Guardians of the Heart (The Pacific Edge #2)

Prologue

The scent of aged paper and salt air curled through the office, a mixture of wisdom and the ever-present ocean breeze drifting in through the cracked window. It was peaceful here, quiet in a way that made Mark feel simultaneously grounded and exposed.

Dr. Martin sat across from him in his usual chair, notepad balanced on his knee, pen tapping softly against the paper as he waited. The man never pushed, never rushed him. Just let the silence settle until Mark either spoke or let it drown him.

Mark exhaled slowly, leaning back against the worn leather of the chair. His hands rested loosely on the armrests, fingers idly tracing the seams. “You know,” he started, his voice even, too even, “people always tell me how well I’m doing. How strong I am. I smile, I nod, I say ‘thank you.’” His jaw tightened. “But the truth is, I haven’t felt anything but alone for four years. Even in a full room.”

Dr. Martin nodded slightly, his expression calm, patient. “Why do you think that is?”

Mark’s throat worked as he swallowed. He knew the answer. He just hated saying it out loud. He let his gaze flicker toward the bookshelf behind Dr. Martin, the leather-bound spines lined up in meticulous rows. Jessica would have loved this office—organized, refined, and lived in.

“She’s everywhere,” he murmured, voice barely above a breath. “Everywhere and nowhere.”

Dr. Martin didn’t interrupt, just let the words come.

Mark let his head tip back against the chair, eyes tracing the ceiling. “Jessica was… light. She was one of those people who made life bigger , you know? She loved without reservation. She gave without hesitation. She—” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “She made everything feel alive. And then one day, she wasn’t.”

Dr. Martin shifted slightly to draw Mark’s attention back to him. “And when she died, you stopped letting yourself feel alive, too.”

Mark scoffed, but it lacked any real bite. “Yeah, well… felt like the only thing that made life worth living was gone.”

“And so you put on a mask,” Dr. Martin said. “You let the world see the version of you that’s functional, while the real you—” He gestured slightly. “Sits here.”

Mark huffed out a laugh, humorless. “Yeah, well, it’s worked so far.”

Dr. Martin set his notepad down, leaning forward just enough to close the distance without pressing. “Mark, grief isn’t something you fix. It’s not something you muscle through like a tough case at work. It doesn’t disappear just because you bury yourself in your job.”

Mark clenched his jaw. He knew that. Intellectually, he knew that. But knowing and accepting were two very different things.

“What you’re feeling isn’t a betrayal,” Dr. Martin continued. “It’s human. The love you had for Jessica doesn’t vanish if you let yourself breathe again. If you let yourself live again.”

Mark’s chest tightened. “Yeah, well, tell that to the part of me that feels guilty for even sitting here talking about this.”

Dr. Martin studied him for a long moment, then spoke with the quiet certainty that left no room for argument. “Wanting to heal doesn’t mean you’re leaving her behind.”

Mark swallowed against the lump forming in his throat. He knew the doctor was right. Hell, he’d known it before he walked in today.

It didn’t make it any easier.

He dragged a hand down his face, exhaling hard. “I just—” He hesitated, shaking his head. “I don’t know how.”

Dr. Martin’s gaze softened. “Then let’s figure it out. Together.”

Mark exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. The office felt smaller now, the walls closing in just enough to make his chest feel tight. His fingers curled around the chair's armrest, gripping the worn leather like an anchor.

“You know she died of breast cancer,” he finally said, his voice quieter now, measured. “Stage three when they caught it. Stage four before we had time to process what that meant.”

Dr. Martin remained silent, giving him the space to speak.

Mark let out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head. “But you’d never know it—not from her. Jessica never stopped living . I mean, even when she was in pain, even when the chemo wrecked her body, she smiled . She’d sit in that awful hospital chair for hours, hooked up to an IV, joking with the nurses, telling me that I was worrying too much.” His lips pressed together. “She never let it dim her. Not once.”

His throat tightened, but he forced himself to keep going.

“She shaved her head before the chemo could take her hair,” he continued, his voice rougher now. “She laughed about it. We made a whole night out of it. I did it with her so she wouldn’t feel alone. We drank wine. She had us wear a ridiculous pink flowery scarf so we could be ‘matching.’” He swallowed hard, staring past Dr. Martin at the bookshelves but seeing something else entirely—Jessica, bright-eyed and laughing, her head smooth and bare, still so effortlessly her .

