Chapter 13 #3
Alex pressed his face into her hair, his arms tightening around her. For a long moment, he was silent. Then:
"I wish I could give you what you deserve."
It wasn't stay. It wasn't I love you. But the crack in his voice told her everything she needed to know.
He felt it too. He just couldn't say it.
Lily swallowed the sob rising in her throat and pressed closer, breathing him in—salt and sweat and something that was purely Alex. This was all she was going to get. These final hours. This body wrapped around hers.
It would have to be enough.
Morning arrived like bad news —gray and certain and utterly without mercy.
Lily had gotten maybe an hour of sleep, and she could feel it in the sandpaper scrape of her eyes, the leaden weight of her limbs. She went through the motions mechanically: shower, dress, pack the suitcase that felt impossibly heavy for reasons that had nothing to do with its contents.
The shell went into her carry-on, wrapped carefully in a t-shirt. She couldn't leave it behind. Couldn't leave any piece of him behind.
Alex was quiet too, moving around the cabin with a tension she could feel like humidity in the air. He made coffee—her way, extra sugar, without asking—and the small gesture nearly broke her all over again.
You can remember how I take my coffee but you can't remember how to use your words?
The boat horn sounded in the distance, and Lily's stomach dropped.
"That's... early," she said, her voice strange to her own ears.
"They're usually punctual." Alex set down his mug, his knuckles white around the ceramic. "I'll get your bag."
She wanted to tell him she could carry her own damn bag. She wanted to scream at him to stop being so helpful and start being honest. She wanted to grab his face in her hands and demand to know why he was letting her go without a fight.
Instead, she said, "Thanks."
The walk to the dock felt endless and far too short. The morning was beautiful—crystalline water, gentle breeze, the kind of tropical perfection that belonged on a postcard. Lily barely saw any of it.
Her eyes were on Alex's back, the set of his shoulders, the way his hands gripped her suitcase handle like it had personally offended him.
Turn around, she thought. Look at me. Say something real.
They reached the dock just as the boat was tying off. A weathered man with sun-bleached hair gave them a cursory nod before busying himself with dropping off Alex’s last ordered supplies.
"So," Lily said, because someone had to say something.
"So." Alex set her suitcase down, finally meeting her eyes.
The look on his face was devastating—want and fear and something that might have been love if he'd ever let it breathe. She saw it all, clear as the water surrounding them.
You do feel it. I know you do.
"The video," he started. "When you post it—"
"I'll tag SPECA. Make sure the donation link is prominent." Her voice was steady. Professional. The influencer mask sliding back into place because it was the only armor she had left. "Should generate some good exposure for the conservation efforts."
"That's... thank you."
That's not what I want you to thank me for.
"And if you ever need anything—" He stopped, swallowed. "You have my email. For the research, I mean. If you have questions about the content."
I don't want your email, you impossible man. I want your heart.
"Right. The research." Lily picked up her carry-on, slinging it over her shoulder. The weight of the shell inside pressed against her hip like a secret. "Well. This was definitely not the vacation I planned."
"No," Alex agreed, something almost like a smile ghosting across his face. "Definitely not."
The boat captain cleared his throat. "Ready when you are, miss."
Lily looked at Alex one last time. Giving him one final chance. One more breath of silence where he could say the words that would change everything.
His jaw tightened.
His hands fisted at his sides.
He said nothing.
"Goodbye, Alex," she said, and it came out softer than she intended. More broken.
"Goodbye, Lily."
She turned before he could see her face crumble, walking up the gangway with her chin high and her shoulders back. The performance of a lifetime.
The boat pulled away from the dock, and Lily finally let herself look back.
Alex stood exactly where she'd left him, a solitary figure growing smaller by the second. Even from a distance, she could see the rigid set of his posture, the way he watched her go without moving.
Run into the water, she thought wildly. Swim after me. Do something dramatic and romantic and completely unlike yourself.
He didn't move.
The island shrank behind her, becoming a smudge of green against the endless blue. Lily watched until it disappeared entirely, until there was nothing left but ocean and sky and the hollow ache in her chest.
It's over.
She pulled out her phone with shaking hands.
No signal yet. Of course.
She stared at the dark screen, seeing her reflection—red-rimmed eyes, salt tracks on her cheeks, the devastated expression of a woman who had gambled on love and lost.
You're Lily St. John, she reminded herself fiercely. You don't fall apart. You adapt. You overcome. You turn lemons into lemonade.
The pep talk rang hollow, but somewhere beneath the grief, something else was stirring.
Determination.
She had hours of footage on her phone. Hours of Alex talking passionately about conservation, about the reef, about why this island mattered. The most authentic, meaningful content she'd ever created.
And she had a platform of six million people waiting to hear what she had to say.
Alex Carmichael might not have been brave enough to fight for them.
But Lily was sure as hell brave enough to fight for something.
She pulled up her editing app, even though it wouldn't sync until she had signal, and started making notes.
New series concept: What Actually Matters Conservation over consumption Real impact, not just pretty pictures The marine biologist who changed how I see the world
She didn't have Alex.
But she had everything he'd taught her.
And she was going to use it to burn her old life down and build something better from the ashes.
Watch me, Dr. Carmichael, she thought as the boat carried her away from the best and worst two weeks of her life. Watch me turn this heartbreak into something that matters.
And when that video goes viral—and it will—you're going to realize exactly what you let sail away.
It wasn't comfort, exactly.
But it was something to hold onto.
And for now, that would have to be enough.