Chapter 19
Nineteen
The morning after a crash, everything’s always too bright. Even with my hood drawn, shades in place, sunlight needles in to remind me there’s no blackout strong enough that can hide the wreckage.
As fast as I move, the aftermath moves faster. Wooden planks underfoot creak like they’re milliseconds away from splintering and damning me. Maybe I want them to. Maybe then I’ll remember what it feels like to live.
The tingling in my scalp itches, phantom weight trying to sell me a lie. I know better. Half my hair’s gone, and what’s left—this butchered cut barely grazing my chest—screams last night’s breaking point louder than I ever could.
I jam my hands in my pockets, clenching the right one into a pale fist. Why can I still feel the scissors in them?
Shit. I don’t have time for this. If I don’t pull it together, I’ll be parked opposite a therapist by sundown, and I’m not about to let anyone root around in my head, not when I barely made it through the night in it.
Why does the boardwalk seem to stretch on forever? It’s caught in that lull between the morning rush and the afternoon swell, nothing but long planks and too much open space, leaving me utterly exposed.
“You’ve got this, Brielle.” Step, step, easy.
I let myself pretend for a while, the world reducing to the rhythm of my feet and the shadow of my hood.
And then—laughter. Breathy, but warm enough to hook into me and lift my head up.
A lemonade stand splashed in yellow and sun-worn pastels sits under the faded awning of an ice cream parlour. And there, peeking out from between it, is a little girl. Four, maybe five. She’s still, save for her eyes, which chase the quarter the teenage boy beside her spins.
It turns and turns, catching the light before clattering to a stop.
She tips her chin up, and it’s only because I’m close-by that I hear the question.
“Do you think he’s almost done?”
“Probably. But you know how he is in there. He’s probably overthinking which one to get you again.”
She giggles quick again like it escapes before she can contain it.
The coin scrapes toward her. “Go on. Try.”
Tiny fingers hesitate, then flick. The quarter hardly turns before surrendering in a flat fall.
Her frown melts under the boy’s chuckle.
“Watch me.” The quarter goes soaring again, twirling, twirling, twirling. “It’s all in the angle.”
She gestures for him to do it again, her little face drawn in with concentration. The coin spins, hers follows, and though it lasts only a heartbeat longer than before, the quiet satisfaction lighting her up is unmistakable.
Something cinches in my chest.
It’s such a small, fleeting moment, but my feet refuse to move. She must sense my stalled presence because she looks up, eyes wide beneath an embellished headband containing dark hair. There’s a pause, like she’s thinking, and then—there it is—a glimmer of a smile.
That does it, finally spurring me into action. I move, not past her but toward her.
I don’t know what’s going through my head but the sugar-like hi she offers when I reach the stand mutes some of the static in it.
“Are you here for my lemonade? It’s really nice.”
Lemonade comes out as lemonay, and it snags on memories I’d rather leave untouched. Summers steeped in sweetness, laughter I still hear if I listen close enough.
“One, please.”
The quarter is halted mid-spin, and a pair of eyes flick up to me. There’s nothing to it, no curiosity or judgement, so why do I have to force a swallow? I focus back on the girl.
“Is there anything you’re saving up for?”
She shakes her head.
“Tell her what you’re raising money for, Hannah.”
“Lonely people!”
“Not exactly. What did your brother call it?”
She stops, eyes flicking down as though she’s tracing the shape of the words. Then, with a lift of her chin, she says them. “People who don’t got anyone.”
It’s simple, but God, it lands hard.
“That’s…” I stumble over it. “Beautiful.” Thin as paper, but it’s all I’ve got.
“Her brother’s idea. She just liked it enough to run with it, huh, Hannah?”
“Your brother sounds like a smart man.”
Like a flip switched, all shyness scatters, allowing the sun to break clean across her face.
“He is! He’s the best.” She taps at the glittering stones embedded in her headband. “He made me this. Isn’t it pretty?”
“It is.” The agreement catches mid-air and I know it’s time to go. The drink sliding over tells me the same thing. I dig into my purse, flipping past the singles and pull out a hundred.
“Sorry, this is all I have.” Her mouth forms a perfect O. “You can keep the change.”
Even more shock. She slaps hands over her cheeks. “Really really?”
I’m nodding when I feel it. The gradual slide of my hood slipping back. I’m quick to shoot a hand up, but the chime of the ice cream parlour comes quicker, and so does the squeal.
“There’s my brother!”
It’s like time suspends. My hand falters, familiar grey locks on me, and then… the hood falls.
No. I watch it unravel in slow motion—Carson’s razor-sharp gaze dropping, catching on every uneven inch.
No reaction. At least, not right away. Just a frozen beat where time, air, and everything between us holds its breath. For a second, I’m caught there with it.
Then panic rises, flooding me. I yank my hood up, but my thoughts are already ahead of me, screaming it’s a losing battle. He’s already seen it. He already knows.
“Car!” Hannah’s excitement pierces straight through. “Look what I got!”
He glances at her, nods once, then zeroes back in on me. The stare hits like a drop into cold water, instant, total freefall.
I try, I really do try, to tap into the skill of playing pretend again. A flimsy smile, fraying at the edges, except it’s that which finally shatters the stillness. His brows slam together and the pull of his inhale is unmistakable.
