Page 10

Chapter Nine

Calum—past

Her laugh cuts through the wind, careless and bright.

Waves slam against the shore with a ferocity I feel in my chest, each crash like a heartbeat turned inside out.

The wind’s picking up, wild and constant, whistling through the dunes like it’s warning us.

A Nor’easter’s due by morning—they’re calling it the worst swell in a decade—but Annabel walks ahead of us like the sky’s not folding in on itself.

Jonathan keeps pace beside her, hands shoved in his pockets, shoulders relaxed. He looks like he belongs here—salt-worn, wind-cut, familiar. I trail behind them both like a ghost.

I’ve only known them for a few weeks. A few late nights sketching at the cafe. A few shared bottles of wine. A few scattered moments that already feel carved into me like grooves in wood.

But now, out here, under the heavy press of sky and sea, I feel like a stranger with sand in my teeth and someone else’s heartbeat pounding in my ears.

Annabel stops near the edge of the water, her bare feet sinking into the wet sand. She spreads her arms wide, tilts her head back, and closes her eyes. The moonlight paints her gold and silver—like a statue, or a dream I haven’t earned.

Then she peels off her clothes.

Slow at first. The sweater, the tank top. The curve of her back exposed, followed by the pale slope of her waist. She steps out of her jeans, then her underwear, and stands there—naked, unashamed—on the cusp of the dark Atlantic, the storm-lit sky behind her.

“Annabel!” Jonathan laughs, surprised. “You’re insane!”

She looks back over her shoulder, hair whipping in the wind, her eyes gleaming. “You coming or not?”

And then she runs into the sea.

The waves swallow her legs first, then her torso. She dives forward, disappearing beneath the white churn. A moment later, she surfaces, tossing her hair like a mermaid risen from the deep.

Jonathan doesn't hesitate. He strips off his shirt, then fumbles with his belt, laughing as he kicks off his boots and jeans and sprints after her in his boxers.

They splash into the surf, limbs flailing, voices carrying across the wind.

Annabel shrieks as Jonathan sends a wave crashing over her shoulder.

She retaliates, leaping onto his back, dunking him under.

They move like children, like lovers, like people who’ve forgotten how close the storm really is.

I stand there, frozen, my hands stuffed in the pockets of my coat. Watching.

It’s not just that she’s beautiful—though she is, in that dizzying way that makes my throat go dry—it’s the life in her. The way she pulls laughter out of thin air. The way she doesn’t shrink from anything. She’s pure nerve and instinct and wild light.

And I want it. That light. That recklessness. That closeness .

I’m the one who hangs back at parties, who leaves early without saying goodbye, who needs too long to speak when I feel something sharp and real. And she’s in the water, glowing like she belongs to it.

I’m so fucking jealous I could scream.

After a while, they come back in. Jonathan ahead of her, pants held in one hand, shirt slung over his shoulder, water dripping down his neck. He’s smirking, breathless.

Annabel walks slower. Her body is soaked, goosebumped, glistening, nipples puckered in the soft moonlight. Her hair is plastered to her back and shoulders, black as the sea. She doesn't cover herself. Just walks barefoot across the sand like she owns it all.

I yank my sweater over my head and step forward, holding it out without a word.

She pauses, surprised. Then a soft smile pulls at her lips.

“Thanks, Calum.”

She slips it over her head. It’s too big, hanging off one shoulder, clinging to the curves of her still-wet body. I reach out, gently brushing a strand of soaked hair away from her cheek. Her skin is cool, damp beneath my fingers.

She looks up at me—eyes storm-silver, soft with something I can’t name—and for a second, I think the world might stop.

But Jonathan’s voice cuts through the quiet like a jagged blade.

“Thought we’d established I’m the impulsive one.” His tone is sharp, lazy on the edges, but his eyes are anything but. They fix on me, then drift to her. “Looks like I’ve got competition.”

He yanks his jeans on with rough hands, muttering something under his breath before stalking up the beach, toward the dark outline of his family’s cottage .

The wind howls around us, but it’s his silence that leaves me raw.

Annabel exhales, watching him go. “He’s always been like that,” she says after a beat. “Stormy. Possessive. Dramatic as hell.”

I glance at her, hesitant. “Are you… together?”

She blinks, then lets out a breath of laughter. “God, no.” She hugs her arms around herself. “We’re childhood friends. He’s just... protective. Moody. A typical artist. You’d think with all the poetry he writes he’d be better at talking like a human being.”

I huff out a laugh, surprised. “I wasn’t sure. He acts like?—”

“I know,” she says. “He always acts like that. But no, Calum. It’s not like that.”

She turns to face the water again. The moon casts a silver highway across the waves, and her wet hair clings to the back of my sweater. My sweater. On her.

“You really don’t like storms, do you?” she asks suddenly.

I glance up at the sky. “Not when they follow me.”

She smiles, just barely. “You’re quiet. But I don’t think it’s because you don’t have things to say.”

I look at her. Really look.

“You make it easier,” I admit. “To breathe. To be in the room.”

She tilts her head, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “That’s a really beautiful thing to say.”

I shrug, awkward. “I meant it.”

For a long moment, we just stand there. The sea, wild and loud behind us. The storm gathering somewhere in the dark.

“I don’t sleep much,” she says softly. “Not lately. It’s like I can feel something coming.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know.” Her voice is distant. “A change. A shift. Like the tide’s about to pull everything I know out from under me.”

The wind picks up. Her hair whips across her face.

“I know that feeling,” I say quietly. “Like you're standing on the edge of something, and you're not sure if it’s a beginning or an ending.”

She turns toward me. “Exactly.”

The wind howls louder. The storm is close now—I can feel it in my teeth.

Annabel presses her cheek to my chest, sudden and soft, wrapping her arms around my waist.

I don't move. I just let her rest there, still shivering, still damp, wrapped in my sweater.

“Thank you,” she whispers. “For being kind.”

I press my lips to her hair, just once. A kiss too small to matter. A kiss that means everything.

And in that moment, I know something’s going to break.

Maybe it already has.