Chapter 16
Crew
Istare at Lottie’s seashell collection, all neatly lined up just like she used to do when we were kids. There are more now, rarer ones mixed in with the simple shells she used to gather at the beach with her dad.
Lottie looks up from her laptop, finally. She’s been writing an essay for one of her classes about reef ecology, and I’ve been sitting here patiently waiting for her to be done. Not that I’ve minded. The silence between us has felt… comforting.
“What are you doing?” she asks, tilting her head quizically.
“Reminicising mostly,” I pick one up, one of her newer ones. “I don’t remember these being part of the collection before.”
Lottie closes her laptop and stands, stepping closer until I can smell the faint trace of Oscar’s shower gel on her skin. She hesitates, then gently takes the shell from me and sets it back in its exact spot, just like she used to when we were little, correcting every misplaced piece.
“Those are from Archer. Whenever he was deployed overseas, or even if he was docked up, he would look for a new one. Said it was about the old me and the new me merging.”
“He was… is so obsessed with you,” I chuckle. “How on earth did you never see it?”
Lottie shrugs. “I felt like I was too broken to love.” Her fingers glide over the ridges of one of the old ones. “Plus, I never wanted to lose what they all gave me.”
“A family?”
“That. A fresh start. A home… Hope.”
I link my fingers with hers. “Is there room for more?”
She blinks, brow furrowing slightly. “More?”
“More hope? Is there room for more?” I nudge one of the newer shells —a dark-spotted cowrie. “Is there any hope for me to come home?”
She doesn’t answer right away. Her teeth catch on her lip as she stares at the shells, like she’s somewhere else. “Yeah, I think there is.”
I gather her in my arms, basking in how warm she feels. My heart pounds like a teenager about to ask a girl to the prom… not that I ever did. The only girl I wanted to go with was her, and the idea of going with anyone else was inconceivable.
I take a deep breath and force the words out. “Do you want to go somewhere with me? Just us. No one else, just me and you. Like… a date.”
She pulls back, her eyebrows lift, surprise flickering across her face. “A date?”
I nod, trying to be casual about this but failing miserably. “Yeah. Some food. Me making bad jokes. Pretending we’re normal for a few hours, and that a crazy maniac isn’t out there after us. What do you think?”
There’s a pause, long enough to make my lungs ache from holding my breath. She studies me like I’m a riddle, like she’s waiting for the part where I pull the rug out from under her. But then, a miracle of miracles, she huffs out a laugh and nods. “Okay.”
Hope flares in my chest so hard it almost hurts, and a batshit crazy plan forms in my head.
After hunting down a shop that would sell me an empty jewellery box, we finally got to the beach. Roman and Elijah are tagging along.
Roman has strict orders from Claire to sit on the sand and not move.
The tide’s low when we arrive. I wade in until the water laps at my knees, scanning the shallows for it. My eyes dart between the rippling light and the shifting sand below.
Roman sits a bit away, arms crossed, unimpressed. “You know she’ll still go on this date with you if you don’t find a seashell, right?”
“It’s not the point,” I mutter. “She’s kept her whole collection all this time, but the ones I gave her are gone. I want another chance, and this is how I really prove it.”
“How on earth are you going to find it? You said it was rare, right?” Elijah toes at the sand as if it’s personally offended him. “You’ve been at this for an hour. I can’t even feel my ankles anymore just looking at you in the water.”
“Then go sit in the car, you big baby,” I say, grinning. “I’m finding this shell, even if it takes up until the time of the date to do it.”
Roman groans. “He’s hopeless.”
“Hopelessly in love with her? Yes.”
“Closer to forgiveness than we are,” Elijah grumbles. “He must be doing something right.”
I go to say something, but I spot it, half-buried near a cluster of rocks, and my heart jumps. “Wait! I think that’s it!”
I splash forward before either of them can stop me. The shell glints in the sunlight—swirls of coral and gold. “Got it!” I hold it up like I just found treasure.
Elijah claps slowly. “Well done, SpongeBob. Can we go home now? I’m freezing.”
“Fine.”
I start walking back through the water, too focused on the treasure in the palm of my hand. That’s when I feel it—A sharp, searing sting across my calf.
“Ah shit!” I hiss, stumbling back. “Something got me.”
Elijah looks up, alarmed. “What do you mean, something got you? What kind of something, Crew?”
“I don’t know!” I yell back. I yank my leg out of the water. “It’s burning. It’s… oh my god—” I see faint red welts curling around my calf. “Jellyfish!”
Roman immediately loses it. “No way,” he doubles over laughing.
