Chapter 7
SOPHIE
Ifroze.
Not metaphorically. Not in that poetic way people describe shock later, after they’ve had time to soften it into something manageable.
I actually stopped moving.
The harbor noise—the laughter, the music drifting from the boat, the slap of water against the pier—fell away until there was only that one sound.
My name.
“Sophie?”
It didn’t belong here. Not in Charleston. Not on a dock glowing with string lights and tourists and salt air. It belonged to dusty summers and scraped knees and a Texas town so small it felt like a secret.
I turned slowly, my heart already racing ahead of my thoughts.
And there he was.
Wyatt Dane.
For a split second, my brain refused to reconcile the man standing in front of me with the boy I carried in memory. The last version of him I’d seen was lean and sunburned, all elbows and restless energy, a half-smile that never quite went away.
This version was … finished. Solid. Broad shoulders filling out a dark shirt, long legs planted confidently on the dock, posture easy but alert.
He had grown into the kind of man people stopped to look at without quite knowing why. The boyish edges were gone, replaced by something steadier. His hair was shorter, touched by the sun, his jaw stronger, traced with faint stubble that made me suddenly, unhelpfully aware of my hands.
He was tall. Taller than I remembered. A man instead of a boy.
And his eyes—God, his eyes—were still the same warm brown, searching my face like he was afraid I might disappear again if he blinked.
“Wyatt,” I breathed.
The sound of his name in my mouth did something dangerous to my chest.
For a moment, neither of us moved. We just stared, the space between us vibrating with everything we hadn’t said in over a decade.
Then Beth made a small, incredulous noise beside me.
“Oh, my God,” she murmured. “Is this one of those rom-com moments where the universe just body-slams you with your past?”
Natasha’s eyes flicked between us, sharp and curious. “You know him.”
I nodded slowly, still not looking away from Wyatt. “I … yeah. I do.”
He smiled then—full, unguarded—and it hit me right in the ribs. The same smile that used to make teachers forgive him for talking too much. The same smile that made summers feel endless.
“Soph,” he said softly, like he was testing whether he was allowed to say it.
My throat tightened. “Hi.”
He laughed under his breath, a low sound that felt intimate. “I can’t believe it’s you.”
I found my voice by sheer force of will. “I can’t believe it’s you.”
For a second, we just stood there, hovering in that awkward space between memory and now—between who we’d been and whatever we were suddenly standing on the edge of. Then he stepped forward, slow enough that I could’ve stopped it. I didn’t.
His arms wrapped around me, solid and warm, and the contact sent a quiet shock through my body. He felt different—broader through the shoulders, harder where he’d once been all angles and motion. His chest was solid under my cheek, his hand settling at my back like it knew exactly where to go.
I hugged him back before I could overthink it, my arms fitting around him in a way that felt dangerously right. Familiar and unfamiliar all at once. When we pulled apart, my pulse was racing, my awareness sharpened in a way that had nothing to do with nostalgia.
He met my eyes, something unreadable flickering there, like he’d felt it, too—and that scared me a little more than it should have.
Beth cleared her throat pointedly. “Not to interrupt what is clearly a cosmic reunion, but introductions?”
“Sorry,” I said quickly, blinking myself back into the present. “Beth. Natasha. This is Wyatt. He was … my very best friend growing up.”
Wyatt nodded politely, offering his hand. “Nice to meet you.”
Beth shook it, eyes narrowed in open appraisal. “Wow. Sophie really buried the lede on ‘best friend.’”
Natasha smiled, warm but assessing. “Good to finally put a face to the mystery.”
Wyatt glanced back at me. “Mystery?”
I shrugged. “You vanished.”
His expression shifted—just a flicker, gone almost as soon as it appeared. “Yeah. I did.”
Beth and Natasha exchanged a look that said we’ll unpack this later.
“We should let you two catch up,” Natasha said smoothly. “We’ll … be over there.”
Beth hesitated, clearly dying of curiosity, then relented.
They drifted a few steps away, pretending very badly to be engrossed in their phones.
Wyatt gestured toward the railing. “Mind if we walk?”
I nodded, my body moving on autopilot.
We fell into step side by side, the familiarity of it startling. He matched my pace without thinking, the way he always used to, adjusting instinctively when I slowed.
“So,” he said lightly. “Charleston.”
“Yeah,” I replied. “Girls’ trip.”
“Of course,” he said, smiling. “You always did love an adventure.”
