Chapter 39
thirty-nine
. . .
Jess
Dawn breaks over Zuma Beach in a spectacular display of pink and gold, the kind of sunrise that would typically fill me with peace. Today, though, the beauty barely registers as I paddle out beyond the break, with my mind churning as restlessly as the ocean beneath me.
“You’re going to wear yourself out before we even catch anything good,” Austin calls from a few yards away, watching as I paddle aggressively through the swells.
Ignoring him, I scan the horizon for the next set. The familiar burn in my shoulders is a welcome distraction from the hollow ache in my chest. It’s been two weeks since my fight with Lucas. Two weeks of sleeping at my apartment, of throwing myself into work, of pretending I’m not falling apart.
I haven’t heard from him. No texts, no calls.
Just silence. Thankfully, most of the documentary filming is wrapped.
All that’s left now is the announcement party and the final sit-down interview.
And thank God for that because the idea of faking my way through another “happy couple” segment right now might actually break me.
A promising wave approaches, and I turn my board and position myself. The catch is perfect, the ride smooth as I pop up and find my balance, cutting across the face of the wave. For these brief, glorious seconds, nothing exists but water, motion, and the rush of adrenaline.
Then the wave peters out, and reality crashes back. I paddle back toward Austin, who’s watching me with that annoying mix of brotherly concern and curiosity.
“That was nice,” he says, “but you’re surfing angry. Never a good strategy.”
“I’m not angry,” I lie, wiping salt water from my face. “I’m focused.”
“Yeah? You’ve got this little crease right here”—he touches the space between his eyebrows—“that only shows up when you’re pissed about something. Had it since you were like, eight.”
I splash water at him, which he dodges effortlessly. “Maybe I’m just getting old. Wrinkles happen.”
“Bullshit. What’s going on? You and Lucas have a fight?”
The direct hit makes me flinch. Austin knows me too well; he’s always been able to read me.
“It’s not…” I begin, then stop. What’s the point in hiding it? “Yeah.”
“Trouble in paradise?” His tone is light, but his eyes are serious. “I thought you guys were solid.”
I stare out at the horizon, watching the waves form and break in endless cycles. “It’s complicated.”
“Marriage usually is,” he says with the confidence of someone who’s never been married himself. “Want to talk about it?”
Part of me wants to unburden myself completely, but I’m not sure how I would even begin to explain everything up to this point.
“We had a fight,” I finally say. “A bad one.”
“About?”
“Work. His father.” I hesitate. “I’m running a story that he thinks is a betrayal.”
Austin whistles low. “Heavy stuff. What kind of story?”
“The kind that reveals inconvenient truths about powerful men.” I run my hand along the edge of my board. “Lucas thinks I chose my career over loyalty to him.”
“Did you?”
Somehow, the question hits harder coming from Austin than it did from Lucas. “No. But I didn’t compromise my principles, either. Maybe I’m not built for compromise,” I admit. “Not the way people want me to be. Maybe that makes me hard to love.”
Austin gives me a look. “You know what Mom used to say about you?”
I raise an eyebrow. “This better not end with ‘she’s a pain in the ass.’”
“She said you were fire,” he says, “and people who get close enough to love fire are always at risk of getting burned. But that doesn’t mean you stop burning. It means you find someone who knows how to hold the heat.”
That undoes something in my chest.
“I thought Lucas was that person,” I say, quieter now. “But maybe he wanted the version of me that only burns on command.”
Austin sighs. “Maybe. Or maybe he just needed time to figure out the difference between warmth and control. And maybe he’s doing that right now.”
His insight, delivered with the straightforward clarity that’s always been Austin’s gift, brings unexpected tears to my eyes. I blink them away quickly, grateful for the salt water that disguises them.
“Lucas is a good guy,” Austin adds. “But he’s got his own baggage. That father of his…” He shakes his head. “Talk about complications.”
“You have no idea,” I mutter.
A larger wave approaches, and we both turn to position ourselves, pausing the conversation as we catch the ride. This time, I surf with less anger and more deliberation, and the tension in my body eases slightly as I carve across the water.
