Chapter 34 Almost Forever
Almost Forever
The days slipped through their fingers like grains of sand—each one falling faster than the last, slipping away before they had the chance to hold on.
Too fast. Too fleeting.
Time was cruel, relentless, dragging when you wanted it to pass, but racing when all Savannah wanted was for it to slow, to stop, to freeze in place and let her stay here, wrapped in him, wrapped in this.
But time didn't listen.
Time didn’t care.
It never did.
Three days.
Three days until she had to pack up and leave Wrightsville Beach. Three days until she’d return to Asheville, to the life she had built, the life she had always been so sure of.
But now?
Now, that life felt hollow.
Three days until Chase would wake up alone.
Three days until she wouldn’t be wrapped in his arms at night, listening to the slow, steady rhythm of his breath, feeling the warmth of his body curled around hers, safe in a way she hadn’t even realized she craved.
Three days until she would step into her car, drive away, and leave this behind.
Leave him behind.
Neither of them acknowledged it out loud.
Saying it would make it too real, too final.
So instead, they let the silence swallow the truth.
They pretended.
They made those three days count.
They kissed longer.
Held tighter.
Fucked like the world was ending—like the walls were caving in, like the moment their bodies parted, everything would crumble.
And maybe it would.
Maybe this—whatever this was—wasn’t something she could just walk away from without taking pieces of him with her.
They memorized every second before it was gone.
Every touch. Every sound. Every look that said what neither of them dared to say out loud.
They stole every moment, savored them, tucked them away in the deepest parts of their memories like a secret they weren’t ready to share with the world.
And every evening, when the sun bled across the horizon, they found themselves back at the dock.
It had become theirs—their sanctuary, untouched by the outside world, protected from the inevitability waiting just beyond the tide.
Here, time didn’t feel as heavy.
Here, they could breathe.
Here, they could ignore the fact that the sun would rise in three days and she would leave and Chase would wake up without her beside him.
The water stretched before them, endless and calm, the kind of calm that mocked the storm unraveling inside her.
Some nights, they sat side by side, sharing a bottle of wine, their voices hushed, lost in conversation that didn’t involve what came next.
Other nights, Savannah sat between his legs, resting against his chest, wrapped in the kind of warmth she was already mourning.
And tonight?
Tonight was one of those nights.
Chase’s arms were draped around her, his hands resting against her stomach as he pressed a slow, lingering kiss against her shoulder, his lips dragging just enough to make her shiver.
She closed her eyes, exhaling softly, committing the feeling of him—all of him—to memory.
The scent of salt and faded cologne clinging to his skin.
The slow, steady rise and fall of his chest against her back.
The rough drag of his fingertips over the bare skin beneath her shirt, like he needed to feel her.
Like if he held on tight enough, maybe she wouldn’t slip through his fingers like the days already had.
Savannah traced small patterns over his forearm, swallowing against the knot in her throat.
She didn’t want to break the silence.
Didn’t want to break the spell.
But the words still came, quiet and aching.
“You ever think about leaving?” she murmured, staring out at the horizon, watching the sky darken.
Chase didn’t answer right away.
His chin rested lightly against her temple, his arms tightening around her in a way that made her chest ache.
Then, in a voice so quiet it almost got lost in the sound of the waves, he said, “I used to.”
Her breath caught.
Savannah turned her head just slightly, just enough to see the profile of his face, the sharp cut of his jaw, the way his throat worked around whatever he wasn’t saying.
“And now?” she asked, barely above a whisper.
He didn’t look at her.
Didn’t shift.
Didn’t move.
His fingers brushed slow, lazy circles over her hip, like he was thinking, really thinking.
Then, finally, his voice steady, sure—
“Now, I don’t know. Some things are worth staying for.”
Savannah’s throat went tight.
Her heart twisted painfully inside her chest, the kind of ache that shouldn’t hurt but did.
She didn’t ask what he meant.
She didn’t have to.
Because she felt it.
In the way he held her, like she was already slipping away.
In the way he kissed her, slow and deep, like he was trying to make her stay.
In the way his body moved against hers, desperate and unrelenting, as if memorizing her all over again, knowing that soon, she wouldn’t be his to touch anymore.
Her hands slid up his chest, her lips brushing against his in a kiss that held everything she wasn’t ready to say aloud.
Chase groaned softly, pulling her closer, his fingers tangling in her hair, his heartbeat pounding beneath her palm.
She felt it then.
The weight of something more.
Something terrifying.
Something real.
She wanted to tell him.
Wanted to whisper those three words against his lips.
Wanted to stay.
But she was leaving.