I laughed softly. “You say that like you didn’t disappear on me.”
There it was. Out in the open, finally.
He winced. “I deserve that.”
We stopped near the edge of the dock, the harbor stretching out in front of us, dark and glossy under the lights.
“I thought you were going to the University of Texas,” I said, the words tumbling out now that the door was open. “We did orientation together. We talked about apartments. Classes. I waited for you the first week. And then … nothing.”
I swallowed. “I couldn’t find you anywhere. No Instagram. No Facebook. No anything. It was like you’d been erased.”
He leaned his forearms on the railing, looking out over the water. “I’m not on social media. Never have been.”
“I figured that out, eventually,” I said. “I thought about going to your house. Seeing your mom. Your brothers.”
His jaw tightened.
“But,” I continued, “I didn’t. I figured … if you wanted me to know where you were, you’d tell me.”
He nodded slowly. “I should have.”
There was an apology in his voice that felt real. Heavy.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he said quietly. “Things just … changed fast.”
I studied his profile, the strong line of his nose, the crease between his brows that hadn’t been there when we were kids. The man he’d become carried his history differently—like he’d learned how to hold it without letting it spill.
“I was devastated,” I admitted. “I don’t think I ever told anyone that.”
He turned to face me fully then, guilt clear in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Soph.”
The sincerity of it loosened something in my chest—but it also pulled another truth to the surface, one we’d danced around for years.
“And I should say this, too,” I added softly. “Because I wasn’t blameless.”
He waited.
“When we ran into each other at UT orientation,” I said, “we talked about me moving away the summer before high school. You knew my mom and I had left Valentine that summer. You just didn’t know why.”
He nodded slowly. “You said it was sudden.”
“It was,” I said. “Everything was. And when I left, I didn’t do it well. I didn’t explain. I didn’t say goodbye the way I should’ve. You deserve to know the whole truth.”
His jaw tightened. “I went by your house before that,” he said quietly. “Before the first day of school. It was empty. For Sale sign out front. I thought maybe you’d come back.”
My chest ached. “I didn’t know you did that.”
“I waited,” he went on. “At school, too. First week. I kept thinking I’d see you again.” He shook his head once. “Then, I didn’t.”
Silence stretched between us, thick but not hostile. Just heavy with the weight of what we’d both carried.
“So,” I said gently, meeting his eyes, “you know what it feels like. To wonder. To wait. To assume someone would reach out, if they wanted to.”
A rueful smile tugged at his mouth. “Yeah,” he said. “Turns out, I do.”
Something settled between us then—not absolution exactly, but balance. Understanding. Two people who’d both disappeared at different moments, both thinking they were protecting themselves, neither realizing how deeply the absence would land.
“It’s strange,” he said after a moment, glancing toward the harbor where lights shimmered against the dark water. “How we keep crossing paths, anyway.”
“Like the universe doesn’t trust either of us to get it right on our own,” I said.
His smile softened. “Fate’s persistent.”
Standing there with him, I had the unsettling sense that whatever had pulled us apart all those years ago had been working just as hard to bring us back together.
I took a breath, feeling the weight of something I’d carried for a long time press forward. “There’s more,” I said quietly. “About why I left. About that summer before high school. About my brother.”
The words felt fragile in my mouth, like glass I wasn’t ready to set down yet.
Wyatt’s expression softened immediately—not curiosity, not pressure. Just concern. He shook his head once, gentle. “That sounds like a conversation for another time,” he said. “Somewhere quieter. When you don’t have to rush it.”
Relief spread through me, warm and unexpected. “Yeah,” I said. “I’d like that.”
I meant it. And I appreciated him for it—for not pushing, for signaling he cared enough to wait.
Before I could say more, a familiar voice cut in.
“There she is!”
I turned to see the older man from the cruise—the one I’d helped—walking toward us, his wife at his side. He looked a little shaken still, but smiling broadly.
“Thank you again,” he said. “You scared the hell out of us, but you saved my life.”
I smiled, embarrassed. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”
He laughed. “Everyone recorded that, you know. Half the boat had their phones out. And with a face like yours?” He winked. “You should be expecting modeling agencies to start calling.”
I groaned softly. “Please, don’t encourage that.”
Wyatt’s eyebrows lifted, his gaze sharpening with interest. “Saved his life?”
I shrugged. “He was choking. No one else stepped in.”
The man clapped Wyatt on the shoulder. “You’ve got a brave one here. And beautiful.”
They walked on, still talking animatedly.