Chapter 22
Steven
I’m an idiot. Junie came out of that waterfall looking like a goddess, and I said all the wrong things. She wanted to talk about the future, but I couldn’t face it.
I don’t think she was lying, I just know how it goes.
She has no idea how many people swear they’ll come back to the island, but once they return to the comforts of home, the long plane ride, the ticket prices, or the pull of the rat race sucks them back in.
Living in paradise just isn’t realistic for most people.
I’m not even sure it’s working for me anymore.
So I smiled and I agreed with her and I told her I’d look forward to it, but I know she saw through my bullshit.
I’m not good at pretending, and I don’t want to be—I don’t want to pretend that when she leaves in a week, it won’t break me.
I don’t want to pretend that she hasn’t taken over me, body and soul.
I always knew she had to go. I knew the deal and I dove in head first anyway. I have no one to blame but myself.
I thought this break in Bali would feel like a mini-holiday, but after the waterfall, we’re both exhausted.
I’ve been looking forward to treating her to a nice dinner, seeing her get all dressed up and eating food we can’t get on Gili Telu—but we end up ordering takeaway through the Grab delivery app and eating in the hotel room with the TV on.
Sex that night is quiet and desperate. There’s a deep yearning inside me that I can’t satisfy, no matter how close I crush her body to mine.
I feel frantic, trying to memorize every part of her—the way her sighs break into gasps when I touch her right there, the way her eyelashes flutter against my skin, the little twitches as she’s falling asleep in my arms.
We made love like we’re never going to see each other again and it’s breaking my heart into a million pieces. Every time I take a breath, I think the pain of it will shatter me. I watch her sleep all night. The hum of the aircon is louder than her tiny snores.
She doesn’t belong here, and when she returns to her real life, she’ll realize that too. The reverse culture shock of going back home will make her time here feel like a dream. Soon, I’ll be a holiday memory. A footnote in the summer she saved sea turtles in Indonesia.
I’m not dismissing the growth she’s had here. She’s changed so much in a few weeks, something I’ve been trying to do for three years. I was just spinning my wheels in the sand until she showed up. Always saving that sailing trip for “some day” that might never come.
She isn’t the type of woman to run away.
When she gets home, she’ll take over her life with the same brutal efficiency she uses to manage the sanctuary’s social media calendar.
She’ll find a new path—one more aligned to who she is inside.
I truly believe she’ll never dim her shine again, and I’m proud that I got to watch her rise.
She inspires me. Watching her kick so much ass, I’ve been wondering if it’s time for me to think about moving on too. When Naomi left, I shut down and took off without a plan—but I was just a kid. I was hurt. And I’ve been licking my wounds for long enough.
I don’t know what my next move will be yet, but it’s time I start making it. I watch her chest rise and fall in sleep, these thoughts swirling around my head.
Of course I don’t fucking want her to go, are you kidding me?
But she has to. And the reality is, she probably isn’t coming back—regardless of her good intentions.
It’s not so easy to just pack up your life and leave with no guarantees.
I learned that the hard way. I’m not going to get my hopes up just to have them crushed again.
We’ll stick to the plan. Make these last few days together memorable. No future plans. No promises. Just us, here, now. That will have to be enough.
In the morning, my eyes are crusted over with sleep. I’m exhausted.
“Hey sleepyhead.” Her smile is soft. I notice she’s already packed her bag.
“Hey.” I rub my face and sit up. “How’d you sleep?”
“Okay.” She shrugs, like it’s not.
“Come here.” I open my arms and she climbs back into bed, nuzzling against me like a cat. Things between us feel sharp and fragile. I hate it. “Yesterday felt kind of off,” I say, wincing at the awkwardness.
“Yeah, I felt that too.”
“Can I…” I take a deep breath, hold, then let it out. “Can I tell you about how I ended up on Gili Telu?”
She stills. I give her a squeeze to let her know it’s okay. She sits up and looks into my eyes. “Of course, I’d love to know that.”
I can’t meet her gaze. It’s not that the break up still hurts, it’s everything after. I don’t like remembering the man who fled in such anger.
