Chapter seventeen
Emma
The weight of everything presses against my chest as I sit curled on the porch swing, staring into the horizon. The ocean stretches endless before me, waves rolling and crashing, a steady hum that usually calms me but not tonight.
Not when my phone buzzed an hour ago with yet another message. A polite but firm reminder: of the money I'm supposed to pay. Two weeks. That’s it.
I press my fingers to my temples, exhaling slowly, but the tightness in my chest doesn’t fade. It’s like a clock ticking down, a pressure I can’t shake, even when I should be happy. The fundraiser was a success, the clinic is finally within reach, and yet…
A voice breaks my thoughts. “Are you doing okay?”
I jolt, hand flying to my chest. Bryan stands just inside the doorway, arms crossed, his sharp gaze scanning my face. I hadn’t even heard him come in.
I swallow, forcing a smile. “Yeah, fine.”
His brow furrows. He doesn’t believe me. “Emma.” His voice is quiet, steady. He steps onto the porch, closing the distance between us. “You sure?”
“I said I’m fine.” I try to keep my tone light, casual, but it comes out clipped, too sharp.
Something flickers in his eyes. Disappointment? He shifts his weight, and for a second, I think he’s going to push, dig like he always does when he senses I’m not telling the full truth. But he doesn’t. Instead, he nods.
He turns to leave, but then pauses, one hand on the wooden post of the porch. His voice is softer when he speaks again. “Can I ask you something?”
I hesitate. “Sure.”
He exhales, looking out at the ocean for a beat before turning his gaze back to me. “Why did you leave?”
My breath catches. Of all the things he could have asked. I glance down, fingers twisting in my lap, and the familiar ache resurfaces. The memories are sharp, late nights, my father’s empty promises, the weight of bills piling up while he gambled away every last dime. Leaving Ocean Bay wasn’t just about escaping debt, it was about escaping humiliation.
"Never mind. I asked," he says as he turns to walk away.
“I had to,” I murmur, staring at my hands. He stops midway but doesn't turn to face me.
“My dad… after my mom died, he wasn’t the same. He started with drinking, then gambling but I wasn't aware because I was young when mom died. The gambling got worse by the time I was old enough to understand and found out. The debts…” I swallow. My throat tight. “They weren’t going away, and it was all crashing down. My dad decided we should leave, and I thought if I left, I could fix it. Alone.”
Bryan stays silent, listening, his presence solid beside me. I force myself to meet his gaze. “I didn’t want to drag you into it. You had your whole life ahead of you. I thought…” I let out a breath, shaking my head. “I thought leaving would protect you. Leaving would help me get out of the mess my father created. I was humiliated. I was too young to understand how much I would hurt my grandmother, how much I would hurt you.”
A muscle in his jaw tics. He rubs the back of his neck, gaze dropping for a second before locking back onto mine. “Oh, Emma.” His voice is low, almost pained. “You didn’t have to go through that alone.”
I don’t answer. Because back then, I thought I did.
Bryan exhales sharply, stepping closer, his frustration simmering beneath his controlled tone. “I get it, okay? I do. But I wish you would’ve trusted me. I could’ve helped you.” He wraps his arms around me in a way that encompasses me in that long-lost love.
I blink, emotions tangling inside me. “I know,” I whisper. “I just… I didn’t know how to let you. You were a teenager, too. You had a lot to deal with. Being an orphan at an early age wasn't easy for you, and you had your sister Liz to watch over. I just wanted you to be happy without me creating a mess.”
"You should have told me. You were never a mess to me. How couldn't you realize you're the one who made me complete?"
"I'm sorry,"
"It hurts me to think that back then you didn't even think of us. Of what we shared. Didn't our time mean anything to you?"
"It was the best time of my life Bryan, it honestly was."
"Then why? Why did you break my heart by leaving? Why didn't you think of our love?"
My eyes burn with tears hearing the pain in his voice. He sounds broken. And knowing I was the reason caused an ache inside me.
