Chapter 40 The Compass and the Collapse
THE COMPASS AND THE COLLAPSE
RORIE
The water hugs my body beneath the glittering canopy of stars as I float in the center of the plunge pool. With my arms outstretched, head tilted back, my ears half-submerged in silence, I reflect on everything Laurel said to me.
North and Anchor.
I trace the phrase in my mind like a fingertip over worn embroidery—familiar, comforting, frayed at the edges. I used to think I knew what it meant. Find your purpose. Dig in. Don’t let anything shake it loose.
But tonight, it feels more complicated than that.
What if North isn’t a direction?
What if it’s a person?
The sound of soft footsteps on stone breaks the spell. I don’t move.
A second later, Nolan’s voice carries over the divider, cautious, yet annoyingly smooth.
“Is this a ceasefire zone,” he asks, “or am I about to get taken out by a pool float and unresolved anger?”
I sigh. “What do you want?”
“I was walking on the beach. Thinking. Avoiding one of my coworker’s voices, which I’m convinced is a direct trigger for high blood pressure.” A pause. “Saw the lights. Took a chance.”
He steps into the edge of the glow from the patio lamp, shirtless. And yeah. So much for blood pressure. Mine spikes to a dangerous level.
His chest is composed of lean lines and muscle, like he was handcrafted by a very horny sculptor. Defined shoulders, abs that could deflect bullets, and a faint trail of hair leading below the waistband of swim trunks that are hanging on for dear life.
My brain cells scatter like pigeons at a firework show.
But what really undoes me—what fucks me up in ways I’m not ready for—is the tattoo over his heart.
A small constellation. Five fine-lined stars, etched in quiet permanence. It’s subtle. Intimate. A map only meant to be read up close.
I can’t stop staring because he’s not just marked by the stars—he carries their gravity. Their pull. And I’m already drifting toward him, terrified of what it means to follow someone that’s already burned me, when I wish he’d just lead me home.
“Can I join you?” he asks. “I promise to stay on my side of the truce line.”
My arms make circles in the water. “Not a good idea.”
He gives me a slow, lazy grin, that irresistible dimple popping out. “Pretty please…”
Why does he have to be adorable?
“…with sugar on top.”
“Fine,” I huff, shifting to one side of the water. “But if you cannonball, I’m calling security.”
Nolan steps in gently, his body moving with grace as he sinks down beside me. Water laps at the edges of the pool as we settle into silence.
For a while, all I hear is the distant song of cicadas, the occasional splash of water, and my own heartbeat ticking louder in my ears.
I steal another glance at him and at the ink over his heart. Before I can second-guess it, the words slip out, low and rough,“What's your tattoo mean?”
He glances down at his chest, like he almost forgot it was there. When he looks back at me, his smile is small, shy. A rare thing, for him.
“It’s not from the sky.” His fingers trail lightly across the surface of the water, breaking the reflection.
“I made it up. A long time ago.”
I tip my head, waiting. Not pushing. Not breathing, really.
He shrugs a little, the motion loose. “When I was younger, I used to think... if you couldn’t find yourself in the stars that already existed, you could just make new ones. A map nobody else had. A way to get home that only you would recognize.”
My chest tightens. Hard. That’s honestly one of the most beautiful and endearing things I’ve ever heard.
Nolan keeps going, voice so soft that the cicadas almost steal it away.
“So I put five stars where I wanted them. One for who I was. One for who I thought I had to be. One for the people I lost. One for the people I hadn’t met yet.
And one...” He pauses, the ghost of a smile curving his mouth.
“One for the things I didn’t even know I was looking for. ”
The words land harder than I expect. Like a current, dragging me under. It’s not just a tattoo. It’s a wish. And a map. A promise to find his way back, no matter the odds.
I don’t say anything. I can’t. The only sound is the water between us.
The summer night breathes around our bodies. There’s a thundering reminder in my chest that some stars aren’t meant to be constellations you trace with your eyes, or your fingertips.
Some stars are people, pulling you in, no matter how far you drift.
Even if it terrifies you.
Even if it burns.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about anchors lately,” Nolan says, randomly.
My attention snaps to him.
He doesn’t know.
He can’t know.
Yet somehow he’s standing on the edge of a thought I’ve been circling around for hours.
North and Anchor.
And which direction I’m supposed to be going.
“Why?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Don’t know. Just popped into my head. It’s weird. What keeps us steady? What makes us stay in one place? I guess I’ve always thought of anchors as these heavy objects that keep you stuck. But now I’ve realized that it doesn’t weigh you down, it makes you stop drifting.”
