Chapter 13 #2
“I fell asleep. Effy and I fell asleep, but Chris… he woke up, opened the door and walked out. Emily lost it when she and Jay got home. The police arrived and sent out a search party. Within minutes we found his sock near the lake. Divers found him hours later. He was only three years old.”
I close my eyes, my lashes squeezing a single tear over my waterline.
“I... I'm so sorry, Tom,” I breathe against his hair, swiping my palm over my cheeks to keep my tears from falling on him.
This is what he needs right now. One moment of carelessness, without the constant, clawing instinct to look over his shoulder. No eggshells, no bracing for impact. Just this.
His body is limp in my arms. I think he’s finally letting go, even if it's only for tonight. My hand moves in slow circles between his shoulderblades, silently telling him that I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.
I look up at the sky. The stars blur together through my tears, merging into a single, glowing mass.
Some wounds never go away. I know these won’t. But he doesn’t have to face them alone tonight, or in all the days to come.
I’ll stand between him and the dark when he needs it.
The empty road feels haunted as I drive into the darkness of the Avalon countryside.
My headlights catch a goat at the edge of the road, its eyes flashing in the glow before it scurries off.
I flinch for just a second. The dashboard clock reads 2 a.m., and it feels though the whole island is asleep except for Tom and I.
We’re on our way back to the resort.
I feel drained. Luckily, it’s only a ten-minute drive.
We spent hours on the beach, sat on a bench near the water and talked until the words ran out. At some point, he fell asleep against my shoulder. I held him until my arm started to go numb. That’s when I woke him and whispered that it was time to go.
We’re almost back. Arcadia’s parking lot appears in the distance, but I pull into the public beach lot instead. We need to be careful.
One: guests aren’t allowed to leave Arcadia at night.
Two: the security guard on duty is the same one who dragged me out of the meeting room earlier.
Technically, I could justify taking Tom out. I could log it as therapeutic, write a believable explanation.
But Tom doesn’t need to walk through a lobby full of eyes. People talk, especially night-shift staff, because at night, that’s when all the unusual stuff happens in a resort like Arcardia.
“Where are we going?” Tom asks.
“Inside,” I say, killing the engine. “Just not the usual way.”
He doesn’t question it, following me as I take the path toward the beach. Instead of heading for the shoreline, I cut right, staying close to Arcadia’s outer wall.
“Watch the cacti,” I whisper, taking his hand and guiding him through a narrow gap between the thorns. His hand is warm, made to be held in mine, but everything that happened on Playa Tortuga earlier overshadows the spark that comes with it.
My focus goes back to the path.
I know a few ways to get in. Those late-night sneak-outs to Deep Diver’s place taught me exactly where the limestone wall is low enough to get a grip, where the cameras never reach, and how to drop down without a sound. Security always assumes I’m in my studio. I prefer it that way.
Why go through the trouble?
On a small island like Avalon, secrets don’t stay secrets for long, and some days, the effort of guarding them is the only thing that keeps my restless energy contained.
I always tell myself I have nine lives anyway.
“Here.” I drop to one knee and cup my hands.
Tom knows exactly what to do. I brace against the wall as he steps into my hands. One strong push, and he hoists himself up, climbing over with an ease that tells me this is business as usual for him. Why am I not surprised?
I let out a breath and look up. My turn.
I grip the top of the wall, the rough limestone scraping against my fingers, but I’ve done this enough times to know exactly what I’m doing. One smooth swing of my legs, and I land safely on the other side.
Tom is waiting, watching me with tired eyes. Normally, I'd expect him to come up with something clever. Not tonight.
We don’t waste time. Keeping close to the inner wall, we move quietly through the dimly lit path behind the studios.
Tom’s studio is the last in a row of ten. When we reach his door, I turn to him.
“Go in. I’ll grab some supplies to change your bandages.”
He gives a small nod before sneaking inside.
I head toward my own studio, slowing down as I enter the lobby area. The night clerk is watching soccer on his phone.
“Hey, George. Is Blue Avalon winning against Trinidad tonight?”
“Mm.” He doesn’t even look up from his phone.
Good.
When I enter my studio, I head straight for the cupboard and gather what I need.
Top shelf, left side; sterile gauze stacked in organizing trays and cotton rolls, compressed in a clear plastic bag. The bandages are arranged by size. Tweezers, check, saline solution…over there.
The routine keeps my thoughts calm. I can’t let Tom’s confessions take over, he needs me a little longer. After that, I’ll deal with it by staring at the ceiling.
I double-check the contents of the paper bag. Everything’s there.
Back at Tom’s studio, I give a soft knock, then open the door.
“Still awake?” I ask as I step inside.
Tom looks up from the kitchen table, clearly he’d been waiting.
I wash my hands, hook a chair with my elbow, and sit beside him.
“Alright, Rocky. Let’s take a look at your wounds.”
Tom huffs softly, the tiniest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Carefully I loosen the bandage. Grains of sand spill onto the table.
“That’s the thing about living on an island. The beach is everywhere.”
He rolls his eyes. “figured.”
Once the bandage is off, I take the tweezers and lift the gauze away.
Tom grits his teeth and looks aside. I’m as gentle as I can be, but I know it stings.
When the last layer comes away, the wounds are finally exposed.
I cradle his hand in the dim light. The skin is bruised and cut, but it could have been worse.
“You’re lucky,” I say quietly. “Your career…you could’ve ruined your hands.”
“I know.” He tips his head back, eyes on the ceiling. “I know.”
I soak a cotton pad in saline and press it lightly to the skin.
“Thank you for everything,” he says. “And again…I’m sorry about all of this.”
I sigh inside. That need he has to apologize hits a soft spot in me. It’s like watching a film I’ve seen a hundred times, and I already know I hate the ending.
“Don’t.”
The word comes out stronger than I meant. He tenses, so I soften my tone.
“Stop apologizing, Tom. You don’t need to.”
Confusion appears in his eyes, but then he composes himself and nods.
This is Tom at his most vulnerable, in a state where his bare soul speaks the truth. This is so much more than I ever anticipated and it’s conflicting with all the boundaries I struggle to keep. I absolutely can’t show how much this is affecting me.
I finish wrapping his hands, smoothing the last bandage into place with the soft strokes of my thumb on his knuckles. I look him in the eye as I hold his hand in mine. “You feeling okay now? Feeling calm?”
“I’m alright.”
He isn’t. I still see the shadows in his eyes, but anything I say now would be too much, and he needs rest, not another conversation.
I get up. “You should sleep. I’ll check on you later. If you need anything, page me. Promise me, Tom.”
He pushes himself up from the table, leaning on the chair as he nods.
Everything feels awkward and fragile right now, but he manages to offer me a reassuring smile. It's the smile of an artist. Someone who can shape themselves into whoever you want them to be. It hurts.
“Thanks, Yosh. Sleep well.”
“You too, Tom,” I say, and step outside.
With the door falling into its lock, I suddenly get gripped by this wave of dizziness. I close my eyes to shake it off, focussing on the sound of the crashing waves and the cicadas who are singing their song in the early break of dawn.
For a moment I just stand there, listening to the sounds of a world that keeps moving forward, no matter what.