Chapter Sixteen Learn to Let Go of Control
Chapter Sixteen
Learn to Let Go of Control
Hayes
The following day, I drop Malachi off at the airport, knowing my own time in Hawaii is also quickly coming to a close. I fly out late tomorrow afternoon. Back to New York. I’ve worked while I’ve been here, sure, but there’s a long list of things waiting for me back home.
As I drive back to the house, I catch myself replaying last night. The way Francesca sat on the counter—tired but slightly amused, like she hadn’t completely given up on the night. Like being there, with me, wasn’t the worst possible outcome.
It was . . . easy.
No sharp words. No power plays. Just quiet back-and-forth. And damn it if I don’t find myself thinking—I wouldn’t mind doing that again.
When I walk through the door, it’s quiet, except for the low hum of the TV. I assume Frankie and my uncle are having a low-key night, and I debate whether to join them.
A thunderous fart rings out from the living room. I have no way of knowing if it was Charles or Francesca, but either way, I give it a few minutes to clear. I have my limits.
I take a breath, compose myself, and casually stroll in. “Hey.”
“Shh,” Francesca whispers, pointing toward Charles.
He’s passed out in the recliner, mouth wide open. I really hope that noise came from him, because the alternative is a little too traumatizing to consider.
Francesca rises and gently removes his shoes, setting them beside his chair. It’s oddly endearing, watching her fuss over him like that. He’s been alone so long. I’ve never seen anyone care for him this way.
He never remarried. No kids of his own. It always struck me as a little sad.
But now? Now he has Francesca.
With each passing day, I find myself slipping deeper under whatever spell she’s cast. Even my uncle is smitten.
Sure, she sits cross-legged in dining chairs and eats an entire bag of something called Zombie Fajita Takis without flinching. The smell alone sent me to the other side of the house.
But in a plot twist that would shock even Agatha Christie, Frankie’s growing on me like an unwanted rash.
She’s not the type of girl I was raised to expect. Nothing like the prim and proper girls I’m accustomed to from my prep school days. Not polished. Not Ivy League. She’s just . . . real.
She’s the kind of girl you spend a fun, forgettable night with in college.
Except . . . I don’t see how you could possibly forget about a girl like Frankie.
The next morning, I wander into the kitchen for coffee and immediately catch the vibe—Charles and Francesca are mid-conversation and go quiet when I appear. They’re huddled over the table, surrounded by a stack of travel guides.
I pour a mug of coffee and nod toward the books. “Are you planning your next escape?”
Charles nods. “I suggested the Elysium. Frankie suggested Las Vegas.”
“Vegas?” I cock an eyebrow at her.
She bristles. “What? It’s fun there, dang it.”
“Oh yeah, nothing screams ‘vacation’ like dragging an eighty-two-year-old to Vegas.”
Frankie sticks her tongue out. “There are shows. Restaurants. Lots to do, actually.”
Charles shrugs. “Yes, but Elysium is . . . well, it’s Elysium.”
From the look on her face, Frankie has no idea what that means.
I crack a smile. “I’m headed out this afternoon. Just let me know where you end up.”
Charles nods.
“Have a safe flight,” Frankie says, stacking the guides.
I nod, but something twists in my chest.
I expected to leave Hawaii the same way I came—untouched, unmoved, counting the minutes until I could get back to a world that made sense.
Instead, I find myself searching for answers I don’t have.
My bags are packed. My first-class ticket is booked. But for the first time in a long time . . . I’m not sure I want to go.
And that? That’s the part that knocks the breath out of me.
Back home, I slide quickly into the usual routine: work, gym, the occasional dinner out.
Now, I’ve got Maddie for the weekend. She’s cross-legged on the floor, brow furrowed in concentration as she lines up plastic horses in what appears to be some kind of epic standoff.
I don’t ask. Last time I questioned the logic of her games, she gave me a full TED Talk on why unicorns would absolutely destroy medieval knights.
Instead, I lean back on the couch, arm slung over the backrest.
“What’s the situation here? Should I be worried about a pony uprising?”
She rolls her eyes but grins. “No, Hayes. This is a rescue mission. The ponies are saving their friend from the evil king.”
I nod, solemn. “High stakes.”
She sighs. “Obviously.”
She moves one of the horses forward, then glances up, her tone shifting.
“You were gone forever.”
I exhale, raking a hand through my hair. “It wasn’t that long.”
She shrugs and twists a tiny unicorn between her fingers. “Long enough.”
I don’t know what to say to that. It’s not like I was avoiding home. But I also wasn’t racing back.
Still, sitting here now, watching her launch a magical battle with plastic ponies, something inside me settles.
I pick up a tiny knight and flip it over in my palm. “Think there’s room for one more in this rescue mission?”
Her eyes light up. “Only if you don’t make your guy annoying.”
“No promises.”
She giggles, shaking her head.
And just like that, I realize—I missed this. I missed her.
And maybe, just maybe, I’m done keeping the things that matter at arm’s length.