“It’s not funny!” I shout, hopping on one leg. “It fucking hurts! I can’t… Jesus, it feels like fire.”
Elijah joins in on the laughing.
“This is not funny. Help. Me!”
Roman stops laughing long enough to wheeze, “I think someone’s supposed to pee on it.”
Elijah and me both pause. “What?”
“It neutralizes the venom,” Roman says confidently.
“Is that true?”
Roman shrugs. “I read it somewhere once.”
Desperation has me looking to Elijah, who shakes his head, backing away from me. “No. I’m not fucking pissing on you, Crew.”
I lurch forward and grab his sleeve. “Please.”
Elijah looks like he would rather die, but he groans, mutters something about how I owe him forever, and trudges toward me. Roman’s laughing so hard he can barely breathe.
Ten minutes later, the three of us are walking back up the beach in total silence. The wind whips through, seagulls crying overhead. I’ve got the shell in one hand and a massive pit of shame in the other.
Roman’s still snickering. “How’s the leg?”
“Shut up.” I hiss at him.
Elijah’s face is bright red. “We never speak of this again.”
I nod. “I agree.”
Roman grins. “Oh, I’m absolutely telling everyone.”
Elijah stops dead. “Roman… no.”
“It’s happening,” Roman says, unlocking the car. “And there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”
By the time we get back to the house, I’m limping like some tragic war hero. Roman’s still laughing. Elijah looks like he’s about to spontaneously combust from embarrassment.
The others are all in the living room. Archer’s sprawled on the couch, Lottie in his arms while Claire is curled up next to Will with a book. Oscar’s sitting on Lottie’s other side, one hand stroking her knee, the other holding his phone.
“You are never going to guess what just happened,” Roman announces with the kind of grin I want to slap off his face.
I swear to God, my soul leaves my body. “Roman, don’t—”
But he’s already signing, grinning, and speaking for everyone else. His hands move fast, like he can’t wait to tell everyone my humiliation. “So, Crew here was out in the water, right? You know…” He waves his hand dramatically, thankfully not revealing my surprise. “He’s a sentimental idiot.”
Lottie’s head lifts. “What did you do?”
“Nothing,” I say quickly… too quickly.
Roman keeps going. “And then out of nowhere…. Bam! Jellyfish attacks him.” He mimes an explosion with his hands.
Lottie’s lips twitch. Claire leans forward, already smiling. “Oh no…”
“Yes!” Roman says gleefully. “So he’s hopping around, shouting about how it feels like fire, and Elijah. Our brave, brave medic tries to help.” He pauses for a dramatic reveal, and I consider punching him to make him stop. “By peeing on him.”
The room goes silent. Then, Claire slaps a hand over her mouth to hide her laugh.
Archer chokes on his saliva. Will actually snorts, and Oscar watches Roman’s hands fly as he signs the story, and when he gets to the part of my most shameful moment, Oscar’s shoulders start shaking so hard he can barely breathe.
Lottie’s eyes go wide. “You didn’t.”
I groan, sinking into the nearest chair, burying my face in my hands. “I hate all of you.”
Elijah’s bright red, glaring at him. “I told you we were never to speak of this again.”
Roman wipes tears from his eyes. “I nearly died. I get to do whatever I want.”
“Was it at least effective?” Oscar signs.
“You think I checked? I feel like I need to bleach my skin.”
Claire grins over her mug. “Well, did you at least find what you were searching for?”
I glance at Lottie, still trying to decide if I should be mortified or proud that I found it for her. I hand her the box and watch as she opens it, a small gasp escaping her lips. “You did all that for me?” she asks quietly.
I shrug, suddenly very aware of everyone watching. “You said there might be room for more hope. I figured I’d try to earn my spot back in the collection.”
Her expression softens, and for a second, it’s just us. Everything else fades into the background as she smiles at me, and it feels like the world’s finally stopped spinning. “You’re an idiot,” she whispers as she comes over to me and kisses me on the cheek.
“Yeah, but I’m your idiot, baby.”
The café I pick is near campus, small enough that we can sit by the window, and Archer can sit further back without interrupting us, but not close enough to feel like he’s part of this.
Since Lorenzo is still out there, probably looking for Lottie, he refuses to take any chances and let her out of his sight. It’s maddening when all I want is a moment alone with her that isn’t in a house full of people.
But I get it.
The cafe smells like cinnamon and old coffee, the kind of place where the mugs don’t match and the chairs wobble if you lean too far. Strings of fairy lights glow overhead, casting everything in a warm haze.
