Chapter 13
The morning air is cool and damp, clinging to my sleeves as Neptune pads along beside me. He pauses once to sniff a low hedge, then keeps walking, unbothered, alert to the quiet street around us.
My phone is tucked between my shoulder and ear.
“So,” April says, dragging the word out. “Tell me everything.”
I smile despite myself. “Good morning to you too.”
“May.”
“It was great,” I say, surprised by how easily the word comes out. “Finn is… nothing like the guys I usually go out with.”
“Explain.”
“He’s confident. Very.” I watch Neptune slow just enough to track the birds along the fence, his attention sharp even as he keeps moving. “But not in a way that made me feel small or like I had to perform. I felt comfortable. Like I could just exist next to him.”
April hums softly. “I like that.”
“I know you do.” I smile. “And I did too. It was fun, easy. He made me laugh a lot, but…”
“But.”
“I got home,” I say slowly, “and Neptune was already fed. He was tired, happy. He had this ridiculous pink plushy as a pillow.”
April goes quiet for a moment. “Oh.”
“I didn’t even have to ask him to take care of him—he offered,” I continue. “He carried my luggage up the stairs, fixed my fridge, and then spent the evening taking care of my dog as his own.”
“That’s… wow.”
I nod even though she can’t see me. Neptune looks up at me, as if understanding how I am feeling right now.
“And then,” I continue, “I find a note on my fridge.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, of course, he was well aware the fridge was empty since, you know, he worked on it.”
“And?”
“This man went out of his way to fill up my fridge with options for breakfast.”
April sucks in a breath. “May.”
“I open the damn fridge,” I keep going, because now that I’ve started, I can’t stop, “and there were eggs, and Greek yogurt. There were also these amazing bagels that were very clearly homemade. Raspberry jam and a ton of fruit. Bananas, apples, blueberries, and orange juice, coffee, tea, and milk.”
There’s silence on the line, then, “Do you think he went shopping for you?”
“No, I don’t think so.” I shake my head slightly. “I think he took things from his own fridge and stocked mine so I wouldn’t wake up to nothing.”
April exhales sharply. “That is absolutely fucking precious.”
I let out a quiet laugh. “Right?”
“He took care of your every need. Without you even asking.”
I stop walking. Neptune sits down immediately, as if he understands I need a moment to process my life right here in the middle of the street.
“Yeah,” I say softly. “Without me even asking.”
And that’s when it hits me.
Not in a dramatic way. Just a slow, unsettling awareness.
I had a great time with Finn because he makes me feel wanted, seen, and even desired.
But Aiden… Aiden makes me feel held.
“What are you going to do?” April asks, pulling me out of my own thoughts.
“I have no fucking clue.”
A call-waiting beep cuts in before April can say anything else.
“Hold on.” I glance at my phone. “I’m getting a call from work.”
I tap the screen and answer.
“George?” I answer.
“May, we need you.” His voice is tight. “There’s a humpback in distress just offshore. We’re mobilizing now.”
My chest tightens, focus snapping into place. “How bad?”
“Bad enough that we’re not waiting. The Coast Guard’s involved. Given the conditions, we’re riding with them.”
“I’ll be there. Give me twenty minutes.”
“Meet us at the Coast Guard station. We’re leaving as soon as everyone’s in.”
“Understood.”
I hang up and immediately round toward the house. Neptune adjusts without question, pace steady as we retrace our steps.
I switch back to April.
“April, I have to go. There’s a whale in distress. They need me at work right now.”
“Of course they do.” All humor disappears from her voice. “Please be safe.”
“I will.”
“May?”
“Yeah?”
Her voice softens. “We’ll talk later. About… all of this.”
I glance down at Neptune as we move, at the quiet street, the salt-heavy air.
“Yeah. We will.”
“Go save your whale,” she says.
“I’m on my way.”
We hang up, and I break into a faster stride, heart already shifting from confusion to purpose.
I change clothes in record time, pulling on waterproof pants, a thermal layer, and a rain jacket.
