Chapter 15
Fifteen
Liz
The ocean sounds seep through the quiet between each of our steps. My sandals dangle from my fingers, the sand cool now that the sun’s gone, the night soft and blue around us. The luau music still drifts through the air, but out here, it’s mostly waves and distant laughter fading into dark.
All day my attention has kept drifting to Alaric, whether I wanted it to or not.
I noticed when he wasn’t around, and I felt it when he was.
Whatever chemistry there was between us didn’t fade just because we were apart for so long.
But I’ve changed, grown. Now, I can separate what my body wants from foolish ideas my heart has in mind.
And it’s a good thing too. Because telling him nothing was going to happen has only strengthened the pull of what I desperately want from him.
The words scrape up my throat before I can stop them. “When you left, it broke me.”
His breath catches. It’s small, but I hear it. The truth hangs between us, trembling in the air, and suddenly, I wish I could pull it back into my chest and lock it away again.
“We had that weekend in Victoria,” I say, quieter now. “It meant something to me. And then you cut things off, disappeared, and left Vancouver like none of it mattered.” I swallow, take a breath. “I’m not ruined, Alaric. But I had to rebuild myself without you.”
He steps close enough that his arm brushes mine as we walk, and those light touches pull my thoughts in too many directions. He stays quiet, measured, careful. “I’m sorry,” he finally says. “I didn’t know how to explain what was happening with me.”
“I’m not looking for you to fix it,” I clarify. “And I’m not here to pretend we’re picking up where we left off.”
He watches me, waiting.
“I’m serious,” I say, meeting his eyes. “I’m not stepping back into what hurt me.”
His gaze softens, but his voice stays steady. “I won’t assume anything. I understand.”
“Good,” I say.
Even as I nod, I have to keep telling myself this is fine. That I’m choosing it with my eyes open. Yet I’m also aware of how close he is. Of how easy it would be to lean in.
But this is a truce, born of an unfortunate situation, not a reunion.
Still, I don’t move away.
I can sleep beside him without falling back into the mess we used to be. I can keep my footing. Except my chest still feels too tight every time he looks at me.
We turn closer to the resort, and the torches along the beach path flicker gold on his skin. It hits me how familiar all of this feels—his stride, the tilt of his head.
“Okay?” he asks finally, voice low.
I nod. “Yeah. I just needed to walk it off.”
“Me too.” The corners of his mouth lift, just enough to soften the shadows. We walk a few more steps. “For what it’s worth, I don’t want to hurt you again.”
I want to believe him. God, I do. But belief feels like a luxury I can’t afford twice.
“I know,” I say because I can’t give him more than that.
We pass a stack of beach chairs by the lifeguard hut, the smell of salt thick in the air. The sky’s a deep navy now, a few stars pushing through. His hand twitches once, like he wants to reach for me and stops himself.
That restraint is new. It’s also the only thing keeping me from unraveling. If he can stay strong, I can too. I can be near him without losing myself.
I’m here on behalf of my boss and because I’m supposed to be making sure Alaric completes his CMEs. People think I’m the one who can keep him in check.
That’s a bit laughable if you know our history, but nonetheless, if I stay inside those limits, I’m still doing what I came here to do.
I’ll just also be lying beside him.
The hotel lights bloom ahead, golden against the night. I focus on that—the walk back, the promise we made, the fragile balance we’re pretending we can keep.
But when he looks over, a small, quiet smile tugging at his mouth, the part of me that swore she was done with him doesn’t feel so sure.
By the time we get back to the hotel, the night air feels heavier, warm against my skin.
The soft thump of drums fades as we climb the short steps to the lobby.
I slip my sandals back on and shake sand from my hem, trying to seem composed, even as my conversation with myself continues.
I was honest with him. We’ve cleared the air so we can move forward without tension.
We can be professional. We can share a room without it meaning anything more.
A man’s laugh cuts through the quiet, and before I can place it, a familiar voice calls out.
“Dr. Dempsey!”
Alaric and I turn together. Dr. Sato waves from across the foyer, a lei hanging crookedly around his shoulder. A woman stands beside him, petite, dark hair in a sleek bun, her smile quick and kind.
“We were just coming in from the beach,” Alaric murmurs, his hand brushing the small of my back as we cross the lobby. The gesture is protective and instinctive, and I tell myself not to read into it.
“Dr. Sato,” I say when we reach them.
