Chapter 39
Across the city, Blake sat in the shadows of the bar, phone in hand, fury coursing like fire through his veins. He replayed the images, the videos, the flashes of me laughing, holding Dane’s hand, brushing his cheek in a bookstore, eyes dancing like sunlight on water.
His chest burned. His teeth ground. How could the boy he tormented in school—the one he had humiliated, beaten, erased—be the one holding me, protecting me, loving me?
The messages to Pandora had begun as venting. Now they were claws. Venom. A record of obsession and rage.
"She’s smiling at him. The one I destroyed. The one I crushed. And now he’s the one she should have had. He’s nothing. He’s always been nothing."
His knuckles whitened around the phone. Every laugh, every tiny touch Dane had given me, was a knife twisting in his chest. He imagined us together: my fingers interlaced with his, my laugh rising above his, my heart beating for someone else.
Every image became a bullet in the chamber.
Every text to Pandora, a lie he told himself to stay sane.
He was losing her. He had lost her. And it was worse than any humiliation he had endured in school—it was the ultimate truth: she had moved on.
She had chosen life, laughter, freedom. Not him.
He leaned back, stomach lurching, cold sweat on his skin.
The boy from school—Dane—had grown, had fought, had clawed a life from nothing.
And me…I was in it.
Every flash of his success, every protective gesture toward me, every quiet glance I had returned—the world burned around him. And Blake knew, in that dark, venomous pit of despair:
He had thrown away everything that had ever mattered. He had traded me for a maybe, a what-if, and hollow conquests with women who were bright, shiny, empty.
The reality slammed into him. He had failed. And there was no clawing back, no taking it.
Outside, the sun bled its final light into the sea. Inside, Blake spiralled, alone, burning in jealousy, fear, and regret, knowing he had been outplayed by life, by love, by the boy he once crushed.
Two worlds, one woman at the centre, her heart trembling, breaking, and finally beginning to heal.
I woke to emptiness.
Soft, warm, sprawling emptiness that stretched across the massive bed of the yacht like a second body that had only just left.
The imprint of Dane was still there, faint but real, the dip in the mattress shaped like him.
My hand drifted into it before I was fully awake, fingers brushing the cool sheets as if my body wasn’t ready to accept that he wasn’t beside me anymore.
The room rocked gently with the tide. For a moment I stayed still, letting myself float between the edges of sleep and morning.
I felt hazy, full of dreams I wasn’t sure were dreams at all.
Last night tangled itself through me in flashes his hands, the quiet sea, the way something inside me had cracked open and filled and breathed again.
When I stretched, my back arched into the thick bedding, my limbs unspooling one at a time. My eyes finally opened.
The smell hit me first.
Coffee.
Dark, rich, warm.
Orange juice.
Crisp bacon.
My stomach growled like a wild animal. I actually laughed.
I pushed myself upright, blinking slowly as my brain caught up to the simple, impossible truth:
I was on a yacht.
His yacht.
After a night that had changed something I didn’t have words for.
Something folded neatly beside the door caught my attention.
Clothes. Fresh ones.
A soft tank top. Loose shorts. Things that somehow looked like they’d fit me perfectly even though I never told him my size.
And a note.
I picked it up, my heart fluttering stupidly as I opened it.
Good morning, Peach. Take a shower. Everything you need is in there. Come up for breakfast at sea. —Dane
My cheeks warmed instantly.
Peach.
The way he wrote it made it feel like a pet name and a claim and a kiss all at once.
I slid off the bed, my body loose and heavy with a kind of lingering pleasure and exhaustion I hadn’t felt in years. Every step toward the bathroom felt surreal like stepping deeper into a life I wasn’t used to, a softness I never thought I’d touch again.
When I opened the bathroom door, I just…stopped.
It smelled like jasmine and pear. Warm and sweet and feminine. Not cheap. Not overpowering. Just… beautiful.
The shower steamed behind the glass. I stepped inside and let the hot water pour over me until my skin tingled and my muscles melted. The spray ran through my hair, down my spine, across the curve of my hips.
I stayed longer than I should have, not because I didn’t want to face him God, I did but because no one had ever given me a moment like this. A place like this. A sanctuary.
I had never showered on a yacht. Never woken up on one. Never felt wanted inside a morning that felt like a gift.
When I finally dried off, dressed, and ran my fingers through my damp hair, I felt different. Softer. More awake. A little terrified, but in the best way.
The deck was bright when I stepped out. The sea shimmered like freshly spilled silver. Boats rocked in the distance. The air was cool and salty and alive.
Then I saw him.
