here,” he murmurs, his hand moving slowly up and down my back as he effortlessly holds me and all my broken pieces together. “I want you to name me five ways to eat a potato.”

I’d laugh if I wasn’t in the throes of an attack because, potatoes ? I clutch the back of his jacket, fists full of fabric, and focus on the sound of his voice. The weight of him. The way his palm presses into the base of my spine like an anchor.

“Mashed…” Breathe . “Fries.” Breathe . “Roasted.” Breathe .

Little by little, my lungs start to work again.

“Two more for me baby, come on.”

“Baked and… chips,” I force out with a cry.

He pulls me in closer. I don’t know how, because I feel like it’s impossible, every inch of me encompassed by him, but he moves in, burying his face into my neck now, inhaling deeply.

It takes me a second to register the relief in him too.

I don’t know how long we sit there, but he never lets go, never lessens the embrace surrounding me.

When I finally lift my head, only then does he shift his weight.

I’m not sure what that does to my nervous system, but something inside me feels like it’s taken a giant deep breath.

The idea that he waited for me to be ready to let him go…

I don’t know if he realizes how much that means to me.

The breeze whips across my damp face. My body aches in a way that has nothing to do with hard work. And yet, all I can think of is how much I’ve just unloaded onto him.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be.” His hand brushes my hair off my face, but it pings right back. “You’re not broken.”

I want to believe him. I want to climb into the space he’s offering and stay there forever, because he makes me believe it. He’s solid, and I’ve never been good at being still. It’s like he knows how to be when I don’t even know how to stay with myself.

“Come on,” he says, untangling us and standing slowly, offering me his hand. “I’ve got you.”

***

We don’t say much on the walk back.

Foxx keeps my hand in his, thumb brushing over my knuckles now and then, like he needs the contact as much as I do. The wind’s died down. The ocean’s still behind us, but it doesn’t feel as loud anymore. My body’s wrecked, but my mind is wired and restless.

Inside the room, it’s warm and quiet. I sit on the edge of the bed, pulling off my shoes, when the second one gets stuck. Foxx kneels in front of me, helping me unlace it. He doesn’t say anything. Just touches my ankle softly as he slips the shoe off and sets it aside.

“I think I need to shower,” I murmur.

He nods. “Want me to sit nearby?”

I do. I can’t say it out loud, but I do and, somehow, he knows that.

The bathroom fills with steam quickly. I step under the water and let it hit my skin until the chill in my bones begins to thaw.

I wash the salt from my neck. The sand from my hands.

The tears from my face. The worst of the past from the edges of my memory and watch the water disappear down the drain.

When I get out of the shower, wrap a towel around my waist, and look through the open doorway, he’s sitting on the bed where I left him, hands resting in his lap like he didn’t move the whole time. His eyes lift to mine, unwavering. I move toward him like he’s a force I’m helpless to fight against.

“I didn’t want that to happen tonight,” I breathe. “I mean, I know I said there’s a chance, but that was a lot.”

“It’s okay.”

I sit beside him, and his shoulder brushes mine.

“I’ve never had someone stay when I’ve lost it like that,” I admit, voice low. “Most people don’t know what to do. My mom called an ambulance the first time it happened when I got back. She freaked.”

His gaze stays on my face, and I see understanding and maybe a little sorrow too. “I didn’t do much.”

“You stayed. That’s not nothing.” What I don’t say is that it felt like everything. The feeling of his arms wrapped around me still lingers on my skin, in my heart. I don’t think I’ll ever forget it.

He nods once, then swallows. His knee touches mine, and neither of us moves, but I can tell he wants to say something. Then he exhales through his nose, eyes fixed on a spot across the room.

“I was scared out there. I haven’t let anyone in like this in a long time, and the reality of you hurting…” He sighs. “I wanted to take it all away for you, because I know the kind of hurt that settles in the space where someone used to be.”

I glance at him, waiting for him to continue, but he keeps his eyes forward, battling with something too.

“When my marriage ended, I felt like I’d drowned in it. Like I gave everything I had and still wasn’t enough. And the worst part was…I didn’t even hate him for what he did at first. I just hated myself for trusting him. For handing over the deepest parts of me and watching him walk away with them.”

He finally looks at me again. His eyes are open in a way I don’t think I’ve seen before.