Chapter 18
Gage
The truck’s engine growls through the fog as if it’s as ticked off as I am.
Paragon’s eternal gloom wraps around me, thick and suffocating, and for once, the island’s mood matches mine perfectly. The fog clings to everything—the evergreens, the road signs, my windshield—as if it’s trying to hold on to something that’s already gone.
Just like me.
As soon as I left Skyla’s, I went straight for my truck.
There’s no place on the planet I want to be right now, so I figured I may as well roam the old-fashioned way.
I drive without thinking, muscle memory taking me through turns I could navigate blindfolded.
The radio plays some sad song about lost love, and I punch it off before the lyrics can sink in any deeper.
I don’t need a soundtrack to my own pathetic life.
That scene in the butterfly room keeps replaying in my head. Skyla’s face when she said she wanted to go slow. The way she wouldn’t quite meet my eyes. The careful distance she put between us as if I were something dangerous she needed to manage.
Go slow.
Two weeks ago, she was talking about our future.
Our plans. Our first time. The way she looked at me as if I was her whole world.
Now she wants to pump the brakes, and I know, I know, it’s because of Logan.
That’s why I went over to tell her the very same thing.
My heart fell to my feet last night when I spotted them going at it next to Cerberus.
And tonight, at Dudley’s, I knew I couldn’t pretend everything was fine even if I wanted to.
But I had no intention of telling her that I was there to end things until she dealt the first blow.
That was just my ego getting in the way of rejection.
The road curves, and suddenly I’m at Rockaway. Our beach. The spot where everything between us started to make sense, where I built that ridiculous hut out of palm fronds and told her I loved her for the first time.
I park the truck and sit there with the engine ticking as it cools. The black sand stretches out in front of me, empty except for the waves that crash against the shore like they’re trying to beat something to death. The fog rolls in from the ocean, thick as guilt.
This was supposed to be our spot. Our place.
I get out and walk down to where the water meets the sand with my hands shoved deep in my pockets. The wind cuts through my sweatshirt as if it were made of paper, but I don’t care. Everything in my life has gone cold now anyway.
The remnants of our hut sit about twenty yards away, what’s left of the palm fronds I wove together with determination and way too much optimism. It looks pathetic now, beaten down by weather and time and whatever the hell is happening between us.
I built that for her. Spent hours getting the stupid thing to stay upright, planning how I’d surprise her with it. The look on her face when she saw it—like I’d given her the moon wrapped in starlight.
Now I wonder if any of it was real.
The waves keep coming, relentless and angry, and I can’t shake the feeling that they’re trying to wash away something that was never as solid as I thought. Maybe we were never as solid as I thought.
Go slow.
What’s there to figure out? Either you love someone or you don’t. Either you want to be with them or you don’t. All this careful stepping around feelings, all this sudden need for space—it feels like she’s already made her decision. And judging by the way she’s been lip-locking with Logan, she has.
I pick up a piece of driftwood and hurl it into the waves. It disappears under the foam like it was never there at all.
Maybe that’s what we are now. Under the waves, sunk to the bottom of the ocean. Maybe that’s where we’ve been all along.
The fog keeps rolling in, and I let it swallow me whole. Because right now, disappearing sounds like the best option I’ve got.