Mark cleared his throat, trying to keep his voice steady. “She fought so damn hard. Even at the end, when the doctors told her there was nothing more they could do, she still—” He broke off, flexing his hands as if trying to grasp onto something invisible. “She still made jokes. She still lived . She made me promise—”

He stopped.

Dr. Martin leaned forward slightly, voice steady but gentle. “What did she make you promise, Mark?”

Mark’s jaw clenched. He let out a long breath, the words sticking in his throat before he forced them out.

“She made me promise I wouldn’t stop living either.” His voice cracked, but he kept going. “That I wouldn’t crawl into my grief and let it swallow me. She made me swear I’d move forward—that I’d love again and be happy.” His chest rose and fell heavily. “And I lied to her.”

Dr. Martin studied him, but Mark kept going, the words tumbling out now, years of repression finally breaking loose.

“I nodded. I told her I would be okay. That I’d live the way she wanted me to. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that she was too hard of an act to follow. No woman could ever make me feel the way she made me feel, she was my everything.” He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “And then she was gone. And I—” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I haven’t been anything but empty since.”

The room was silent except for the distant crash of ocean waves outside the window.

Dr. Martin paused before speaking. “That’s where the mask started, isn’t it?”

Mark’s fingers curled into a fist against his knee.

“I had to be strong for her,” he admitted. “She needed me to be steady. To be normal . If I broke, if I let myself fall apart, what would that have done to her?”

Dr. Martin nodded slowly. “So you held it in.”

Mark let out a long breath. “Every second of every day. I smiled. I joked with her. I made her believe everything was fine. I did it for her.” He swallowed hard. “And then I just… never stopped.”

Dr. Martin tilted his head slightly. “Because if you stop now, if you take the mask off—”

Mark’s voice was barely above a whisper. “I don’t know who’s underneath it anymore.”

Dr. Martin let the silence sit for a moment before leaning back in his chair. His voice was steady, sure. “Then let’s start figuring that out.”

Mark closed his eyes, dragging a hand down his face. He knew Dr. Martin was right. He knew it.

But the thought of letting go, of finally breaking apart after holding it together for so long?

It terrified him.

Dr. Martin leaned forward slightly, his gaze steady, unwavering. “Mark,” he said, his voice quieter now, softer. “For four years, you’ve carried this alone. You’ve worn your mask so well that you’ve convinced everyone—including yourself—that you’re fine. But you’re not. You’re stuck . And the only way forward is to let yourself feel again.”

Mark’s throat tightened. Feeling wasn’t something he knew how to do anymore. He had compartmentalized, locked every piece of himself away in the name of survival. But sitting here, with Dr. Martin’s words cutting through the silence, through the years of pretending, something cracked.

“I don’t know how,” he admitted, the words raw, his voice barely above a whisper.

Dr. Martin smiled, the kind of knowing, patient smile that carried weight. “You don’t have to know how. You just have to let it happen. Let yourself be open to the idea that healing doesn’t mean forgetting. That moving forward doesn’t mean leaving her behind.”

Mark let out a slow breath, his fingers pressing against his temples. “It feels like if I do… I’ll lose her all over again.”

Dr. Martin nodded. “I know. But Mark, love doesn’t disappear just because life moves forward. She’s part of you. She always will be. And I think if Jessica were here, she’d tell you that you don’t honor her by staying frozen in time. You honor her by living .”

The words hit him like a blow, but not in a painful way. It was relief . A deep, aching relief he hadn’t even realized he needed.

Dr. Martin leaned back, giving him space to absorb it. “The thing about grief,” he continued, “is that it’s love that has nowhere to go. But that doesn’t mean it has to stay locked away. Maybe it’s time to start letting it out in different ways. In new ways.”

Mark swallowed hard, rubbing his hands over his face, feeling the first real crack in the mask he’d worn for so long.

Dr. Martin stood, a subtle signal that their time was wrapping up, but there was no rush in his movements. “One step at a time, Mark. You don’t have to figure it all out today. But maybe… just maybe… you let yourself take one breath without the weight of the mask.”

Mark nodded slowly, standing as well. His legs felt heavier than they had when he’d walked in, but there was something else there too. Something lighter.

Hope.

It wasn’t much. It wasn’t enough to undo four years of silence.

But it was something.

And for the first time in a long time, something felt like something.