"It was for the best. Trust me you have no idea how deep the debt was. Even now I'm still dealing with it. I came back to town hoping for a fresh start. An opportunity to choose myself, my dreams. I'm sorry I hurt you, and I understand you will never forgive me for that…" But he interrupts.
"Shhhh…I forgave you a long time ago. I should hate you but surprisingly I don't. In fact, I don't want to think of the awful time that you must have gone through. It breaks my heart that I couldn't help."
"Yes, it was a hard time. I worked a bunch of jobs while still trying to finish my education. Grandma helped as much as she could which made all the difference in the world. And the longer I was away, the more humiliated and embarrassed I became, if that makes any sense.
I found out later that my dad realized that leaving town was his only option because of the overwhelming debts he had here. I thought he would change but it got worse, and he got involved with some bad people."
Taking a deep breath, I say words that have been trapped inside of me, and until this moment never spoken aloud. I whisper: "Bryan, I believe the hit and run that killed my father wasn't an accident,"
"What?” he shouts as he leans back to look into my face. “Oh Em, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry you have held such pain inside, and all alone." His arms tighten, and the space between us shifts, the air suddenly charged, heavy with things unspoken. His green eyes soften, flickering over my face like he’s seeing me differently now, like he’s trying to piece together the girl I was and the woman standing before him.
A long moment stretches, and then he moves, slowly, testing. His fingers brush my arm, and I shiver at the warmth that spreads through me. Then his lips are on mine.
The world stills.
It’s not like before: hurried or hesitant. This is deliberate. Slow. Deep. His fingers skim up my arm, curling at my waist, and I melt against him, letting myself feel everything I’ve been trying to push away. Our kiss deepens and from my head to my toes I feel the warmth, the love … the joy returning to my life.
It’s terrifying how easy it is to lose myself in him. And then I remember, I can’t. I pull back, breathless, my hands still clutching his shirt. “Bryan… is this a mistake?”
His hands linger at my waist, his gaze searching mine. Then, softly, “No. It never was.”
I swallow, heart hammering. “Then what is this?”
He exhales, fingers tightening slightly against my back. “I’m tired of pretending. Of fighting this.” He shakes his head. “Emma, I don’t want to keep pushing you away. And I can’t handle you pushing me away anymore. I just want this “us” whatever it is. We’ll take it a step at a time. No pressure.”
I stare at him, emotions warring inside me. Part of me wants this, to let go, to believe in the possibility of us again. But another part of me is terrified. Because if I let myself fall, I might not recover if he decides to walk away.
“I don’t know if I’m ready,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. Bryan’s thumb brushes against my side, reassuring, patient. “Then we go slow.” I let out a shaky breath, staring at the man I’ve loved and lost and somehow found again.
And for the first time in a long time… I think I want to take the risk.
***
The scent of fresh coffee and something sweet drifts into my room, pulling me from sleep. My mind drifts back to the previous night, a smile spreading on my lips at the thought. I believe we have gotten the closure we both needed.
My eyes flutter open, blinking against the morning light. The house is quiet except for the occasional creak of the floorboards and the faint sound of… pans? I sit up, frowning. That’s not right.
I live with Bryan Kingston: a man whose idea of cooking involves grilled steak and takeout menus. Well, that's as far as I remember him as a teenager.
I push the covers off, shoving my hair back as I swing my legs over the side of the bed. Maybe I’m still dreaming. Maybe Stella stopped by early and…
A low hum deep, familiar reaches my ears. My stomach dips.
Bryan? I freeze for a second before padding out of my room, curiosity tightening my chest. When I step into the kitchen, I stop dead.
Bryan is at the stove, flipping a pancake with the kind of practiced ease that makes me question every assumption I’ve ever had about him. He’s barefoot, clad in navy-blue sweatpants that hug his frame too well. His sleeves are pushed up, forearms flexing slightly as he moves, a towel slung over his shoulder.
He looks... comfortable. Like he belongs here. The thought unnerves me. The table is already set with a spread of pancakes, eggs, bacon, and fresh fruit that sits in the center, next to two steaming mugs of coffee.
