I'd brought Eric to where I'd done my hardest thinking for all my time on the island.
"This is where I came the night I got to Ironhook." I spread the blanket on the flat granite ledge that served as a natural observation deck. "Nineteen years old, knee held together with pins and prayers, and convinced I was going to throw myself off these cliffs before morning."
Eric froze.
"I'd been a hockey player. Not only someone who played hockey—it was who I was. From the time I could skate, it was all I wanted. The rink's smell, the equipment's weight, and the sound of a puck hitting the sweet spot on your blade." I stared out at the water. "I dreamed of hockey. Planned my whole life around it."
The lighthouse beam swept across us again. Eric turned his face toward me.
"UMaine had offered me a full ride. The scout said I had hands that could make magic happen with a stick and legs strong enough to outskate anybody in the conference." A bitter laugh erupted from deep inside me. "Then Derek crashed his truck with me in the passenger seat, and suddenly, I was just another cautionary tale about teenagers who made bad choices."
"Wes—"
"They took the scholarship away before I left the hospital. University said they couldn't risk their investment on someone who'd demonstrated poor judgment. Never mind that Derek was driving. Never mind that I'd tried to talk him out of it."
I pulled my knees up, wrapping my arms around them like armor. "Poor judgment. That's what sixteen years of my life have been about—one night of poor judgment that wasn't even mine."
The wind picked up, carrying the scent of deeper water. In the distance, a boat's lights moved slowly across the horizon—someone heading somewhere while I sat beside Eric, trying to explain why I'd stopped believing in destinations.
"You want to know what scared me most about the accident? It wasn't the pain—broken bones heal. It wasn't losing hockey, though, that nearly killed me." I pressed my forehead against my knees. "It was watching everyone I trusted decide I wasn't worth the trouble anymore."
Eric shifted beside me, waiting.
"My parents came to the hospital twice. Twice. The first time to make sure I wasn't going to die, and the second time to tell me I'd disgraced my family. Derek's mom, my aunt, blamed me for corrupting her son, even though everyone in town knew Derek had been drinking since he was twelve." The words stirred up my old battles with grief. "She slapped me across the face and told me I should have died instead of Derek."
"Jesus, Wes."
"She wasn't wrong. Derek was... Derek was electric. Funny and reckless and alive in ways I never was. He lit up every room he walked into. I was only the cousin who was good at hockey."
I rocked slightly. "When he died, part of me died too, but the wrong part. The part that knew how to trust people not to leave."
Eric's hand found mine in the darkness, fingers intertwining with gentle pressure.
"That's why I came here. It wasn't only about disappearing. It was about learning not to want things I couldn't keep. I had to stop caring about people who would eventually figure out I wasn't worth the effort."
I looked at Eric, wanting to memorize his face in the starlight. "And then you showed up with endless questions, terrible coffee-making skills, and ridiculous optimism about everything."
Eric was quiet. The lighthouse beam swept over us, and he spoke.
"I used to think my dad was invincible. Fire chief, right? Runs into burning buildings, saves people, makes everything okay." He shifted closer until our shoulders touched. "Then I got older and realized he was just a man doing his best with impossible choices. Sometimes people live, and sometimes they don't. It's not always about how hard you try or how much you deserve a happy ending."
The lighthouse beam found us again, and in its light, I saw Eric's profile—the gentle curve of his jaw and how his hair fell across his forehead.
"That night you're talking about? You were eighteen, in a truck with someone you cared about who made a terrible choice. You survived something that should have killed you, and instead of celebrating that miracle, everyone around you decided you were the problem." His grip on my hand tightened. "That's not poor judgment, Wes. That's only life being cruel and random and unfair."
"But—"
"No buts. You've spent years here punishing yourself for Derek's choices, believing you deserved to be abandoned." He turned to face me fully. "You want to know what I see when I look at you?"
I wasn't sure I did, but I nodded anyway.
"I see someone who notices when his neighbors' chimneys stop smoking. Someone who fixes things before they break completely. Someone who kissed me under meteor showers like I was worth celebrating." He touched my cheek with hisfree hand. "I see someone who survived and built something beautiful from the wreckage."
Eric leaned closer, his breath warm against my cheek. "I'm not them, Wes. I'm not going to decide you're too much trouble or not worth the effort. I'm here because I want to be here, with you, for as long as you'll let me."
He was close enough for me to see the starlight reflected in his eyes and count the freckles across his nose. When had I started memorizing his face like this? When had looking at him become as necessary as breathing?
I'd decided to let him go, but he was making me pause. "I don't know how to do this," I whispered. "I don't know how to let someone—"