I glance over, caught once again between fight and flight with him.
That’s what he does to me.
Every. Damn. Time.
I know what keeps me steady. Or at least… I used to.
It was my mom’s laugh in the kitchen. My dad’s voice reading constellations off the hood of a Jeep. It was knowing exactly who I was and what I wanted.
But then loss came for me and took all of it, pulled into waters I couldn’t chart, with no map, no anchor, and no idea if I’d ever touch steady ground again. It left me drifting. Grasping. Building stability out of ambition and iced coffee and a calendar full of color-coded deadlines.
And then Nolan Rhodes barreled into my life as a hurricane with a dimple, and suddenly, oddly, I felt steady again.
If he’s an anchor, he’s one that drags you under just as easily as he keeps you tethered. I can’t decide if I want to cut the rope or let him hold me in place.
My eyes stay pinned on his profile. The scruff on his jaw. The casual way he says these things that hit deep within my beating heart.
“You ever hear the phrase North and Anchor?”
He shakes his head slowly, eyes fixed on the stars. “No. What’s it mean?”
“My parents used to say it. It was their thing. Their compass. Find your North, and anchor yourself to it.”
He’s quiet for a moment, letting it sink in. “I like that.”
“Yeah,” I say, voice low. “Me too. I wish my compass would start pointing though. It’s been stuck for quite a while.”
He looks over at me then—really looks. No smirk. No smugness.
Just him.
“It already has,” he says, voice a little breathy, still looking at me. “You’re scared to follow it. I don’t blame you.”
The words drop into me like a stone, sinking straight to the center of my chest, then rippling outward until I can’t tell where the emotion ends and the impact begins.
I look away first.
Because the truth?
He might be right.
But fear is a fault line, quiet until it isn’t. And when it shifts, it cracks through everything you thought was stable. He’s the one who made it quake. The one who pulled back. The one who left me staring at my phone, heart wide open and humiliated.
I stare up at the stars again, hoping they’ll offer answers.
They don’t.
Nolan’s voice breaks the quiet. “Your parents sound wise.”
I swallow. “They were wise.”
His face shifts instantly. “Rorie—”
“It’s okay,” I cut in, not unkindly. “You didn’t know.”
Another beat of silence passes between us—heavier now. Sadder.
“They would’ve liked you,” I add, before I can stop myself. “My mom especially. She had a thing for people who looked arrogant until they opened their mouths and turned out to be gentle and charming.”
That earns me a faint smile. “Sounds like a woman of taste.”
“She also threw a sandal at a pesticide solicitor once, so, you know. Balanced.”
Nolan chuckles under his breath. “I don’t know what I’m more intimidated by, your standards or your fiery family legacy.”
I glance at him, my heart doing that awful twist again.
Because I’m still mad.
Still bruised.
But not enough to pretend this isn’t something. Not enough to lie to myself anymore.
We fall into that silence again. Not awkward. Not tense. Just filled with everything we’ve said, and everything we haven’t.
Then, at the same time:
“Rorie—”
“Nolan—”
Our names land between us, overlapping in perfect sync. We both blink, then almost laugh.
I shake my head, barely. “You first.”
He hesitates for a breath. He’s building courage. Then he exhales, shakily, and looks me dead in the eye.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “God, Rorie, I’m so sorry. For the email. For the way I pulled back. For everything.”
My chest tightens, but I stay quiet. Let him talk. He needs this.
So do I.
More than anything.
“I panicked,” he admits. “That gift… it felt right at the time and then it felt fast. I saw this article about lovebombing, and I lost it. It hit every single nerve.” His voice gets quieter.
“I haven’t said the thing I need to say.
The thing that’s been chewing at the back of my throat since I sent that stupid email like a goddamn coward. ”
I listen, and the silence makes it worse, makes the words rush out of him in a torrent.
“My girlfriend cheated on me,” he confesses, voice low, like it hurts to say it out loud. “With one of my coworkers. Jackson. He’s here. With her. Laughing like the past year meant nothing.”
He pauses, his jaw tightens, not from anger, but shame.
“I lost myself in that fallout. Started questioning everything. My instincts. My judgment. What I was worth. I stopped trusting the part of me that feels things too deeply and started playing by rules I didn’t write.
Pretending I was fine. Pretending I didn’t care. ”
His gaze lifts to mine, steady, raw. “Then I met you. And suddenly I could breathe again.”
And suddenly I can’t.