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Chapter Eleven

Jonathan—past

The lifeguard tower groans with every gust of wind.

I sit cross-legged on the weather-worn floor, my notebook balanced on one knee, pen scratching furiously across the page. The light is shit—storm clouds swallowing the moon—but I write anyway. My words spill like the tide rising beneath me.

“The artist stands back, watching. Always watching.

The muse runs wild into the sea. The writer follows.

This is how it’s always been. Calum doesn’t know her the way I do. Not the way that matters.”

The Nor’easter is already here, even if the forecast says morning. The sea is a churning, snarling thing, foaming at the edges like it’s rabid. The wind hisses through the slats of the tower and whips through the dunes, shrieking low like the ghosts that haunt this stretch of coast.

I glance up from the page. The horizon has vanished into gray. Waves hurl themselves at the shore with growing violence. But I don’t move. I’ve written in worse.

I scribble more, the lines growing messier :

“Last night she stripped bare without hesitation. Ran into the sea like she belonged to it.

We’ve done that a hundred times. Since we were kids.

I could draw a map of her—every curve, every angle—blindfolded.

Calum stood on the shore like he didn’t know whether to run or disappear.

What does he see when he looks at her?

What do I see?”

My jaw clenches. I drop the pen and press my hands to my face, trying to squeeze the hunger out of me. It doesn’t work.

Annabel lives in the margins of my thoughts. In the space between breath and madness. I can’t write a story without her in it. I don’t want to.

A sudden flicker of motion down the beach catches my eye.

At first, I think it’s the wind playing tricks. A silhouette blurred by mist and memory. But the shape grows sharper. Closer.

Annabel.

She walks like a ghost from the surf, her white sundress clinging to her thighs, long hair whipping around her face like dark seaweed. For a second, I’m convinced I dreamed her up—dragged her from a half-formed scene in my notebook and gave her flesh.

But she keeps walking. Barefoot. Real.

The first drops of rain strike like warning shots. Then the sky opens up, and within seconds, she’s drenched. The wind shoves against her, hard. She stumbles slightly, shielding her face with one arm.

I shoot to my feet. “Shit.”

I jump down from the tower, boots slapping against the wet wood of the stairs. The rain is freezing, needling through my clothes. I run toward her, my breath ragged, heart hammering like I’m chasing down a part of myself.

“Annabel!” I shout, but the wind devours her name.

She turns anyway, smiling—god, that smile—and laughs as I reach her.

“Jonathan!” she calls, half breathless. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost!”

“You’re soaked,” I snap, grabbing her by the shoulders. “What the hell are you doing out here?”

She shrugs, rain streaming down her cheeks like tears. “Just having a little fun. You’re always so serious.”

“And you’re always trying to get struck by lightning,” I mutter, tugging her toward the tower. “Come on.”

She protests at first, laughing, squirming in my grip. “Let me enjoy the storm!”

“You can enjoy it without hypothermia.”

I pull her into the lifeguard station, slamming the creaking door shut behind us. Inside, it’s barely better—cold, damp, leaking in one corner—but at least it’s shelter.

We collapse onto the bench. She’s soaked through, shivering. I dig into my bag and hand her my flannel. She pulls it on over her wet dress, flashing me a grateful grin.

The storm rages outside, the sea roaring in the dark. We sit shoulder to shoulder, sharing breath and memory.

She points at the wall behind us. “That still here?”

I turn. A carving in the old wood:

J + A

‘til death

I smile crookedly. “You remember that night?”

“Of course,” she says softly. “We camped out here. You drew it with your pocketknife and then you gave me the necklace and told me I’d be in all your books someday.” She fingers the gold locket at her neck.

“You are,” I say. “You always are.”

The silence between us thickens. She looks at me, rain-bright and moonlit, and I don’t think—I just move.

I kiss her.

It’s desperate, bruising, full of all the words I haven’t said in years. Her lips part under mine. Her fingers dig into my shirt. She kisses me back like she means it, like she remembers too.

For a moment, the storm inside is louder than the one outside.

Then she pulls away, resting her forehead against mine. Her breath trembles.

“Don’t,” she whispers.

I pull back, searching her face. “You and Calum. Are you officially…?”

She exhales. “What does official even mean, Jonathan? Labels don’t change anything.”

I laugh bitterly. “That sounds like something someone says when they want to keep two people dangling.”

She winces. “It’s not like that.”

“No?” I ask. “Because it sure as hell feels like it.”

The silence stretches.

Then we hear it—his voice. Distant, desperate, calling her name.

“Annabel!”

She stiffens. Stands. Looks toward the sound like she’s being summoned by a tether.

“Shit,” she mutters. “He must’ve come looking when I didn’t come back.”

I stay seated, jaw locked. “He has a way of ruining the moment, doesn’t he? ”

She pauses at the door, hair soaked, lips still red from my kiss. She turns. “There is no moment, Jonathan.”

Then she disappears into the rain.

I follow slowly, trailing behind her like a shadow. I watch her run into Calum’s arms. He wraps her in his coat, hands sliding over her back. She melts into him like it’s instinct.

They return to the tower together. All of us dripping, teeth chattering.

Annabel sinks onto the bench, exhausted. Calum pulls her closer, rubbing her arms, pressing his lips to her temple. She closes her eyes, breathing against his collarbone.

She’s asleep within minutes.

I sit across from them, hands clenched. My wet shirt sticks to my skin like regret. My heart aches with a dull, unbearable throb.

She’s mine. She always has been.

Before Calum, before the sketches and paints and awkward silences.

She is branded on my heart like fire.

And I’ll wait.

I’ll wait until she remembers.

J + A

‘Til death.