I blink. Hard. “You… cooked?”
Bryan turns at my voice, smirking like he’s been waiting for me to walk in and be stunned into silence.
“Morning, sweetheart.”
I scowl. “Don’t ‘sweetheart’ me. What’s going on?”
He chuckles, turning back to the stove. “Relax. I didn’t poison anything, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
I fold my arms, watching him carefully. “Since when do you cook?”
He slides the last pancake onto the plate and finally faces me fully, leaning back against the counter. “Since I had someone who I wanted to cook for.”
My stomach tightens. There it is. That undercurrent in his voice, the thing I keep trying to ignore.
I clear my throat, pushing past the way my pulse just jumped. “And that someone is…?”
His eyes gleam with something unreadable. “Who do you think?”
I look away, heart thudding as I focus on the table instead. I won’t read into this. I can’t.
I settle into a chair, still half-suspicious, and pick up my fork. “Alright, fine. But if this is some elaborate scheme to make me drop my guard, it’s not working.”
Bryan sits across from me, sipping his coffee like he’s completely at ease, like he hasn’t just sent my heart into a sprint. “You wound me, Em.”
I scoff but take a bite of the pancake. Fluffy. Buttery. Sweet. Holy cow, it’s good.
I chew slowly, conscious of his gaze on me, and then begrudgingly say, “Okay. Not bad.”
Bryan smirks. “I’ll take that as high praise.” We fall into an easy rhythm, eating and talking about things that don’t have to do with what this could mean. And yet, every time our hands brush when we reach for something, or our gazes linger just a second too long, it’s there.
The pull. The reminder that this isn’t just friendship anymore.
I should put the wall back between us. I should remind myself that I’m still unsure about all of this. But as Bryan watches me with that easy smile, as he leans back in his chair, completely at home in a space that once felt too big for just me… well.
I wonder if maybe, just maybe, this is exactly what I need.
Then he leans forward, elbows on the table, eyes locked on mine. “This was just part one.”
I frown. “Part one of what?”
His lips twitch. “You’ll find out this evening.”
I narrow my eyes at him, skepticism clawing at the edges of my curiosity. “What kind of surprise?” Bryan only grins. “You’ll see.”
***
The first thing I see when we pull up to the marina is the boat. Sleek, white with navy-blue trim, bobbing gently with the rhythm of the tide. The water glistens under the late afternoon sun, waves rolling lazily toward the horizon. Seagulls call in the distance, their cries carried by the salty breeze, and for a second, I just stare.
“What is this?” I ask, turning toward Bryan, my heart already hammering.
He leans against the truck, arms folded, a small, knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He looks ridiculously good like this, effortless, like he belongs here among the waves and sun-drenched docks.
“You remember back how you used to talk about sailing?” he asks. “How we’d sit on the pier, watching the boats and you’d say…”
“One day, we’ll have our own,” I finish in a whisper, the memory washing over me like the tide.
Bryan’s eyes soften. “I never forgot. As a matter of fact, it inspired me to buy this boat some years back.” "You did what?" she shouts.
"Yeah, I know it's stupid. I mean you broke up with me and all, but somehow maybe a part of me was still holding on to you."
A lump forms in my throat, my fingers gripping the edge of my sundress as I glance back at the boat. The idea of this, of him remembering something so small yet so significant does something to me. I shake my head, trying to rein it in. “I don’t know, Bryan. I haven’t…”
He steps closer, the warmth of his body just inches away, his voice low, coaxing. “Trust me.”
Those two words. So simple, yet they hold so much weight. I lift my gaze to his, green eyes steady, waiting.
I should say no. I should keep the wall up. But what am I kidding myself? The sea has always been our place. And right now, looking at him, standing on the dock with the ocean stretched wide behind him, I want to step back into that world.
Before I can change my mind, I nod. Bryan grins, a real one, full and bright. He takes my hand, the warmth of his fingers wrapping around mine, and leads me onto the boat.
