Page 6

Chapter Five

Jonathan–past

The moon hangs low and swollen over Ravensreach Point, its light washing over the hydrangea bushes that line the sprawling lawn of my parent’s house.

I stumble up the gravel drive, the crunch of stones under my boots echoing louder than I’d like.

My head swims, a heady cocktail of cheap whiskey and adrenaline coursing through my veins.

I’d stayed too long with the guys, let the bottle pass around one too many times.

Now the night feels slippery, unreal, like a dream I’m halfway inside.

“Woh!” I call out, narrowly dodging Annabel’s little cousin on a bicycle. The rambunctious twelve-year-old yanks the handlebars of her pink bike to the side, skidding out in the gravel. She instantly begins to wail, tears surging down her cheeks. “Britt–”

Her watery blue eyes cast up to meet mine. Moonlight glints in her irises and I think for a moment how she looks so much like Annabel.

“J-jonathan?” she stutters through her tears .

“You okay, kiddo?” I kneel, catching sight of her scraped and bloody knee. She sniffs, nods, then bursts into more tears. “Do you think you can walk back to the house?”

She shakes her head, tears flowing faster as she catches sight of the fresh blood.

“Okay–would it be okay if I carry you to the house?”

“Y-yes.” She sniffs. I gather the little girl in my arms and walk on swift strides to the small cottage she’s been staying at for the summer with her family. When we walk through the front door, her mom rushes to us with worried eyes.

“What happened?”

Britt cries harder. “I fell on my bike and J-jonathan rescued me!”

I smile at her innocence, then deposit her on the couch. Her mom vanishes down the hallway for a moment then returns with a first aid kit. She kneels, wipes at the wound with a damp rag, and then covers it with giant bandages.

“Thank you for carrying her home,” Britt’s mom’s eyes catch mine a moment, “you’re a Godsend.”

“My pleasure. What kind of gentleman would I be if I didn’t carry the princess home after a fall from her noble steed?” I bow and wink at Britt.

My act stops the tears from flowing a moment. A small smile spreads across her face.

“Until next time, Ms.” I grin back at her, then turn to leave.

I’m out the door and walking down the path that splits the two cottages a moment later when a rustle to my left pulls me up short.

I squint into the shadows, trying to focus through the moonlit haze.

The hydrangeas shiver, but there’s no wind.

I lean in, squatting slightly to peer into the dense blooms, their white petals ghostly in the moonlight.

That’s when I see her.

“Annabel?” My voice comes out hoarse, cracking on the second syllable.

She doesn’t answer, but I’d know her silhouette anywhere.

She’s crouched low, her knees pulled to her chest, arms hugging herself tightly.

Her raven hair spills over her shoulders, a tangled halo against the dark.

She looks younger than her seventeen years and there’s something about the defeat lacing her features that makes me sad.

“What are you doing out here?” I ask, moving closer. My footsteps are deliberate now, careful not to startle her. Something about the way she’s folded into herself, so small and still, sets my pulse pounding for reasons I don’t fully understand.

She sniffles, and that tiny sound slams into me harder than any drunken stumble. “Go away, Jonathan.”

“Not happening.” I kneel beside her, the damp grass soaking through my jeans. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”

She shakes her head, her face buried in her arms. “You’re drunk.”

I almost laugh, but the sound dies in my throat. “Yeah, maybe. Doesn’t mean I can’t listen.”

For a long moment, she doesn’t move. I’m about to press her again when she lifts her head. Her eyes are glossy, rimmed red, and swollen. She’s been crying for hours. I can see it in the way her mascara smudges across her cheekbones like war paint.

“It’s nothing,” she says, her voice thin and brittle. “Just go back to your party.”

“Annabel,” I say softly, her name a plea. “Don’t lie to me. I’ve known you too long for that.”

Her lips tremble, and for a second, I think she’ll push me away again. But then her shoulders sag, and she lets out a shaky breath. “My parents,” she whispers, the words almost swallowed by the night. “They’re fighting again.”

That much I could’ve guessed. The storm clouds over the Dupin household have been gathering for years. But the way she says it, the hollow edge to her voice, makes my stomach drop.

“Tell me what happened,” I urge, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from her face. She flinches at first but doesn’t pull away.

Her gaze fixes on the ground, her fingers picking at the hem of her nightgown.

“I was in my room,” she begins, her voice flat, detached.

“I heard them yelling downstairs. It’s always about the same things.

Dad’s affairs. Mom’s temper. But tonight…

” She falters, her throat bobbing as she swallows hard.

“Mom threw a vase at him. It shattered against the wall. And then he… he hit her.”

My breath catches. I’ve seen the Dupin’s dysfunction from the sidelines for years, but this—this is new.

“I didn’t know what to do,” she continues, her words spilling out now in a rush. “I just ran. I couldn’t listen to it anymore.”

I don’t realize I’ve moved until my hand is on her shoulder, squeezing gently. “Hey,” I murmur. “You’re safe out here, okay? They can’t touch you.”

She looks at me then, her eyes wide and desperate. “But what about tomorrow, Jonathan? Or the next day? It doesn’t stop. It never stops.”

Her words hit like a gut punch, and for once, I don’t have anything clever or reassuring to say. Instead, I slide closer, wrapping my arm around her shoulders and pulling her against me. She stiffens at first, but then she crumples, her weight sagging into my side.

For a while, we just sit there, the damp seeping through our clothes and the storm brewing far out at sea casting an eerie stillness over the Point.

Her breathing slows, the tremors in her body easing as I stroke her hair.

It’s soft and tangled, smelling faintly of salt and lavender.

I lose myself in the rhythm, in the quiet intimacy of the moment.

“You’re not them, you know,” I say finally, breaking the silence .

She tilts her head to look up at me, confusion creasing her brow. “What do you mean?”

“You’re not your parents,” I explain. “You’re not doomed to end up like them. You can have something better.”

She snorts, a bitter sound that cuts deeper than any outright sob. “Better? Like what? Marriage? Commitment?” She shakes her head, pulling away slightly. “It’s all a trap, Jonathan. A lie. People make promises they can’t keep, and then they destroy each other trying to live up to them.”

“That’s not true,” I argue, my voice rising. “Not for everyone.”

“It’s true for me,” she snaps, her eyes flashing. “I’ll never trust anyone enough to let them in like that. Never.”

Her words hang heavy between us, the finality of them sinking into my chest like stones. I should let it go, respect her resolve, but something in me refuses to give up that easily.

“Maybe someday you’ll change your mind,” I say quietly, my hand finding hers in the dark. “With the right person.”

She lets out a humorless laugh, her fingers twitching beneath mine. “No, Jonathan. Not even then.”

The conviction in her voice silences me. I study her face, the set of her jaw, the fire still burning in her tear-streaked eyes, and I realize she means it. At least for now.

But I can’t help hoping—praying—that one day, someone will prove her wrong.

We stay like that until the first hints of dawn begin to creep over the horizon, the sky bleeding from black to a pale, bruised gray. Her breathing evens out, her head resting against my shoulder, and for a fleeting moment, everything feels still and right.

When she finally pulls away, there’s something softer in her expression, something almost like gratitude.

“Thank you,” she whispers, her voice hoarse from crying .

“For what?” I ask, genuinely confused.

“For not leaving,” she says simply.

“Never, Annabel.” I say, before she presses a quick, fleeting kiss to my cheek. Then she’s gone, slipping back toward the house like a shadow, leaving me alone with the dawn and the lingering warmth of her touch.