I braid my hair tight down my back, fingers moving from muscle memory more than thought.
My hands are steady now. Focused. Whatever spiral I was in a few minutes ago has narrowed into something sharp and usable.
Thank God the house is only minutes from the harbor.
I arrive to find most of the team already there—trucks lined up, doors open, people moving with purpose. The air smells of salt, diesel, and urgency.
George spots me immediately. “Humpback,” he says as soon as I’m close enough. “Reported about twenty minutes ago. Looks like an entanglement.”
My stomach tightens. “Gear?”
“Fishing line. Possibly a buoy rope,” he says. “They’re not sure how extensive yet. It was last seen near Whale Cove.”
We don’t waste time. There’s a quick rundown while we walk. The whale’s been swimming unevenly. Rolling. Surfacing more than normal. Classic signs of distress. We’re going to assess first, see what we’re dealing with, and determine whether we can assist safely before it’s too late.
Cassie jogs up beside me, already zipped into her gear. “Hey.” She’s breathless but smiling. “You made it.”
“Wouldn’t miss it.” And I mean it.
She bumps my shoulder lightly. “Let’s go save a whale.”
The Coast Guard boat waits at the dock, solid and ready. The crew is already aboard. I step onto the deck and look up—
And there he is.
Finn O’Donoghue.
He’s leaning near the console, gear on, hair pulled back, clearly just another day at the office for him. When his eyes land on me, his mouth curves into his now familiar, cocky smile.
“Well.” He sounds entirely too relaxed. “Fancy seeing you here.” He steps closer. “You ready to go have some fun?”
I smile.
Because in that moment, with the boat rocking gently beneath my feet and the urgency humming in the air, something clicks into place. The stress, the move, the uncertainty—all of it fades back just enough for me to breathe.
This is why I came here.
This. Right now. To show up when it matters. To help when something bigger than me needs it. This is what I’ve been dreaming of doing since I was a little girl.
We’re handed life jackets, and Finn launches into a quick briefing as the crew finishes prep.
“Conditions are choppy,” he says. “High tide, swell’s rolling in hard. It’s gonna be a bit of a bumpy ride out to Whale Cove, so keep your footing and listen to instructions.”
He moves as he talks, checking straps, securing loose gear, scanning everything with quick efficiency. When he stops in front of me, I barely have time to react before he reaches out.
“Hold still,” He adjusts my life jacket, tugging at the straps. His hands are warm, confident, and entirely too distracting.
I feel heat creep up my neck.
Cassie catches my eye from a few feet away and raises her eyebrows.
I flush.
Finn steps back, satisfied. “That’ll do you.”
I clear my throat, suddenly very aware of how close he is—and how real it all feels.
The engine kicks in, and the boat eases away from the dock, the harbor opening up in front of us.
Depoe Bay slips past quickly, the water still calm enough to lull you into forgetting what waits beyond it.
The bridge rises ahead, pale against the sky, arching over the harbor.
I’ve driven over it so many times in the past few weeks, but seeing it from the water feels different.
Slower, wider, as if I’m being let in on a version of this place most people never see.
We pass a cluster of harbor seals near the rocks, their slick heads bobbing above the surface. A few of them are sprawled out along the edges, babies tucked close, blinking lazily as the boat moves by. I catch myself smiling, warmth settling in my chest.
Then we clear the bridge.
The ocean doesn’t ease us into it. The first wave hits hard, lifting the bow and dropping it just as quickly. Bumpy doesn’t begin to cover it. The boat bucks and slams, water spraying over the sides as the swell rolls in fast and unevenly.
I hold on to the rail for dear life.
My knees bend automatically, body adjusting, trying to stay upright as the deck shifts beneath my boots. The air is sharp and cold, salty spray hitting my face again and again, soaking into my jacket.
I hear laughter over the engine.
Finn’s at the front of the boat, standing near the helm, one hand braced, completely at ease. He turns, scanning the deck, and his eyes find mine. Even through the gear, I can see the smile under it, wide and unapologetic.