She curls her hands around a chipped blue mug of tea, sleeves still covering her wrists. I order black coffee because I don’t trust myself around anything stronger, even if they did serve it.
For a while, we just sit, letting the silence settle between us. I wait until her shoulders drop a fraction before I ask, “So… how are you?”
Her lips press together. “I’m… trying.”
“Yeah,” I say softly. “Same.”
She tilts her head, watching me carefully. “You mean with sobriety?”
The word sticks in my throat. Most people avoid it like it might bite, like saying it out loud might summon the cravings. But she doesn’t.
“Yeah,” I admit, staring up at the lights.
“I’m still sober, but it’s not easy, especially with everything that’s come to light.
Some days I feel like my skin’s too tight, like I can’t breathe unless I find a way to numb it.
I miss the silence, the way everything blurred out.
But I don’t miss waking up and hating myself.
I don’t miss disappointing people every damn day. ”
Her fingers tighten on the mug. “I don’t look at you like that.”
My chest twists. “You used to.”
“Maybe,” she admits. “But not anymore.”
I don’t have words for the way that hits me, so I force a grin. “Okay, this is supposed to be a break from everything, so tell me something stupid. Like the weirdest food you’ve ever eaten.”
Her mouth twitches, and then she laughs. A real laugh. “Archer once dared me to eat a spoonful of cinnamon.”
“Bet that hurt.”
She nods, blushing. “I thought I was going to choke to death. My throat burned for hours. He filmed it… I’m pretty sure he still has it.”
I laugh so hard I nearly tip my chair back. “Think he’ll let me see it?” Her eyes soften. For a second, it feels like we’re kids again, like none of the pain ever happened. “I missed this…. missed you.”
“I missed you, too,” she says so softly, I almost missed it.
We trade lighter stories for a while. She tells me about Zara trying to convince her to dye her hair purple. I tell her about nearly burning down Roman’s kitchen because I decided pasta cooks faster on high heat.
She shakes her head at me, smiling. “You’re hopeless.”
“Hopelessly charming,” I shoot back.
She rolls her eyes, but she doesn’t look away. For a moment, it feels like we could stay suspended here forever, in this strange pocket of almost-normal, like it should have been all along, but the quiet comes creeping back, heavier this time.
Her gaze drops to her hands. “Do you ever regret it?”
I freeze. “Regret what?”
“Hurting me.” Her voice doesn’t waver, but it slices right through me like a blade.
My throat tightens. I lean forward, elbows on the table. “Yes. Every day. I was cruel because it was easier than dealing with my own shit. Because I felt like I had some sick sense of loyalty to him.”
She studies me with those sharp, searching eyes. “Then why? You knew how bad it was for me… You of all people knew what I was living with. So why?”
“Because you reminded me of everything I wasn’t. Strong. Smart. Brave. You kept surviving, and I could barely stand to look at myself in the mirror. So I tried to break you instead. It was pathetic, and I’ll never forgive myself for it.”
Her lips press into a line. She doesn’t say she forgives me, and I don’t expect her to.
“I can’t change what I did,” I add, my chest aching. “But I want to do better. For you. If you’ll let me.”
She breathes out slowly, like she’s holding something back. “I want to forgive you… But I need you not to push me. There are things I won’t even talk to Archer about.”
I think of the notes she thought we sent, and I almost ask, but she shakes her head, sharp. “Not that.”
So I let it go for now.
We leave after the café closes, both of us dragging our feet like we don’t want it to end. Archer follows behind us as we drive back. It’s quiet, but not awkward, just a lot of unasked questions.
At the house, the air feels different. Still. Like everything is holding its breath for what’s next.
She leads me upstairs, and when we stop outside her bedroom door, my whole body tenses.
She rests her hand on the knob but doesn’t turn it. Her eyes meet mine, dark and uncertain. “Thank you,” she says.
“For what?”
“For inviting me out. Letting me pretend I was normal, even for a moment.”
It hits me hard because this could have all been prevented if we had saved her before.
She steps forward, invading my space, and it’s like all my senses fill with her. She rises onto her toes, pressing a soft kiss to my lips, and I return it. Then I take a step back. “Goodnight, Lottie.”
Her brows knit. “You’re not—”
I shake my head. “Not tonight. I’m trying to be a gentleman here, and god… do I want to, but I’ve not earned it yet. Keep making me pay, baby. I told you it was hot.”
Her eyes glisten, but she nods. Then she slips inside, closing the door softly behind her.
I stand there for a long time, staring at the wood, my heart beating like I’ve run ten miles.
Wanting her is the easiest thing I’ve ever done. But deserving her? That’s the fight of my life.