27. Nolan #2
I lean against the marina railing, scrubbing one hand harshly down my face.
“I don’t know how to stop doing that.”
The honesty leaves me exposed, but I’m too exhausted to pretend otherwise anymore.
Walter stays quiet for a long moment, then adds, “You stop acting like love means being the only person suffering.”
The words strike with a force that left an invisible ache.
Part of me genuinely believed sacrificing myself for everyone else made me dependable, but Hadley never asked for martyrdom. She asked for partnership.
My phone buzzes in my pocket.
Hope spikes before I can stop it.
Not Hadley, but her sister Lila.
Lila
I’m told you haven’t eaten today.
I stare at the message, then unexpectedly laugh under my breath.
Apparently the Wright family has fully absorbed me into their emotional surveillance system despite the breakup.
Walter notices. “There he is.”
I glance over wearily. “What?”
“The guy who actually belongs here.”
Emotion crashes painfully through my chest.
I do belong here now. I finally built a life worth staying for. And then fear convinced me I had to control every outcome to keep it. The tragedy of it settles through me.
I stare out across Back Bay while the wind moves through the docks.
“I can’t let this be the end.”
Walter studies me carefully beside the railing. “No,” he says. “You probably can’t.”
And for the first time since Hadley asked for space, hope flickers painfully alive inside my chest again.
By Sunday night, I finally stop lying to myself. Not about loving Hadley. I’ve known that for months. Not even about losing her. The second she let go of my hand in that cottage kitchen, part of me already understood exactly how badly I’d screwed this up.
No.
The thing I finally stop lying to myself about is that I’ve been treating fear like responsibility for most of my life.
I stand alone at the end of the western dock staring out across dark water and marina lights. Wind rolls steadily over Back Bay, carrying salt air and distant music from downtown while boats rock gently against repaired slips below.
Everything looks peaceful tonight. Meanwhile, my entire chest feels hollowed out from grief. I grip the railing harder, watching reflections shimmer across the water.
For two straight days, I’ve replayed every major moment between Hadley and me. Not just the breakup. Everything.
The first night she looked at me like she saw past the grumpy marina owner act. The way she reached for me instinctively anytime I got quiet. The countless times she tried to explain that a relationship meant letting someone witness the ugly parts, too.
She was patient with me far longer than I deserved.
I spent weeks believing I was protecting her, protecting the marina, and protecting the future. Meanwhile, I was turning love into something heavy rather than safe.
A text notification lights up my phone again.
Investor group.
Third message today.
I stare at it without opening the thread.
Two weeks ago, the notifications spiked my pulse with panic and urgency.
Now?
Exhaustion.
Between losing Hadley and sitting alone with myself these past forty-eight hours, I finally understood something devastating. The deal was never going to fix what’s actually broken inside me.
No amount of money could teach me how to trust permanence. How to stop waiting for loss. How to let people stand beside me without turning love into obligation.
I open the message anyway.
Richard
Final proposal expires tomorrow morning. We need your answer tonight if you intend to move forward.
I stare out across the marina. The charter docks. The bait shop. The old weathered buildings glowing beneath marina lights.
Home.
Not because it’s perfect, but because people built lives here.
Hadley’s voice echoes through my head again, “You’re starting to forget why you loved it in the first place.”
She was never afraid of change. She was afraid of fear hollowing me out from the inside until I stopped recognizing myself.
That’s exactly what almost happened. All because I was terrified of losing what I loved.
My fingers move before I can second-guess myself.
Me
I’m declining the offer.
Richard
That’s unfortunate.
Another message follows.
Richard
I hope your alternative financing is as secure as you believe it is.
I stare at the screen. Something about the wording prickles beneath my skin.
Me
What does that mean?
Richard
It means Sweetspire is an attractive property, Nolan. With or without you attached to it.
My grip tightens around the phone.
Richard
You aren’t the only person capable of recognizing its value.
There it is.
Not advice.
Not concern.
A warning.
Me
The marina isn’t for sale.
Richard
Everything is eventually.
Anger burns clean through weeks of fear.
Me
Not this.
Then I block the number.
For a long moment, I stand there. Old instincts whisper that I should already have another plan. Another backup. Another impossible solution resting on my shoulders.
Instead, I pull my phone back out and pull up Dean’s contact information.
Me
Thanks for pointing me toward the lender.
I quickly type out a message to Walter.
Me
Appreciate you sticking with me.
Before I can put the phone away completely, something catches my eye through the marina office window. A blue folder. Half buried beneath contractor estimates and engineering reports. I recognize it immediately.
Sweetspire Marina: Community & Tourism Impact Assessment
Written in Hadley’s curvy handwriting. I’d almost forgotten she’d left it sitting on the corner of my desk after one of our planning meetings.
Curious, I walk back inside and flip it open. Tourism projections. Downtown foot traffic. Weekend occupancy reports. Restaurant revenue during waterfront festivals. Letters from Bailey and Mrs. Pace, the charter captains, even the Needle Palm.
Every page answers a question I’d been too busy asking the wrong way. I’d spent weeks trying to prove the marina could survive. Hadley proved why it mattered.
My eyes drift over the lender packet still sitting open beside my laptop. Community commitments.
Walter’s words echo back through my head. They’re lending to Coral Bell Cove.
A slow breath leaves me. Not because she’d solved the financing. She hadn’t. I still had to make the numbers work. Still had to rebuild the projections. Still had to earn the loan. But she’d handed me something I’d been missing from the very beginning—the story behind the numbers.
Without thinking twice, I pull the folder beside my laptop and begin reorganizing everything. Engineering reports. Repair estimates. Cash-flow projections. And then Hadley’s folder.
Exactly where it belongs.
Silence crashes around me afterward. Emotion surges through me so violently I physically brace against the railing.
I should feel relieved. Instead, all I can think is that Hadley isn’t here. None of this means anything if I still lose her. Not the marina. Not the town. Not the future.
The truth crashes brutally through my chest. I don’t want a life that only looks stable from the outside anymore. I want messy breakfasts. Her books scattered across the apartment. A future that feels lived-in instead of controlled.
I want Hadley.
Footsteps sound against the dock behind me. I don’t turn right away. Surprisingly, I already know who it is.
Holt stops beside me without saying anything. We stand shoulder to shoulder, watching the marina lights ripple across Back Bay.
For nearly a full minute, neither of us speaks. Finally, he nods toward the water.
“You know what she does when she’s hurting?”
I look over, but he still isn’t looking at me.
“She gets quieter.”
My chest tightens.
“When we were kids...” A faint smile touches his face. “If something upset her, everybody else thought she was fine.”
He finally glances over. “I always knew.”
His words land like a punch. “She’s doing that now.”
“I never wanted to hurt her.”
Holt nods. “I know.”
“That’s what makes it worse.”
“She doesn’t need you to be perfect.” He looks back toward the marina. “She just needs to know she’s not carrying you alone.”
“I’m getting her back.”
Holt studies me, then says, “Good.” And walks away.
Fear spent most of my life convincing me survival mattered more than vulnerability. Hadley spent months trying to teach me the opposite.
I stare toward the old house behind the marina again. The warm porch light glows against the dark.
Every scattered thought in my head aligns into one dreadful clear truth that I don’t need to prove I can survive alone anymore. I need to prove I know how to stay.
Then finally, enough that the words almost disappear into the wind, I repeat, “I’m getting her back.”