And this?
This was temporary.
At least, that’s what she kept telling herself.
But it didn’t feel temporary when Chase gripped her waist and pulled her into his lap, his arms locking around her as his forehead pressed against hers.
It didn’t feel temporary when he kissed her like she was the only thing keeping him grounded.
It didn’t feel temporary when her fingers shook against his skin, her body pleading with him to hold her together when she was already falling apart.
It didn’t feel temporary at all.
And that was the most terrifying part of all.
Because three days weren’t enough.
Three lifetimes wouldn’t be enough.
But time didn’t care.
Time never cared.
And in three days, time would rip them apart.
Later that night, they stayed on the dock longer than usual.
The wine was gone, but neither of them wanted to move.
The evening air was cool against their skin, the gentle sway of the water beneath them the only sound, but it wasn’t silence.
It was the space between words, the space where everything they couldn’t say hung heavy in the night.
Savannah was stretched out on her back, her head resting in Chase’s lap as he absently ran his fingers through her hair.
His touch was steady, grounding, like it was the only thing keeping the world from spinning too fast. The sky above them was an infinite canvas, a sea of stars stretching farther than either of them could see.
It felt like it would never end, just like this moment—the perfect stillness of time, just before it slipped away.
She broke the quiet with a question, her voice soft and laced with a vulnerability that she could no longer hide. "Where do you see yourself in ten years?"
Chase let out a low breath, his fingers stilling in her hair for a moment as he considered the weight of the question.
"I don’t know," he said, his voice rough, as though it hadn’t been something he’d thought about in a long time.
"I used to think I did. Used to think I’d be running the company, living alone in some fancy house by the water, doing whatever the hell I wanted. "
Savannah turned her head slightly, her gaze drifting up to meet his. She saw the quiet ache in his eyes, the uncertainty that had only just begun to surface. "And now?" she asked, her heart beating faster, feeling the shift in the air.
His fingers stilled in her hair, the space between them filled with something unspoken. He didn’t look away from her, his gaze unwavering. "Now," he said, voice steady but raw, "I can’t picture any of it without you in it."
Her heart stuttered. The words hit her harder than she expected, crashing through the walls she had carefully built around herself.
Her lips parted, but the words wouldn’t come out—not the ones she needed to say, not the ones that were suddenly too real to voice. She could feel the weight of the moment settling between them, like the stars above had suddenly grown too close.
"Do you mean that?" she whispered, her voice thick with emotion she wasn’t sure she could control.
Chase’s gaze never wavered, steady, unwavering, as though the truth was written on his face, in every line of his expression. "Yeah. I do."
The words seemed to hang in the air, wrapped in the quiet of the night.
Savannah’s chest ached, and she lifted a hand, brushing her fingers along his jaw.
The touch was slow, deliberate, as though she was memorizing every inch of him, committing the feel of his skin, the roughness of his stubble, to memory.
She wanted to capture him like this—under the soft glow of the moon, when the world felt small and the distance between them felt nonexistent.
"What about you?" Chase asked, his voice softer now, more careful. It was the sound of someone opening up, someone testing the waters to see how much of themselves they could expose. "What do you want?"
Savannah exhaled slowly, the weight of the question pressing down on her. It wasn’t something she’d ever really allowed herself to think about, not like this. She closed her eyes for a moment, letting the cool breeze sweep over her skin before answering.
"I used to think I wanted to move to a big city," she admitted, her fingers trailing lightly down his forearm, the sensation of his warmth seeping into her. "To have a high-rise apartment, a busy career, a life full of excitement."
Chase’s brows furrowed slightly, as though he were trying to read the words between hers. "And now?"
Her fingers trailed down to his hand, where she rested them, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. The weight of his hand, the simple warmth of his skin against hers, felt like an anchor, holding her steady when the ground beneath her feet felt like it was shifting.
"Now," she said, her voice soft but sure, "I think—I just want someone to come home to."
The words hung in the air, and for a long moment, neither of them spoke.
There was no need. The vulnerability in the space between them was all they needed to understand.
Chase didn’t speak, but his grip on her hand tightened, his fingers closing around hers like a promise, like a vow, like something real.
In that moment, Savannah knew. She knew, with a certainty that shook her to her core, that this—him—was her home.
That the place she was meant to be wasn’t some city or fancy apartment or career.
It wasn’t the life she had thought she wanted.
It was right here, in the space between them, under the stars, with Chase’s hand in hers.
And in that stillness, as the night wrapped itself around them, she knew that wherever life took her next, no matter how far apart they might be, a part of her would always be here, with him.
She was already home.
And it was him.