Chapter 11
JULIET
The days after everything blew up felt like living inside a pressure cooker that wouldn’t stop hissing.
The lake house had always been loud and chaotic, but I’d also hoped it would be my little slice of peace.
My dad would barely look at me, and when he did, his face was a mix of hurt, anger, and something that looked a lot like disgust.
He’d mutter things under his breath like “I raised you better than this” or “How could you let him touch you?”.
And God, every word cut deep.
I tried to talk to Dad the morning after the blow-up at the marina, but he just shook his head and walked out of the room muttering, “I can’t do this right now, Juliet. Let me get my bearings first.”
My mom was no better. She kept pulling me aside with these heavy, disappointed conversations. “He’s family, honey. Your father’s step-brother. This… this is going to break him.”
Her voice was thick with worry and frustration every time she talked to me. I tried to explain that I loved Bastian, that it wasn’t some reckless fling, but she’d just sigh and shake her head like I was too young to understand how badly this could destroy everything.
The worst part was how much worse it made my parents’ fighting.
They’d always gone at each other, but now, it was constant and vicious, like every argument somehow circled back to me and Bastian.
I could hear them downstairs at all hours.
Mom’s voice was sharp with disappointment.
Dad’s was heavy with betrayal and exhaustion.
Every slammed door and raised voice twisted the guilt deeper in my stomach.
I hated knowing I’d poured gasoline on a fire that had already been burning for years.
Some nights, I lay in my own bed listening to the distant echoes of the arguments downstairs and wondered if loving Bastian was going to cost me my entire family.
We’d been trying to stay away from each other more, giving everyone space, hoping things might cool down a little.
It wasn’t working. If anything, the tension in the house had only grown thicker, like a storm that refused to break through the clouds.
As far as I knew, my father and Bastian hadn’t spoken since that night. The last time they were in the same space, my dad had looked at Bastian like he’d stepped in something disgusting.
Years of built-up resentment came pouring out from my father in nasty accusations.
My father spat out how Bastian had disappeared when the family needed him, how all the fights and worry he’d caused had slowly chipped away at everyone.
Bastian took every word without fighting back which somehow made it worse. He just stood there and let my dad unload on him like he believed every ugly thing being said.
I hated it. Hated how quickly everyone seemed to turn on us.
Aunt Clara and Uncle Stanley wouldn’t even be in the same room as us anymore.
She’d just sigh and shake her head like I was a lost cause, and he’d give me these disapproving looks.
A couple of my cousins sent awkward texts trying to be supportive, but they were clearly uncomfortable.
The whole thing felt like a fracture that might never fully heal.
But through all of it, the one thing I was completely sure about was Bastian. He could have run, could have left the drama and not dealt with it, but he stayed in his guest house, letting my father hurl nasty comments at him and took all the disgusted looks our family shot his way.
A week or so after everything had happened, I found Bastian sitting on the steps of his place with a mug of coffee clutched in both hands.
He looked exhausted, like he hadn’t slept more than an hour or two.
Dark circles sat under his eyes, and his hair was messy like he’d been dragging his fingers through it all night.
When he heard my footsteps on the gravel, he lifted his head. Those tired, red-rimmed eyes met mine, and for a second, neither of us said anything. The air felt heavy between us.
I sat beside him, just as quiet as he was, not sure what to say or how to even start.
“I’m not leaving,” he finally said, his voice quiet but rough from lack of sleep. “Not unless you tell me that’s what you want.”
I leaned my head on his shoulder after that, and for long moments, we didn’t talk. We just sat there while the lake glittered in the early sun, and for the first time in days, I felt like I could actually breathe.
The days that followed were messy and tense in a way that settled into my bones.
My dad wouldn’t let Bastian come to the main house anymore, but then again, Bastian didn’t even try.
The rule was unspoken but crystal clear.
So I started going to him instead. I’d walk across the yard in the middle of the day, sometimes carrying a plate of leftovers from dinner, sometimes with nothing but myself.
I stopped bothering to make up excuses. The first time I did it, my dad was out on the porch.
He watched me cross the grass toward Bastian’s place, and the look on his face nearly broke me.
Hurt, betrayal, and confusion all tangled together.
But he never said a word, never tried to stop me.
That’s how I knew his love for me—his daughter—was more powerful than any disgust or disappointment he harbored right now.
“Juliet,” my father said quietly before I got too far. His voice was thick, heavy with something between pain and exhaustion. “He’s my brother. How am I supposed to look at him… knowing what he’s done to you?”
The words hit me like a physical blow. I stopped, my throat tightening until it hurt to breathe. I turned to face him, tears already burning in my eyes.
“He didn’t do anything to me, Dad,” I said, my voice cracking. “I chose him, and I’m still choosing him. Every single day.”
He looked at me for a long moment, eyes glassy and full of a hurt I didn’t know how to fix. I saw the conflict there, the love for me warring with the betrayal he felt toward his brother, toward the family he thought we were.
“I just…” His voice broke. “I don’t know how to protect you from this. From him. You’re my little girl, Juliet, and I feel like I’m losing you.”
Those words shattered something inside me, and tears spilled down my cheeks as I stood in the grass, feet from Bastian, feet from my dad, the weight of his pain pressing down on my chest.
“I still am,” I whispered. “But I’m not a little girl anymore, and I love him, Dad. I love him in a way I can’t walk away from.”
He didn’t say anything else, just stood there looking at me like his world was breaking right in front of him, then he turned and walked back inside the house.
I stood in the lawn for a long time afterward, tears slipping silently down my face, wondering if I had just lost my father for good.
I had planned to go straight to Bastian, to let the world fade away and feel his arms around me, hear him say everything was going to be okay.
But after that conversation with my dad, I couldn’t do it.
My feet felt too heavy, and the guilt sat like a stone in my stomach.
Instead, I changed course and walked down to the dock alone and sat with my knees pulled tight to my chest, staring out at the water.
A while later, I heard footsteps behind me. I knew who it was before I heard his voice or saw his face.
Bastian.
He didn’t say anything at first, just sat down behind me, wrapped his arms around my waist, and pulled my back against his chest. His chin rested on the top of my head, warm and solid, and we stayed like that for a long time, breathing together while the lake lapped quietly against the wood.
“I’m sorry.” His words brushed against my ear. “I never wanted to come between you and your family.”
“They’re your family, too.” I turned in his arms so I could see his face. God, he looked tired, but his eyes were still so full of love it made my chest ache. “And you didn’t come between us,” I said softly. “I made my choice, and it was the right one. I’m not going back on it.”
His eyes searched mine for a long moment, like he was still waiting for me to change my mind. When I didn’t, he leaned in and kissed me, slow, deep, and full of everything we couldn’t say out loud yet because everything was so fragile.
I knew it would be a long time before we figured out how to exist in this new, broken version of our world.
I also knew some relationships might never be the same because of our decisions and that some people might never forgive us.
But sitting on the dock wrapped in his arms, I wasn’t scared of what came next.
Because we had chosen each other no matter what.