The conditions are rough, but it’s beautiful. The sky is open and pale, the water dark and alive beneath us, and the salt clings to my lips, my skin, and my lashes. Every breath feels clean.
The boat cuts south toward Whale Cove, and as we angle along the shoreline, the cliffs rise beside us. I glance toward them instinctively, and there it is—my house, perched above the water, small but unmistakable.
Home.
I picture Neptune inside, probably stretched out near the window, watching the world from his favorite spot. The thought steadies me.
How lucky I am! How strange and perfect this life feels sometimes. I wish my mom could see this.
Seagulls wheel overhead, calling out as we pass, their cries sharp against the engine noise. The coastline is rugged and green, the rocks dark with spray, nature unfolding in every direction without apology.
It doesn’t take long for us to find her.
Someone points off the port side. “There!”
The humpback surfaces slowly, unevenly, her massive body breaking the water in a way that immediately tells us something’s wrong. She rolls as she exhales, a deep, hollow sound carrying across the waves. Lines trail along her side, wrapped tight near the pectoral fin, tugging every time she moves.
Entanglement.
We slow our approach, cutting the engine down and letting the boat settle. No sudden movements. No sharp turns. The goal is to be calm, predictable, and above all, respectful.
I watch her patterns. The way she surfaces. The rhythm of her breathing. She’s exhausted, but responsive. Alert. Still moving under her own power.
That’s good.
I relay what I’m seeing, voice steady. “She’s surfacing regularly. No immediate sign of severe injury. The line looks external—no deep embedding from what I can tell.”
George nods, watching the whale surface again, eyes narrowed. “She doesn’t look familiar,” he says. “Cassie, get as many photos as you can. We’ll check the flukes once we’re clear.”
“You got it.”
The Coast Guard crew shifts into motion, already preparing. This is the part where everyone knows their role.
We edge closer, careful not to crowd her. She rolls again, the fin breaking the surface just enough for us to confirm it.
Fishing gear. Rope and line tangled together, dragging against her with every movement.
“She’s strong enough,” I say after another pass. “We can attempt disentanglement.”
Without hesitation, they move.
The crew works methodically, long poles and cutting tools extended, timing everything with her movements. No panic, or rush, even though every second matters. The ocean surges around us, the boat rising and falling, but they stay focused, precise.
I watch the line give way piece by piece. One section loosens. Then another.
Minutes stretch. The swell rocks us hard, water splashing over the deck, but no one breaks concentration.
Finally, the last of the rope slides free.
For a moment, nothing happens.
Then the whale surges forward, stronger this time, her body cutting cleanly through the water. She surfaces once more, deeper, fuller, her breath louder now. Healthier.
Relief crashes through me.
We monitor her, documenting and assessing, making sure there’s no remaining gear and no visible injury that requires further intervention. She lingers just long enough for us to confirm she’s clear, then dives, disappearing into the dark water below.
The ocean settles.
We stay quiet, letting the moment land, but then the water breaks and she breaches in a slow, powerful arc, her body lifting clean out of the ocean before crashing back down in a thunderous splash.
Spray erupts around her, sunlight catching in it, and for half a second, everything feels suspended, until the boat explodes with noise.
Cheers. Laughter. High Fives. I don’t even realize I’m smiling until my face starts to ache.
Cassie grabs me without warning, arms tight around my shoulders, and I laugh as I hug her back, the release hitting all at once. The tension drains out of my body in a rush so strong it leaves me a little unsteady. Relief. Joy. Awe. Something bigger than all of it.
I’ve never felt anything like this.
George steps closer, clapping me on the shoulder. “Great job, May,” he says, pride clear in his voice. “Guess this is your officiation.”
I blink at him.
“You’re one of us now,” he adds, grinning.
The words settle deep in my chest.
I look out at the water again, where the surface has gone calm, as if nothing extraordinary just happened. The gulls circle overhead. The cliffs stand tall and unchanged. The world moves on.
But something in me has shifted.
I belong here.
And for the first time since I arrived in Depoe Bay, that thought feels certain.
I’m exactly where I should be.