“I was living in Cairns. I told you, running dives on liveaboards. My girlfriend was too.”
“What’s her name?” Junie asks. She doesn’t sound jealous or possessive, just curious. I say it out loud, sober, for the first time in years.
“Naomi.”
“Pretty.” She smiles.
“She was. We lived together, worked together, did everything together. And we had this plan. I guess in hindsight it was my idea, but I really believed it was both of us—” The words are pouring out now, as if I can’t hold them in any longer.
“This guy who came on one of the tours—he had this old sailboat. It was a wreck, and he sold it to us for dirt cheap. We spent months working on it any chance we got. Sanding, polishing, taking apart the engine. I dumped all my savings into that piece of shit. I loved it. All we talked about was getting away some day. I wanted to sail around the world, meet new people in every port, dive in all the best spots. I thought she did too.”
I rub my hands over my face and through my hair. It’s embarrassing how stupid I was. How blind. How selfish. But Junie trails her fingers over my bicep like she already knows everything and she doesn’t care.
I sigh heavily, and meet her eyes. “When she told me there was someone else, I was blindsided. I thought it was still about the boat. I promised we could move up the timeline. I’d take out a loan.
I’d do whatever it took—we could leave tomorrow.
She laughed.” I only realize my hands have fisted when Junie loosens one and intertwines her fingers with mine. My pulse steadies.
“She’d already made up her mind. She was tired of living on boats. Probably tired of me. I wasn’t even thinking about stuff like marriage and kids then. I was so focused on the adventure. The open sea. So I left.
“I convinced myself she’d been holding me back.
I’d been spending all this extra money and time making sure things were comfortable for her, but I didn’t mind a rougher ride.
I half-assed it, and I paid the price. Didn’t make it past Indonesia.
I’m lucky I didn’t just go down at sea. A big storm would’ve finished me off. I knew better, I was just…”
“Hurt,” she offers, pulling my hand to her chest.
I nod. “Yeah, I was hurt. My pride probably most of all. She married that guy. They’ve got a kid now. That could’ve been me if my head wasn’t stuck in the sand.”
“Do you wish it was?” Her voice is so careful and gentle, like a butterfly on my finger.
“No.” I squeeze her. “Not anymore. I wasn’t ready then and I don’t know if I’m ready now. I want kids some day for sure, but I still really want to have that adventure. I still want to sail around the world. Do it right.”
“The dream never died.” Her smile is a gorgeous thing.
“Maybe it did for a while. But meeting you, hearing about your bucket list adventures, and your Gran. I don’t know, I feel alive again. Awake.”
She looks thoughtful. I wonder what’s going on in that beautiful mind of hers. I’m surprised when the next words out of her mouth are, “Do you still have the boat?”
“No. Sold for parts when Mike took me in. It was a lost cause.”
“Too bad.” She frowns and then lays back on my chest. “That sounds like a great adventure.”
“It would be.” I hold her tight, breathing in the smell of her hair. I don’t expect my story to fix everything, but I hope it explains some of my reaction yesterday. We talk about some of the countries I dreamed of seeing and the tension seems to pass.
“Thank you for telling me that,” she says, later.
“Thank you for listening.” I feel empty, drained. There are no more words in me. I’m saved from having to speak any more by the sound of her phone vibrating.
“It’s my sister,” she says. Her whole body tenses. “I have to take this.”
“Go ahead. I still have to pack and brush my teeth.”
She slips out the hotel room door, and I hear the soft murmur of her voice from the balcony. She’s back in less than fifteen minutes.
“Everything okay?”
“Bad connection.” Her brow furrows. “We’ve been playing phone tag for weeks. Something’s up with her, but I don’t know what.”
“She’s lucky to have you. You’re easy to talk to.”
“Do you think so?” She softens just a bit.
I gesture around the room like it holds the physical evidence of my confession.
Neither of us is in the mood to play tourist after that, so we head back to the ferry a few hours early.
I love driving the motorbike with her arms around me. I’m on my best behavior—tackling the Balinese traffic like I grew up here—so she won’t be nervous.
I might have taken a few detours, prolonging the time she clung to me, her soft chest pressed against the hard planes of my back, but eventually we have to return the bike and join the queue for the ferry.