Dane stood at the bow, coffee in hand, the morning light outlining him like something out of a dream broad shoulders, bare feet, hair messy and perfect, the curve of his jaw shadowed with stubble.
My heart actually stuttered.
I don’t think I decided to walk to him. My body just…went.
I wrapped my arms around his waist from behind, pressing my cheek between his shoulder blades. He immediately covered my forearm with one of his big, warm hands and leaned back into me like he’d been waiting.
“Peach,” he murmured, voice rough with morning.
“Dane,” I breathed into his shirt.
“God,” he said, exhaling slowly, “I could get used to this.”
He turned toward me, set his mug down, and cupped my face gently hands warm, thumbs brushing the corners of my mouth like he was memorizing me.
His eyes locked onto mine.
Then he kissed me.
Slow.
Deep.
Like sunrise.
Like waking up twice.
Like the kind of kiss that says something without saying anything at all.
I melted.
Completely.
Shamelessly.
We kissed like we were younger and freer and totally undone laughing between breaths, bumping noses, stealing more because we could, because neither of us wanted to stop.
Like we are learning the shape of each other’s mouths, the taste of toothpaste and coffee morning breath gone, the heat of our skin under the rising sun.
The yacht rocks gently beneath us, and the whole world narrows down to the press of his lips and the slide of his thumbs and the ocean singing beneath our feet.
He deepens the kiss. I melt into it. Into him.
It’s sensual but not rushed.
Patient.
Learning.
Relearning.
Finding each other all over again.
When he finally pulls back, I’m breathless and smiling.
“Breakfast?” he asks, voice warm with teasing.
“More kissing first,” I say.
He laughs, leaning in again. “Whatever you want, Peach.”
We kiss like teenagers giddy, hungry, laughing against each other’s mouths, bumping noses, sharing smiles. The wind tangles my hair in his fingers, and he doesn’t even try to fix it.
Breakfast tasted like heaven and sin and sunlight.
He fed me bacon. I stole his fruit. He poured me coffee, and I drank it like it was holy. Every few minutes he leaned in for another kiss, quick ones, slow ones, soft ones, like he needed to keep confirming I was real.
We talked about everything and nothing.
His shipping company.
His plans for expanding routes.
The asshole board member he’s going to fire.
My pending divorce.
The article.
How behind I was.
How Carrie was going to kill me.
My phone vibrates against the table.
Then again.
Then again.
I wince. Dane’s eyes flick to the sound, protective tension rising in his shoulders. He doesn’t touch the phone, but he watches it like it’s a threat.
I flip it over.
CARRIE—9 messages
Of course.
I open them.
WHERE TF ARE YOU
You alive???
You didn’t come home last night. I went to yours. Not there. PENN I AM TWO SECONDS FROM CALLING THE POLICE
Okay update: Blake looks like death. P.S., haven’t called the Popo yet, but lady, I’m 0.2 seconds away from it, I swear!!!!!!
I went to the Bar. Yes, I was a cheeky bitch.
Judging by the way he’s downing whiskey like water…he definitely knows it was you.
Also, he’s pacing like a caged lion.
Girl, WHAT happened???”
I snort under my breath.
Dane watches me. “Carrie?”
“Carrie.”
His mouth twitches with half amusement, half worry.
I text back quickly, fingers flying
I'm safe. With Dane.
Will explain later.
Promise.
Just need a bit.
Tell Blake to stay the hell away.
Three dots appear instantly.
OH MY GOD. I KNEW IT. I KNEW IT.. FINALLY, HE GREW A PAIR AND CLAIMED YOU!!!!!! THANK THE LORD….#FINEASHELL
But also…Fun police that I am…Article. Deadline today.
Where is it?
I close my eyes and exhale.
Damn.
The article.
Dane watches me closely. “Work?”
“Yeah. I need to finish the article today. It’s…important.”
He nods. “We’ll make space for it.”
Just like that. No hesitation. No annoyance.
Space.
For me.
Something warm unfurls in my chest.
I text Carrie back.
Soon. Really soon.
I’ll get it to you.
#PinkySwear
I lock my phone.
Dane takes it from my hands gently and places it on the table like before face down, away from me, away from the world.
“Stay here a bit longer,” he murmurs.
And I do.
I lean into him, my forehead against his chest. His hand sweeps over my back, slow and steady, tracing the dip of my spine. His touch is quiet intimacy, not demanding, comfort threaded with a hunger he’s barely holding back.
“Penn?” His voice is low.
“Hm?”
“Last night… thank you for not running.”
“I think I finally stopped running a long time ago,” I whisper. “I was just facing the wrong direction.”
His breath catches. And then his lips press into my hair, soft, lingering, as the morning stitched together with warmth and promise.