42. Chapter 42
Cate
Present
The air felt different the moment we stepped outside the airport in St. Lucia.
Warmer. Thicker. Heavy with salt and flowers I didn’t recognize. It wrapped around me like it had been waiting.
Trevor reached for my hand as we walked toward the car, his thumb brushing slow, absent circles over my knuckles.
“You okay?” he asked.
I nodded, surprised to find it was true. “Yeah. I think I really am.”
The drive to the resort wound through green hills and open sky, the road curving lazily as if it had nowhere important to be. Palm trees blurred past the windows. Small houses painted bright colors sat tucked into the hillsides. None of it meant anything to me, and for once, that felt like a gift.
When we reached the resort, everything slowed.
White stone paths. Open-air halls. The distant rush of water somewhere below us. Our room overlooked the ocean, the Pitons rising dark and solid in the distance like they’d been there forever.
Trevor dropped our bags just inside the door and crossed the room without a word. He cupped my face gently, thumbs brushing beneath my eyes.
“We’re here,” he said softly.
Something in my chest loosened, a tight knot I hadn’t realized I was still carrying.
That night, we ordered room service and ate barefoot on the balcony. The air was warm, the ocean a low, steady presence below us. Trevor kicked his shoes off and stretched his legs out, grinning when I laughed at him.
“What?” he asked.
“You look ridiculous.”
“Married men are allowed to look ridiculous on their honeymoon.”
I shook my head, smiling as I leaned into his side.
He talked about nothing important - stories from work, plans for the future, the house he wanted to buy someday. I listened, tracing idle patterns on his arm, letting the sound of his voice replace the noise in my head.
That night, the ocean whispered just beyond the balcony doors, steady and patient.
Trevor moved closer to me without rushing, his hand warm at my waist, his touch familiar in a way that felt earned instead of assumed. He kissed me slowly, without urgency or expectation, like he was giving me time to meet him there.
“You don’t have to do anything,” he murmured against my mouth. “Just be with me.”
So I was.
We undressed each other without ceremony, hands lingering, smiles soft and unguarded. Trevor traced my skin like he was learning me again, reverent and careful, as if this moment mattered simply because it was ours.
When we finally came together, it wasn’t about heat or hunger. It was closeness. The quiet reassurance of bodies fitting, of being held without needing to explain anything at all.
He pressed his forehead to mine, breathing me in.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered.
I believed him.
After, he wrapped me against his chest, his arm secure around me as the night settled in. I listened to his heartbeat, steady and sure, and for once my thoughts didn’t drift elsewhere.
I slept curled against him, untroubled by dreams.
Our days settled into an easy rhythm.
Mornings with the curtains open, sunlight spilling across white sheets. Coffee on the balcony while the island woke up around us. Trevor swimming slow, lazy laps in the pool while I pretended to read and watched him instead.
“Are you actually reading?” he called one afternoon.
I lifted the book, then realized I had it turned upside down by accident.
He laughed, really laughed, the sound carrying across the water. “You’re terrible at pretending.”
“So are you,” I shot back. “You keep looking to see if I’m watching.”
He swam closer, resting his arms on the edge of the pool. “Maybe I like knowing where you are.”
His words felt unexpectedly… comforting.
We wandered the resort in the afternoons, hands brushing, sometimes linking without thinking. We shared drinks I couldn’t pronounce. We argued lightly over which dessert was better. Trevor insisted he was right. I let him be.
“You’re doing that thing again,” he said once, smiling.
“What thing?”
“Letting me win.”
I shrugged. “Someone has to.”
He kissed my temple, pleased.
I laughed more than I expected to. Real laughter, the kind that surprised me with its ease. Away from home, away from familiar streets and faces, the ache inside me softened. It didn’t disappear. It just quieted enough that I could breathe easier.
“You seem lighter,” Trevor said one evening as we walked along the beach, shoes in our hands.
“I feel lighter,” I admitted.
It was true. Here, John didn’t feel like he was everywhere. The memories stayed where they belonged - inside me, not pressed into every corner of the world.
At night, Trevor held me like he was memorizing the shape of me, his touch steady and sure. I let myself relax into it, into him, into the simple certainty of being wanted.
I didn’t think about what came next.
I didn’t think about what we’d return to.
All that mattered was this.
We wandered into town one evening after dinner, following music drifting through the warm night air. A small open-air bar sat just off the beach, lights strung overhead, a band playing something slow and familiar.
Trevor smiled when he saw it.
“Dance with me?”
I laughed. “Here?”
“Especially here.”
He pulled me close before I could overthink it, one hand settling firmly at my back, the other threading through my fingers. We swayed together beneath the lights, the sand cool under my feet, the world narrowing to the space between us.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmured near my ear.
I smiled, resting my head against his shoulder.
“I forget sometimes,” he continued quietly, “how easy this feels. When it’s just us.”
His thumb brushed slow circles against my spine, grounding and intimate.
“You make everything quieter,” he said. “Better.”
Something inside me softened, warm and dangerous all at once.
“I’m really happy we’re here,” I said.
He kissed my temple, holding me closer.
“Me too. This is exactly where we’re supposed to be.”
I let myself believe it as we moved together, the music carrying us, his voice low and steady in my ear.
On our last night, we sat on the balcony again, the sky streaked with orange and pink as the sun dipped low behind the hills.
“I’m glad we did this,” Trevor said. “Got away. Started fresh.”
I rested my head against his shoulder. “Me too.”
He tilted my chin up, kissing me softly. “This is us now,” he said. Not demanding. Not forceful. Certain. “You and me.”
This time, I didn’t hesitate.
“I know.”
He smiled, satisfied, and wrapped his arm around me as the light faded and the island settled into night.
And for the first time since everything had fallen apart, I let myself believe it.