One page at a time.
Closing the journal, she ran her fingers over the cover, a quiet determination settling inside her. She glanced toward the window, her gaze drifting to the faint glow of Jack’s porch light in the distance. Did he ever sit there, staring out at the night the way she sometimes did? Did he ever wonder, as she did now, what it would take to let someone in again?
She wasn’t looking to fix Jack Montgomery. She just wanted him to see what she saw—that second chances weren’t just possible. They were worth taking.
She leaned against the window frame, watching the soft glow of his porch light flicker across the path. Maybe he was sitting out there too, wondering if anyone saw past his walls. Wondering if someone already had.
Chapter Nine
Jack
Jacksatontheback deck, the weight of indecision coiled tight in his chest, watching the ocean shimmer beneath the sinking sun. The familiar view offered little comfort tonight—it was beautiful, yes, but also a mirror to how still his life had become.
The cool breeze carried a sharp bite, teasing the edge of autumn. The salty tang of the sea mixed with the faint scent of pine drifting from the nearby trees, grounding him in the present even as his thoughts pulled him elsewhere. He should have felt at peace—this view, this silence, had always been his sanctuary. But tonight, the quiet was too loud.
The rhythmic crash of the waves should have been soothing, but instead, it churned inside him, restless and relentless, much like the emotions he had yet to name. His chest ached with a pressure he couldn't quite explain, like something unspoken pressing against his ribs.
The salty breeze curled around him, cool against his skin, carrying the distant cries of seagulls and the rhythmic crash of waves. The scent of salt and pine mixed in the air, grounding him, yet doing nothing to untangle the mess in his head. He shifted in his chair, fingers drumming against his thigh, the movement more fidget than habit. The problem looped back again and again, a single name rising above the noise—Claire.
He’d spent the day overanalyzing every moment from their dinner, every glance, every accidental touch. It was ridiculous. He was a grown man, a surgeon who had dealt with life-or-death decisions, yet here he was, letting a simple evening mess with his head.
Jack scrubbed a hand over his face. He needed perspective. Pulling out his phone, he scrolled through his contacts before finally landing on a number.
Jack hovered his thumb over the call button, debating whether he should even make the call. He had already talked himself out of it twice, convincing himself that he didn’t need advice, that he already knew what David would say. But as the doubt twisted inside him, he knew he wouldn’t be able to let it go. With a resigned sigh, he finally pressed call, gripping the phone tighter as it rang.
“Didn’t expect to hear from you before football season,” a familiar voice answered, amusement laced in his tone.
Jack exhaled a dry chuckle. "Hey, David."
Dr. David Reynolds had been his closest friend since med school, one of the few people who understood both the pressures of their profession and the deeper struggles of loss.
“Alright, what’s on your mind?” David asked, getting straight to the point.
Jack hesitated, gripping the phone tighter as his pulse ticked unevenly. The question sat heavy in his chest, pressing against the walls he had carefully built. He had debated calling for hours, convincing himself it wasn’t necessary, that he already knew the answer. But as the silence stretched between them, he realized just how much he needed someone else’s perspective. "Hypothetically speaking… how does a guy know when he’s ready to move on?"
David was silent for a few seconds before answering carefully, “That depends—are you asking for yourself, or is this some obscure surgical analogy?”
Jack sighed. “It’s… complicated.”
David chuckled. “Jack, everything with you is complicated.”
Jack leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “It’s Claire. She’s—” He shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck, the words catching in his throat. His mouth felt dry, and he had to swallow twice before trying again. “She’s great. Chloe adores her, and she makes everything feel so… easy. I’ve mentioned her before, remember? The neighbor Chloe keeps dragging me over to talk to. But now it’s… different. And that’s the problem.”
“Because you think moving forward should be hard?”
Jack frowned. “I don’t know. Maybe. It feels… disloyal.”
David’s voice softened. “Jack, you loved Amanda. No one is asking you to forget that. But what if holding onto the past this tightly means you’re missing out on something good? Something real?”
Jack remained silent, the question hanging heavy in the air. No answer formed—not one he was ready to say out loud.
“You’re not betraying Amanda by living, man. And Claire? If she’s as great as you say, she deserves a version of you that isn’t half-trapped in the past.”
Jack swallowed hard. He knew David was right. But knowing and acting on it were two different things.
“Look, just don’t make decisions based on fear,” David added. “That’s the kind of regret that sticks.”
Jack sat with that thought long after the call ended, his fingers tightening around his phone. The words echoed in his head—don’t make decisions based on fear. Was that what he’d been doing all this time? Avoiding, deflecting, convincing himself that keeping his heart locked away was the safest option?