We can’t let the threat of goodbye ruin the time we have left.
The sanctuary feels empty without Mason and Juliette.
Thomas is still leading the new recruits around, giving them an obligatory tour of the museum, and Victoria is still floating around for another few weeks, making googoo eyes at Mike, but the vibe has shifted.
In three years, I thought I’d grown used to the ebbs and tides of new volunteers, but as usual, Junie changed everything.
I’ve spent years holding everyone at arm’s length, earning my reputation as a grumpy dive master. Is it too late to change?
I check in with Mike and make arrangements for tonight—we only have a week left and I want every second of it to be magical. If Junie is going to leave here with nothing but memories, let them be good ones. Let her carry me in her heart, in her dreams, at least for a little while.
Made, the owner of The Local, grins when I make my request. He nods and promises to make this night more special than I imagined.
I tell Junie to wear something nice and she nearly knocks me out in a soft, white dress that falls to her mid-thigh. I want to picture her like this always—suntanned, beachy waves, and bare feet. She slips her hand in mine and I know I’m the luckiest man in the world.
“How did you manage to come up with a surprise while we weren’t even here?” she asks, her smirk giving away her excitement.
“I have my ways, woman. Just trust me.” I lead her toward the crashing shoreline, feeling the wet sand between my toes. “We’re back to the grind tomorrow. 5 AM dive boat.”
“But you love it,” she teases, reading me like a book.
“Aye, and I love how crabby you are in the mornings and the cute little sound of your snores.”
She smacks my arm. “I don’t snore. And you’re one to talk! Does your prickliness have a schedule or is it just a personality trait at this point?”
I tug her elbow and kiss her pink lips. With my eyes closed, the ocean is a dull roar.
Whenever I hear that sound, I want to remember this moment.
I hope she does too. I think of her decades from now, holding a seashell up to her ear, and being transported back here.
I try to memorize the feel of her in my arms, the soft scrape of her skin.
“I love your fiery spirit,” I say. I can’t stop talking around the thing I really want to say. It’s too soon—we don’t have enough time—but it’s true. Isn’t that all that really matters?
Her smile makes my chest glow. I can’t risk it. Not yet.
I turn her attention up the beach where a table has been set for the two of us. The sky is just beginning to tint pink and orange, promising another epic Indonesian sunset. Palm trees drip with fairy lights. Made outdid himself. It looks perfect.
“Is that for us?” Junie asks, eyes wide.
At my answering smile, she scampers up the beach, inspecting our meal, covered in cloches to keep the flies away.
There are two ice buckets, one with an imported bottle of Prosecco and the other filled with Bintang.
I’m a simple man, but I know how to treat a lady.
“Did you do all this?” Junie turns to me, standing on tiptoes to kiss me again.
“If you like it, we can eat like this every night,” I say. She deserves to be spoiled. How have I let so much time slip through our fingers already?
She rearranges the chairs so that we sit side by side, her thigh leaning against my leg all through dinner. We watch the sun set over grilled fish and creamy prawn curry, feeding each other bites of rice and licking our fingers.
“I love a girl who’s not afraid to eat,” I say, watching her suck the sauce off her thumb. I can’t seem to stop saying that word—but I’m still too afraid to tell the whole truth. She takes another swig of Prosecco and I clink my stubbie gently against her glass.
“I love a guy who knows how to surprise me,” she says, her voice low and breathy.
Fuck. Her tongue travels across her lips and makes my pants tight.
The look in her eyes is pure heat and I think this dinner might be over soon.
We either need to get back to the bungalow ASAP or I’ll need to buy Made a new tablecloth.
My fingers are twitching with the need to touch her.
To hear her say those words again. Preferably with my name attached.
She picks my hand up off the table and caresses her cheek with it. She catches my gaze and holds it as she presses my index finger between her sinful lips and sucks, hard.
My throat bobs as I stand, pick her up, and carry her back to the room. We cross the threshold like newlyweds, her hair tickling my neck, her laughter in my ear. These are the only things I need. The only things I want. The only things I remember about that night.
But I still don’t say the words.