When Forever Stays (The Forever Duet)

One

ONE

DANA

Social media engagement announcements make me want to rip my eyeballs out. But could this specific one make me nauseous because of the man who posted it? Probably.

Less than two months ago, this now engaged man–Dr. Mitch Hastings–was posting pictures of him and me… several of them with the caption I caught a good one .

If this was the first time it happened, it wouldn’t bother me so much. But it didn’t happen just this once. Not just twice. It’s happened thrice! Yes, three times in a row, the guy I dated broke up with me and got engaged before our break-up hit the six-month mark.

I flip my phone over, unable to stare at the engagement announcement any longer. Then I ask myself why? Why am I the final step before they fall into their future wife’s arms?

Just to torture myself further, I look back at my phone. Even on my screen, his fiancée’s diamond sparkles so bright it hurts my eyes. I close out of the app, set my phone on the table, and pinch the bridge of my nose as the beginning prickles of tears tease the corners of my eyes. I take a breath of fresh ocean air that helps release some of the emotional pressure in my chest.

I woke up to a beautiful day full of potential. After a quick breakfast, I came out onto my porch to spend some time in the fresh air and try to read my Bible.

Everything was moving in a great direction until I opened that social media app instead of my Bible and saw the straw that broke my camel’s back—my most recent ex’s engagement.

As if the wind can sense that my blood is boiling, it breezes through my porch, helping to cool me off.

Despite the brewing storm inside me, the sun shines bright and warms the air, almost as a promise that things can only go up from here.

My mind wanders back to the picture of that ring and my stomach churns.

I huff a short breath and stand from the chair, stretching my arms over my head and twisting side to side. My joints crack and pop, releasing the tension I’ve been holding in my neck and back. As I turn in the direction of the ocean, it beckons to me. I listen to its call, slip on my flip-flops, and slide my phone into my pocket, heading toward the slice of sand that extends from my front yard. The sun beats down on me, and I relish the feel of its warmth on my skin.

Most of the time, walking along the shoreline helps calm my racing thoughts. It doesn’t seem to be heading that way today, though. Despite this ideal weather and the beauty surrounding me, I don’t feel tranquility like I had hoped to. Usually, the ocean is a place of comfort, but looking toward the public part of the beach and seeing the couples holding hands forces me to face my insecurities, and the struggles I’ve tried—and failed—to lay before God. The main one: restlessness in my singleness.

I’ve been begging God to remove my desire for a husband and family. When He didn’t, I jumped into relationship after relationship, hoping that one would stick. None have. This most recent engagement announcement is my final straw. Now that I’m at three attempts and failures at reaching my happily ever after, it’s time for me to give up. Maybe accepting this as my fate will let me overcome my restlessness.

Twenty-four isn’t old to be unmarried to most people, but Amber Island has its own unique culture. Many of the long-term residents got married right out of high school and are having their second kid at twenty-four years old.

Well, hand me my crochet hook and call me a spinster because I am nowhere near that stage in life.

Watching each of my exes meet their soulmates right after breaking up with me is only pushing me closer toward bitter spinster status. My skin heats as a strange mix of anger and embarrassment burns hot in my veins.

I stop, release a deep breath, and send up a quick prayer for guidance. Marginally calmed, I pull out my phone and open the messenger app to think about something, anything else. My finger swipes down the screen through all my messages until I find the name Rhett Stryker. I swallow the lump in my throat and scroll to the first message he sent.

Rhett: This is Rhett Stryker, the guy who will sweep you off your feet ;)

The rest of the messages are snapshots of our short-lived whirlwind romance. He was my vacation crush, and he did exactly what he said he’d do in that first message. He swept me off my feet despite my intention of him only being a momentary distraction.

In our messages, we flirted, sent funny memes, and wished each other good night. The very last text was the one that broke my heart and sent me into my downward spiral.

Rhett: We’re sorry. The phone number you are trying to reach has been disconnected.

Have I read that text after every breakup? Maybe. Even though it’s like taking a sledgehammer to the chest. It’s as if the masochist in me wants to be reminded of what I had with Rhett. Even though Rhett and I were only together a week, we shared a connection. he made clear he felt too even when I shared my reluctance to dive into a real relationship. I have to give the guy props—when he does something, he goes all in. Wooing, flirting, kissing…and unfortunately for me, ghosting.

After switching mental gears and sending my sister, Olivia, a quick message asking how things are going, I tuck my phone back into my pocket and wipe away the unauthorized tear from my cheek. I pull off my sandals and continue my walk barefoot, enjoying the feel of the white sand between my toes.

My mind wanders back to the week I spent with Rhett. He was a gentleman, sweet, kind, attentive, and funny. Proving to be the whole package on our date. After an enjoyable evening and a mind-altering kiss, Rhett wished me a good night, placed a final kiss on my forehead, and then he was gone. We may have only shared one date, but every word, touch, and kiss has branded me. I’ve dated three other guys since moving to Amber Island, but that single week with Rhett Stryker set up all of my future romantic relationships for failure.

After that amazing week, Rhett became nothing more than a ghost from my past that has followed me into each relationship I’ve jumped into since. The bitterness I feel toward him is affecting me more than it should. I need to let it go. I need to let him go. But like so many other things, I’m failing.

I’m failing in areas I used to thrive in with no idea of how to rectify it. Bringing new people to church was like second nature, but it’s been months since I invited anyone. The excitement I once felt about sharing God’s word has dwindled. Something that has become a big problem in my line of work.

I blow out a long, frustrated breath and kick up some sand. “What could you possibly be teaching me in all of this, Lord?” I ask out loud.

There’s no loud voice that answers. But as my gaze shifts to the water, I’m struck by the vastness of God as the Creator of the world and I’m reminded of a verse from the Psalms.

What is man that you are mindful of him,

and the son of man that you care for him?

Tears burn my eyes. It’s so hard being caught between trusting that God knows what’s best for me while also wondering how playing the main character in my real-life version of Last Bachelorette Standing is part of God’s grand plan for my life.

Is holding onto Rhett keeping me from following God’s will? Because I’ve prayed countless times for God to help me let Rhett go. But my stubborn heart remains steadfastly bent on him.

Even if I delete his messages I know the echo of him will remain. No matter how hard I try to move on, I’m stuck on Rhett Stryker.

As I walk further down the beach, a thought strikes me: Maybe I haven’t been able to let Rhett go because God has something unexpected up His sovereign sleeve when it comes to Rhett.

I shake my head at my ridiculous thoughts. Something on the sand catches my eye and I almost trip over it.

Not just something. Someone!

It takes my brain a few seconds to process everything in front of me. This isn’t just a large lump of seaweed or ocean debris like I’ve encountered before. It’s a human. The broad back with a tapered waist tells me that this is a man. Tattoos cover his skin, and even from here, they look beautiful and intricate. That’s all the detail I can make out though because my mind is reeling with the thought that I may be staring at a corpse.

His back rises and falls, and my nervous system floods with relief. The breath I had been holding comes out in a long whoosh.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

I inwardly cringe for asking such a stupid question. This man just washed onto shore from who knows where. Of course, he’s not okay.

He turns his head, and I come face to face with my ghost.

No, not me in a spiritual form. And no, not a literal ghost.

Remember when I said Rhett ghosted me? Yeah, he’s not a ghost anymore.