The wind picks up as we sail out of the marina, the hum of the motor fading into the sound of waves slapping against the hull. The world slows down out here, the coastline shrinking in the distance, the only company the endless stretch of sky and water.
I breathe it in. The sea air, the sun against my skin, the weight of the past easing just a little.
Bryan stands at the helm, steering with ease, like he’s done this a thousand times before. I watch him, the relaxed grip of his hands, the way the wind ruffles his hair, the golden glow of sunlight brushing his jawline.
He’s beautiful . The thought startles me. I turn away, focusing on the waves, but the warmth spreading through my chest lingers.
“You’re quiet,” Bryan says, his voice breaking through the moment.
I glance at him, hesitating. “I just… I didn’t expect this.”
He tilts his head. “Didn’t expect what?”
Didn’t expect you to remember. Didn’t expect to feel like this again. I shake my head, offering a small smile instead. “Nothing. It’s just… nice.”
Bryan watches me for a second longer, something unreadable flickering in his eyes, but he doesn’t push. Instead, he motions to the cushioned deck, where a picnic basket sits waiting.
“Come on,” he says. “Figured we could eat before I throw you overboard.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “You wouldn’t dare.”
His smirk turns wicked. “Wouldn’t I?”
We settle on the deck, the gentle rocking of the boat a steady rhythm beneath us. The spread is simple, fresh fruit, sandwiches, lemonade but it feels like everything. We eat, talk, fall into something that feels dangerously close to what we used to be.
“I can’t believe you still drink lemonade,” Bryan says, watching as I take a sip. I raise a brow. “What’s wrong with lemonade?”
“Nothing.” He leans back, arms propped behind him, his gaze fixed on me. “It’s just… you haven’t changed as much as I thought you might.”
The words send a flutter through my chest, my fingers tightening around the glass. I glance at him, at the easy way he watches me, like I’m something familiar. Like I never left. “I have changed,” I say softly, more to myself than to him.
Bryan’s expression shifts, something thoughtful settling into his features. “Maybe. But the parts that matter? They’re still here.”
His voice wraps around me, and for a moment, I don’t know what to do with the warmth spreading through me. So, I do the one thing I know won’t let me think too hard.
I stand. Bryan blinks. “What are you…?”
Before he can finish, I kick off my sandals, step onto the edge of the boat … And jump.
Cold. Bitter cold.
The ocean swallows me, cool and endless, pulling me under before I push myself back up, gasping. Bryan’s voice is somewhere above me, a mix of shock and laughter.
I wipe water from my eyes, grinning. “What? You looked like you needed to cool off, so I took the first leap.”
His smirk turns sharp. Dangerous. “You’re asking for it, Em.”
Before I can react, he’s peeling off his shirt, stepping to the edge, and …
Splash. A second later, he surfaces, close. Too close.
Water glistens on his skin, dripping from his hair, rolling down the strong lines of his shoulders. His eyes lock onto mine, and the playful tension shifts, becomes something heavier.
The world narrows. It’s just us. The ocean wrapping around us, the quiet between waves, the pulse pounding in my throat. Bryan’s gaze dips to my lips, then back up.
I feel myself sway toward him, and his smile is the last thing I see as his mouth closes over mine. Delicious . That’s all I can think of. Delicious . As my arms wrap around his neck the only thing that I can imagine at this moment is never having to let go. His hold on me is so much more than physical. I feel like our souls are intertwined, that our hearts are beating as one.
Then a splash right between us makes me shriek. Buddy. Of course. He paddles toward us, tongue lolling, completely oblivious to whatever just happened.
Bryan groans, running a hand through his hair as he glares at the dog. “You have the worst timing, you know that?”
I laugh because what else can I do? As we swim back to the boat and as Bryan helps me up, his hands linger around my waist and that magical smile wraps me in a different kind of warmth.
I know we’re not done. Not even close. As the sun begins to set, I feel lighter. Less afraid. Less guarded.
I recognize that Bryan is the most important part of my world. So why fight this?