Back on our boards, floating in the lull between sets, Austin picks up where we left off.
“So, what happens now? You and Lucas will work it out, yeah?”
The unfinished question hangs between us. I’ve been asking myself the same thing.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “Maybe I’m not cut out for this whole marriage thing.”
“Because of one fight?” Austin looks skeptical.
“Because it’s hard.” I stare at the water. “Being that vulnerable with someone. Letting them see all of you, even the parts that might disappoint them.”
“That’s what marriage is supposed to be, isn’t it?” Austin asks. “The whole ‘for better or worse’ thing?”
“Yeah, well, they don’t warn you how much ‘worse’ there might be,” I say, trying for humor but landing somewhere closer to raw truth.
Before he can respond, my phone chimes from its waterproof pouch. I pull it out, expecting a message from the office. Instead, I see a production note about the announcement event.
Reality crashes back with brutal force. The party. The documentary. Lucas and I standing together, playing the perfect power couple while his father announces a gubernatorial run that my story might derail.
“Bad news?” Austin asks, noticing my expression.
“Just the documentary,” I say, tucking the phone away. “A reminder about our next shoot.”
“Are you still going?”
“Of course. I wouldn’t let him down.”
Austin gives a low whistle. “And you’ll be working on a story that he thinks betrays his family? That’s some serious drama.”
“Tell me about it.” I stare down at my wedding ring, still on my finger despite everything. “I don’t know if I can do this, Austin.”
“Do what? The documentary shoot or the marriage?”
“Both.” I shake my head. “I don’t know how to be someone’s wife and still be myself.”
“No offense, but from where I’m sitting, it sounds like you might be the one looking for an exit. Are you using this fight as a reason to bail?”
“That’s not fair,” I protest, though the words hit uncomfortably close to home.
Austin raises an eyebrow. “You’ve always been a pro at keeping people at arm’s length. You focus on work, on uncovering other people’s truths while guarding your own.”
“I’ve dated before,” I counter.
“Yeah, with guys who were never going to challenge you, who were never going to get close enough to really matter if they left.” His voice softens. “Lucas matters. That’s why this hurts so much.”
I blink rapidly against the sting of tears. “When did you get so insightful about relationships? You avoid them at all costs.”
“I watch and learn from other people’s mistakes,” he says with a grin. “Especially my big sister’s.”
A perfect wave rises behind us, ending the conversation as we both turn to catch it. This time, I surf with a strange mixture of grief and clarity, with Austin’s words echoing in my mind.
You might be the one looking for an exit.
Am I? Have I been sabotaging this relationship by holding back, by keeping one foot out the door, protecting myself from the vulnerability that comes with truly loving someone?
Back on the beach, as Austin and I towel off beside our boards, he bumps my shoulder gently. “For what it’s worth, I think you and Lucas make sense together. You challenge each other. Keep each other honest.”
“Even when it hurts?” I ask, thinking of the pain in Lucas’s eyes during our fight.
“Especially then.” Austin unzips his wetsuit.
I want Lucas. The question is whether he wants me, too.
This whole thing started as a performance, a strategy, a marriage that wasn’t supposed to mean anything.
And maybe I convinced myself that as long as I kept it framed that way, temporary, tactical, I could protect myself.
That when it was over, I could walk away clean.
But I can’t.
And the truth is, I don’t want to.
As we gather our gear and head toward the parking lot, my phone buzzes again.
KIRA
Final edits on the Carmichael piece complete. Legal has signed off. Ready to publish the Sunday morning after the announcement.
The timeline is set. I’ll be standing beside Lucas at his father’s event, knowing what’s coming the next day. The thought twists my stomach into knots.
However, now, I feel something beyond anger and hurt: a flicker of determination. Whatever happens next, I need to face it head on.
I don’t know if he’ll forgive me. I don’t know if we can rebuild what’s been broken. But I know I have to try, starting with showing up on Saturday and then telling him how I really feel. It won’t be easy, but nothing worth fighting for ever is.