“Please, call me Peter. It’s nice to see you. This conference is popular with the Canadian crowd,” he says, grinning. “I ran into someone I went to medical school with in Montreal.”
“Who can blame us? Winter in this paradise beats the one back home,” Alaric says.
“Definitely beats the rain and snow.” Sato laughs. “And look at you two. Still together after all these years. Megan, you remember Alaric Dempsey from my North Van days, and this is his partner, Liz Ward.”
Partner lands like a pebble in my shoe, small and impossible to ignore.
I freeze, every nerve flaring. Still together. For a second, I consider correcting him. But Alaric laughs, easy and warm, and I can’t bring myself to comment.
Megan’s smile widens. “It’s great to see you both. We were just going for a drink. Come join us.”
I glance at Alaric, expecting him to decline, but he tilts his head, leaving the choice to me. I hear myself say, “We’d love to.”
A few minutes later, we’re gathered around a low table on the open-air lanai. The bar’s strung with white lights, and everything feels a little magical, or maybe it’s just the mai tai set in front of me.
“So,” Peter says, lifting his glass. “Another conference, another year of pretending we’re not all avoiding the American medical billing and accounting sessions.”
Megan laughs. “You’re not pretending at all. He actually switched out of one of his afternoon sessions for the Waimea Canyon tour.”
“The canyon was incredible,” Peter says. “Have you gone yet?”
“I did,” I say. “This afternoon after the first session. The colors—it’s like someone painted the earth with rust and emerald.”
Megan lights up. “Yes. That’s exactly how I’d describe it.”
We compare photos—hers with bright smiles, mine more cautious—but the conversation flows easily.
They talk about tomorrow’s dinner cruise up the Na Pali coast, which includes sunset along the cliffs, open water, fresh fish, and live music.
We don’t have a reservation for that. I didn’t want to go by myself, as it seemed romantic.
I catch Alaric watching me over the rim of his glass, his expression soft.
When Peter jokes about how grateful he is for Canada’s system, Megan nods. “I never appreciated universal healthcare until I left. The paperwork alone nearly crushed me.”
“Paperwork is awful wherever we practice,” Alaric says. “Half my job feels like arguing with Provincial Health. I miss medicine being about patients, not policy.”
“At least here the biggest concern is deciding whether to sit in on the cardiac symposium or sneak out to the beach,” Peter adds.
I smile into my glass. “I know which one I’d choose.”
They laugh, and the talk shifts to travel again—Waimea Canyon, snorkeling at Poipu Beach. Megan’s eyes shine when she describes what she’s heard about the cliffs glowing red at sunset. “They say it’s the most romantic view in Hawaii.”
My heart skips. “It sounds beautiful.”
Alaric glances at me, and for a moment the space between us feels smaller, the air charged.
The night drifts by around us, and when the check comes, my cheeks ache from smiling.
Peter stretches. “We should all get some sleep. Big day tomorrow.”
Megan squeezes my hand. “It was lovely meeting you, Liz. We hope to see you both on the boat?”
“Have a good night,” I say, rather than responding.
Megan squeezes once more. “You two are such a lovely couple.”
I manage a smile. “Thank you. You too.”
As they walk toward the elevators, Alaric catches my eye. There’s amusement there, but something else too. Something tender.
The warmth blooming in me is not from the drink.
We linger at the table. The bar’s almost empty now, staff stacking chairs near the railing. I trace the rim of my glass, watching ice melt into amber swirls.
He leans closer, voice low. “You looked like you had fun tonight.”
“What do you mean?”
“Meaning you smiled. You laughed.” His mouth curves. “You looked happy.”
“I am,” I say quietly. Then, after a beat, “For now.”
He nods.
We stand and walk side by side through the open doors.
The lobby’s quiet, just waves and distant music.
The elevator hums as we ride up, the air thick.
My heart hasn’t settled since we left the bar.
I can still feel the warmth of his knee brushing mine, the sound of his laugh, the way his eyes caught mine when I said I was happy for now.
He stands beside me in the elevator, hands in his pockets, a faint smile on his lips like he’s lost in the same memory.
The lights slide up the mirrored wall, flashing across his reflection—open collar, faint tan at his throat, the exhaustion softening his features.
I can almost see the man I first fell for, the one who made me believe love could fix anything.
When the doors open, I step out first. The carpet muffles our footsteps, and the hall lined is with tall palms and soft light. I tell myself to breathe, to stay calm, to remember our agreement. Just sharing space. No falling back into what nearly destroyed me.