“Brielle.” The grit is familiar, but my name wrapped in it, not so much. And I’m definitely not acquainted with that thread of something else woven through. Something an awful lot like concern.
I can’t take it. I turn and I move.
One step, then another, letting the boardwalk melt into a streak of light and shadow. I stumble in my haste but I don’t care. I just need to be gone before his voice can finish the gravity his stare already set in motion.
So many thoughts rattle through my head but one pounds louder than the rest. Why.
Why did I even walk up to that stand?
Why, out of everyone, is Carson Hannah’s brother?
I can’t even process that, not with everything else pressing in. My fingers scramble for my earphones, but before music can save me, I hear it.
“Brielle.”
Precise. Exact. A blade through salt-thick air.
Keep moving, I tell myself. But my body doesn’t get the memo. Legs lock. Spine locks.
He’s close now. I can feel it, his shadow stretching over mine.
“Look at me.” It’s not soft, but it sure is quiet, nearly lost to the distant calls of vendors.
I shake my head. Not because it’s him. Honestly it could be anyone and I wouldn’t turn. But anyone else murmuring please wouldn’t hook into me the way it does from him.
“I’m fine,” I say at last, giving in.
Through the tint of my lenses, he looks split, half shadow, half sharp lines. His jaw ticks once, twice, and those dark eyes dart across my face, fast, faster. Then, the tilt of his chin. “Take them off.”
My shades.
“Why?”
“Eyes don’t lie.” Three words yet they come loaded like hundreds. “Let me see that you’re fine.”
Fine from him sounds like I know you’re lying.
“I’m not lying.” Barely audible. “I’m okay.”
His advance isn’t quick, but it’s certain, the kind that swallows distance until the air belongs to him.
“If you’re not,” low and even, “show me.”
The silence grows dense.
“Stop running.”
My spine locks more. How does he always know which buttons to push? The urge to deny him flares but I smother it. He wants to see me? Fine.
A flick of my wrist, and light pours in. Nothing shields me now. No barriers, no masks. Just me, completely exposed.
The moment his eyes catch mine, his breath stumbles. It’s so slight I might have missed it if I weren’t this close. But I don’t. And that lone action… the last of my fight dissolves. Anguish, self-loathing, and everything ugly all surfaces in a rush, and I watch him register it in real time.
His throat works. Fingers twitch. He leans forward, then stops himself, as if fighting the pull of some instinct. But none of it rattles quite like the recognition staring right back at me.
“Tell me something personal.” Please.
“Why?”
“Because,” I manage, hoarse, “you see more than I want you to, and that’s not fair.” Nothing. Cracks turn into canyons. “Please?”
Still, zero give.
My shoulders sink. I press my thumb against the frayed hem of my shorts, as if the threads can stitch me together. They don’t. Stupid. So stupid. He doesn’t owe me his secrets. He doesn’t owe me anything. Just because I’m falling apart in front of him—
“I’m losing my love for swimming.”
My palm flattens against denim. I blink up, stunned. “But…”
I’ve seen him in the water, all raw power. Of everything about him, that was the one thing I thought was untouchable.
And yet, the truth shows in him. The twitch of his mouth, the hollows under his eyes.
Before I can linger on it, his hand closes around my wrist. The grip isn’t painful, but it’s firm, maybe even a little desperate.
“Why did you cut your hair?”
This is what it comes down to, isn’t it?
Why.
I should do what I do best—lie.
But with him all up in my space, eyes locked like there’s nothing else in the world, I can’t.
My insides clench as I give it to him.
“I didn’t feel like myself.” A breath. A truth. “You’re right. I have been running.”
It’s out, and there’s no taking it back.
God, how long has it been since I’ve been honest?
Can’t even pretend it feels good, because it doesn’t.
Feels the opposite. Feels like someone’s pressing their thumb into the deepest wound I’ve got.
And with the way his irises swirl with questions, another one is bound to spill.
But it doesn’t. His grip loosens, and instead, softer than I thought possible, he asks, “Do you want a hug?”
It short-circuits me.
Not what’s wrong with you.
Not why would you cut your hair.
Not tell me everything.
Just… a hug.
Something in me caves in and the “please” trembles out before I can quell it.
Warmth. Strong arms. An embrace that shields me from everything around me, and, for a moment, everything in my head.
Cheek pressed to cotton, hard muscle shifting beneath it, I breathe in deep and feel his chest rise against mine as he matches it. His grip tightens, pulling me in until there’s just this, just us.
It’s nice. So nice.
If a tear escapes, so what? If it dampens his shirt, so what? I need this. I need to be selfish for once.
Minutes stretch and melt into something timeless. When he shifts like he might let go, I hold on. He lets me. No pushback, just steady arms and patience until I’m the one who relents. Even then, the drag of his release makes it feel too soon.
Almost like he needed it just as much.
“Thank you,” I murmur.
The silence is made heavier with his gaze.
Then, without warning, he pulls the cap from his head and tugs it onto mine. His hands dip as if to cradle my face, pausing only a breath before falling away.
“You’ll be okay.”
Grey. Solid. Sure.
“Promise?”
His cheek twitches. A flash of something strange passes through. Then—
“I promise.”