Chapter 12 #2
"Right there," she gasped. "Don't stop, don't you dare stop—"
Alex was beyond stopping. Beyond thinking. There was only Lily—her taste, her scent, the way she felt around him, beneath him, the sounds she made as he pushed them both toward the edge.
He could feel his release building, coiling at the base of his spine, but he refused to go over without her. He snaked a hand between them, finding her clit, and rubbed in tight circles as he continued to thrust.
Lily's moans pitched higher, her movements becoming erratic. "Alex, I'm—I'm going to—"
"Come for me," he growled against her ear. "Let go, Lily. I've got you."
She shattered with his name exploding from her lips, her whole body tensing as her orgasm crashed through her. Her walls clamped down on him, and Alex followed her over the edge with a groan, spilling himself inside her in hot pulses that seemed to go on forever.
They stayed locked together as the aftershocks rolled through them, both breathing hard, neither willing to break the connection just yet.
Finally, Alex found the strength to roll to the side, pulling out of her with a wince that was echoed by her soft sound of loss. He gathered her against his chest, her head tucked under his chin, their legs tangled together in the sweat-damp sheets.
"So," Lily said eventually, her voice hoarse, "that felt like goodbye sex."
Alex's chest tightened. Trust her to name the thing he'd been avoiding.
"It wasn't," he said, but even he could hear the lie in it.
Lily was quiet for a moment, her fingers tracing idle patterns over his heart. "You know, for a scientist, you're really bad at facing evidence."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means you've been pulling away all morning. Physically present, emotionally checked out." She lifted her head to look at him, and the knowing sadness in her green eyes made something crack in his chest. "You're already bracing for impact, aren't you?”
Yes, he wanted to say. Because the alternative is asking you to stay and watching you say no.
"I don't know what you want me to say," he managed instead.
"I want you to say something real." Her voice was soft but steady. "We've been sleeping together for a week. I've told you things I've never told anyone. And every time we get close to talking about what happens next, you shut down."
"There's nothing to talk about. We both knew this was temporary."
The words came out harsher than he intended, and he watched Lily flinch like he'd struck her.
Nice work, Carmichael. Really stellar emotional intelligence there.
"Right," she said, pulling back slightly. "Temporary. Of course."
"Lily—"
"No, you're right." She was retreating now—not physically, but he could feel the walls going up, her sunny armor sliding back into place. "We had an arrangement. Great sex, no strings. I guess I forgot for a minute.”
That wasn't what this was, and they both knew it. But correcting her would mean admitting the truth, and Alex wasn't brave enough for that.
Coward, the voice in his head hissed. Complete and utter coward.
"The video really is incredible," he said, grasping for safer ground. "Your audience is going to love it."
Lily's smile didn't reach her eyes. "That's the goal."
She extracted herself from his arms with a casualness that felt forced, reaching for his discarded t-shirt and pulling it over her head. The sight of her in his clothes—something that usually made his chest warm—now felt like a knife twisting.
"I'm starving," she announced, her voice artificially bright. "What's for dinner?"
Don't let her do this. Don't let her pretend everything's fine.
But pretending was easier. Pretending was safe. Pretending was what Alex Carmichael did best.
"I'll grill the fish," he said. "Give me twenty minutes."
Dinner was a masterpiece of avoidance.
They talked about the footage. About the coral. About the weather patterns Alex was tracking. Safe topics. Professional topics. Topics that kept them on opposite sides of the invisible wall that had sprung up between them.
Alex hated it.
He hated the careful distance in her voice. He hated the way she looked at him sometimes—like she was waiting for something he couldn't give. He hated that he'd let himself care this much, and he hated even more that he couldn't seem to stop.
"Let's eat outside," Lily suggested, her tone carefully casual. "Watch the sunset."
"Good idea."
They carried their plates to the beach, settling onto the sand still warm from the day's sun. The sky was doing its usual tropical showing off—streaks of orange and pink and purple that looked like a tourism board's fever dream.
"I'm going to miss this," Lily said quietly, her eyes on the horizon.
Alex's chest tightened. "The sunsets?"
"All of it." She was quiet for a moment. "Especially you."
The words hung between them, fragile and heavy. Alex set down his plate, turning to face her.
"Lily—"
"You don't have to say anything." She smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "I'm not fishing for anything. I just wanted you to know because maybe you haven’t heard it enough in your life.”
Tell her. Tell her you feel the same. Tell her you're terrified of losing her.
He reached for her hand, threading their fingers together. "I'm going to miss you too. More than I know how to say."
Then say more, the voice demanded. Say what you actually mean. Ask her to stay.
But the words stuck in his throat, trapped behind years of self-protection and the bone-deep fear that asking for what he wanted only led to losing it.
"This has been..." Lily shook her head, searching for words. "I came here expecting the worst experience of my life. Instead, I got..." She gestured vaguely at the sunset, the island, him. "This. You. Something real."
"Real," Alex repeated, the word feeling solid and true.
"Yeah." She squeezed his hand. "Whatever happens next, thank you for that."
Whatever happens next.
She was giving him an opening. A clear, unmistakable opportunity to say that "next" didn't have to mean goodbye.
Alex opened his mouth.
"You're welcome," he heard himself say. "Thank you for making my research matter to more than twelve people."
Lily laughed, but it sounded forced. "That's what I'm here for. Conservation influencing, coming to a viral video near you."
They finished dinner as the sun sank below the horizon, making small talk that carefully avoided anything too heavy.
Then they walked back to the cabin hand in hand, and Alex made love to her one more time, pouring everything he couldn't say into the press of his lips, the worship of his hands, the rhythm of their bodies moving together.
I love you, he thought with every thrust. I love you and I'm sorry I can't say it.
Afterward, with Lily curled against his side, her breathing slow and even in sleep, Alex stared at the ceiling and did what he did best.
He thought.
He thought about the look in her eyes when she'd said she'd miss him. The way she'd given him opening after opening to say something meaningful. The slow dimming of her light each time he'd deflected.
He thought about his mother, who'd given him the ocean as a refuge because she could see he was drowning. Who'd died before she could teach him how to swim in the deeper waters of human connection.
He thought about his sister, who called every few months to remind him that isolation wasn't healthy. His supervisor, who kept pushing him toward public engagement he didn't want. The colleague who'd invited him to her wedding and seemed genuinely shocked when he actually came.
All the people who'd tried, over the years, to pull him out of his self-imposed exile. All the times he'd retreated back into work and solitude because they were safer than hoping.
And now here was Lily—bright, beautiful, impossible Lily—literally wrapped in his arms, and he was going to let her walk away because he was too chickenshit to ask her not to.
You're protecting her, he told himself. You'd be asking her to give up her whole life for someone who doesn't know how to have relationships.
Or, the other voice countered, you're protecting yourself. Using her wellbeing as an excuse for your own cowardice.
Alex squeezed his eyes shut, but the truth didn't go away.
He was in love with her.
Completely, terrifyingly, inconveniently in love with Lily St. John.
And he was going to let her leave without ever telling her.
Because that's what he did. That's who he was. The man who loved the ocean because it couldn't leave him, who'd built a life in empty places because empty places didn't expect anything he couldn't give.
He tightened his arm around Lily, pressing his nose into her hair, breathing her in.
He was already mourning, and she was still right here.
The stars wheeled slowly outside the window as sleep finally claimed him, but his dreams were restless—full of boats departing and words unspoken and a woman with wild curls walking away, always walking away, while he stood frozen on the shore.
Watching.
Silent.
Alone.